In Good Faith

Physiology

Physiology“My son, more than the calf wishes to suck, does the cow yearn to suckle,” said Rabbi Akiva to his favourite pupil Simeon ben Yochai.

Zahi, while waiting for the class to start, was flipping through ‘Samson Wright’s Applied Physiology’, where she found this quotation on the front page. That was the secret of Dr Wright’s extraordinary reputation as a teacher of physiology, and as the author of the book that he had written in 1926 when he was just twenty-seven years of age.

Physiology is the only subject in medical college which requires an understanding of physics and to some extent mathematics, the bête noire of students of biology. It is small wonder then that most medical students find the subject difficult. Dr Wright’s book attempted to simplify things by having plenty of diagrams, and to improve understanding by using examples of diseases resulting from disordered physiology. But the students of Zahi’s class, in their postprandial stupor, would have found it difficult to share the enthusiasm of the celebrated physiologist for his beloved subject. So it was lucky for them that the Physiology session scheduled for that day was not a lecture, but consisted of two back-to-back practical classes.

In the first class, each student had to prick his or her finger with a lancet and draw a good-sized drop of blood into a small tube. The object of this activity was for each of them to measure his or her own hemoglobin level. Zahi stared at her left index finger for a while before she was able to stab it purposefully, but when she did so, she was glad to see a deep red drop which was adequate for the task at hand.

All around her, students were trying to summon up the courage to inflict pain upon themselves, albeit momentarily, and she suppressed a giggle when she saw how difficult it seemed to be for some of them. In fact, the girl sitting beside her just did not seem to be up to it, and Zahi was deciding whether to offer to help her out, when with a sudden tightening of her resolve, the student picked up the lancet and took the plunge. Unfortunately, she hadn’t jabbed sufficiently hard, for she could not obtain enough blood to fill the tube. Evidently, she couldn’t bring herself to try again, for she sat there surreptitiously squeezing her finger to see if she could manage to get a bit more in order to complete the test.

Zahi wondered whether she should remind her neighbour that they had been expressly forbidden to do this as it would dilute the blood with tissue fluid, resulting in an erroneous reading. She looked at the girl, and was surprised to see that her eyes were full of tears. Zahi smiled at her sympathetically, although privately she wondered whether the tears were caused by the pain, or by the fact that the test hadn’t been successful. She was a bit surprised, as she didn’t think either one was reason enough to cause someone to cry. And she certainly wouldn’t have done so. But people were different, of course.

The girl smiled back at Zahi through her tears. She was petite with brown doe-shaped eyes and dimples, and her long, dark hair was in a loose braid. Zahi’s heart warmed to her instantly. The girl said, “Hi—I’m Priya. I hope we don’t have to do any more horrible things today!”

Zahi introduced herself, and said, “We’ve got a double class today—not double trouble, I hope! Wonder what else is in store for us?”

They soon got to know what was in store for them when they joined the queue at the front of the Physiology laboratory. There they found a large plastic bin with a lid. As each pair of students filed past, a peon dipped his hand into the bin and drew out a frog, which he handed over to whichever one of the two students he adjudged to be the less delicate. Not just a quiet, passive frog, though—sometimes it was a wriggling frog that had to be grabbed and held tightly as it tried to escape. But some of the frogs were totally unresponsive, as if dead. Zahi wondered why this was so. Perhaps they died of fright if you were too rough with them, she thought. She learned the truth of the matter a while later from the peon who handed her a frog, which she gripped firmly—but not too firmly. Priya had refused to handle the slimy thing.

“It isn’t slimy,” Zahi assured her, holding out the frog. “In fact, the skin’s quite dry. I think that’s because it must have been out of water for some time.”

But Priya only grimaced and drew back her shoulders in a gesture of displeasure.

It turned out that the frogs had been ‘pithed’—which meant driving a metal skewer through the base of the brain. This rendered the creature brain-dead, but allowed its heart to keep on beating and permitted certain motor responses to occur, as the students were to learn.

What they had to do was make a ‘nerve-muscle preparation’. This involved dissecting the calf muscle of the frog’s leg, and tying one free end to a stylus resting on a rotating drum covered with a sheet of paper coated with carbon black. An electrical stimulus delivered to the exposed muscle belly with pin electrodes, would result in a twitch of the leg. This would be recorded by the stylus in the form of a trace on the paper as the drum rotated. At least, that was what was supposed to happen. What did happen was another matter entirely. The pithing was a tricky business as the frogs would ‘come alive’ if they had only been stunned, and would then jump out of the bin and hop all over the place in a bid to get away. On the other hand, some of them were dead from being struck too hard, and then this meant that the students had to trudge back to the plastic bin, grumbling and cursing the frogs, to get another one and start all over again.

Zahi and Priya were lucky to get their trace almost perfect on the first attempt. Zahi thought the recording could have been better, and she wondered aloud whether they ought to do it a second time, when one of the frogs leaped off the next table and landed on the neck of a fellow student. She sprang up with a shriek which was echoed by the girls at her table. In the next few minutes, the Physiology laboratory became a scene of chaos, with students chasing after and diving to grab the jumping frogs. Pandemonium reigned for the rest of the class until the bell rang, when all the students tumbled out, some giggling helplessly and others still screaming and yelling.

It had certainly been a most memorable Physiology practical.

The canteen was a long, low building with walls that consisted mainly of metal grilles, so that it resembled nothing so much as a gigantic chicken coop. It was very crowded, but Vivek managed to spot a table which was just being vacated, and hustled his way through the crowd, triumphantly laying claim to it. They had no sooner sat down than an imp with bright eyes and a shock of unkempt hair materialized at Rahul’s elbow.

“Chai-coffee, Sir?”

“Uh, masala chai for me. Rahul, chai?”

Rahul nodded to the imp, and he scampered off, appearing moments later with two glasses of steaming tea.

Vivek looked around him, then began checking his coat pockets.

“What are you doing?” asked Rahul.

Vivek replied, “Looking for my Cunningham. What did you write for that question—‘Lady between two Majors’?”

“Latissimus dorsi.”

Vivek smacked his head. “I knew it! I knew it, but it just wouldn’t come to my mind at that moment. I could remember the two majors—Pectoralis major and Teres major, right? Then I strained my brain, thinking that the name of the ‘Lady’ didn’t sound anything like that of the ‘Majors’, but—no luck!” He shook his head ruefully, then asked, “What was the answer for the muscle that abducts the shoulder? I wrote ‘deltoid’—and I just checked, deltoid does abduct the shoulder. So at least I got that right.”

But Rahul was shaking his head.

“Why? That wasn’t wrong!” exclaimed Vivek hotly.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but the question was to name the muscle that initiates the movement of abduction of the shoulder. Deltoid takes over the latter part of abduction. But it’s supraspinatus that initiates abduction.”

“s**t!” shouted Vivek, screwing up his face in disgust. “I knew I’d got the ‘Lady’ one wrong—I just wrote some rubbish—but I was pretty sure about the deltoid. And now that’s wrong too!” Then he brightened, saying, “Maybe they’ll give me half a mark. Deltoid does do abduction! I think I deserve at least half a mark.”

He insisted on reviewing each answer with Rahul, looking relieved when they had finished. “At least I didn’t lose any more marks,” he said. He was very competitive, but he knew he was out of his league with Rahul. It was early days yet, but he had realized that Rahul’s memory was phenomenal. It seemed to Vivek that his friend had only to read something once to commit it to memory. At least, short-term memory. But that was what one needed for exams and tests, anyway. For a moment, Vivek envied Rahul. He was tall—or at least, taller than Vivek—with a strong nose and chin, and he looked scholarly and serious when he put on his glasses, which he did occasionally to read something on the blackboard or to watch a movie. Vivek didn’t need glasses but wouldn’t have minded wearing them if they made him look good, the way they did Rahul.

“What a lesson,” said Vivek. “I was almost asleep when the lecture began, but then Hema Shah jolted me awake when she threatened to show us her ischial tuberosity!” he exploded with mirth. He had a very funny way of laughing—he sounded like a steam engine with his snorts, which then crescendoed into a guffaw.

Rahul grinned. “Yeah, that was unbelievable.”

They were still chuckling when a couple of seniors drew into sight and one of them put his hand on Vivek’s shoulder.

“Freshies, haanh?”

“Don’t you know the rule?”

“What rule?” asked Vivek. He had stopped smiling, and his shoulders tensed slightly under the senior’s grip.

“‘What rule?’” mimicked the senior. “I’ll tell you what rule. But first, what’s your name, smart guy? And don’t forget to call me sir this time.”

“Vivek…Sir,” he added after a long pause, during which the senior glared at him.

Vivek had obviously been considering whether to comply with the order, and had decided that he would be cooperative. Just this once. The next time the guy came asking for trouble, he was going to get it.

The senior relaxed perceptibly and smiled at them, having won this round, or so he thought.

“You aren’t allowed in the canteen until the Freshies’ Welcome. That’s the rule,” he informed them.

Rahul was hoping Vivek would keep quiet, and then maybe this obnoxious guy and his pals would let them get on with their chai and get out.

“What’s the Freshies’ Welcome?” asked Vivek.

Rahul squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.

“The Freshies’ Welcome is an occasion when we—” The senior grinned sardonically “—when we welcome the freshies, what else?” He had obviously decided to humour them, believing them to be singularly ignorant newcomers, rather than a couple of wise guys.

“But why aren’t we allowed in the canteen until then?” persisted Vivek, “And when is it going to be, anyway? We have to eat somewhere.”

The senior’s eyes narrowed and he took his hand off Vivek’s shoulder. He was rapidly revising his opinion of Vivek, who appeared to be a wise guy, after all.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” he stated darkly. “But we think,” his gesture included his group of cronies, one of whom was shaking his head theatrically, “that since you seem to know so little about your college, we must educate you a little bit.”

“In your own interests,” added one of the others, “or you might just walk into the canteen and some seniors might decide to rag you.”

Rahul resigned himself to his fate. He did not mind being quizzed by these fellows; after all this was a public place and they couldn’t make them do anything obscene. But it did appear that they had been earmarked as guys who would be providing much of the entertainment at the Freshies’ Welcome. Or at least, Vivek had, and by association Rahul had too. For a moment, he wondered if he should disown Vivek. After all, left to himself, Rahul would have acknowledged the senior’s warning, drunk his tea and left, and that would have been the end of the matter. These guys might not even have remembered them by the time the Freshies’ Welcome came round, but there was no longer any hope of that.

The Triumvirate pulled up chairs and made themselves comfortable.

“What are your names?” asked Vivek conversationally. Another mistake.

“Wait until you’re spoken to.” said one of the seniors irritably.

In Rahul’s opinion, Vivek had been asking to be ragged, and now he was going to get it. But Rahul was not going to desert Vivek whose bravado, he knew, would evaporate in a flash if he was left on his own. Now their best bet was to appear respectful and amiable, even a little dimwitted perhaps. They had already established that, anyway, by speaking out of turn.

For the moment he was not being accorded any attention, which suited him fine. It was as if their inquisitors, having realized that Rahul had simply been dragged into this, had decided for the time being not to punish him for his loyalty. Maybe his turn would come later. Right now all eyes were on Vivek, who was seated on the other side of the table and seemed to be reciting something in a low voice, despite strident exhortations to speak louder. His face was turning redder by degrees, but his expression was carefully controlled and his voice was even.

Rahul shifted back a couple of inches in his chair and cast his eyes about the crowded and noisy room. His glance took in two couples seated at the next table but one, and he looked again. They weren’t two couples, that is, they weren’t couples in the real sense. There were two boys and two girls, but the girls were surely from his own class. But what were they doing with those two senior guys? Same as us, thought Rahul. Being ragged. But surely they’d have known not to go to the canteen. He felt a bit better at the thought that he and Vivek weren’t the only two idiots who hadn’t known.

Zahi and Priya had been caught near the bushes that surrounded the Anatomy Department. They had thought a shortcut would be in order as they were getting late for their class, when they rounded a corner and almost collided with two seniors. Priya had begun to giggle, which was her usual response to almost everything, but Zahi had carefully arranged her face in a bland, non-confrontational kind of expression as she squared her shoulders to meet the opposition. Priya introduced herself and Zahi, just refraining from adding ‘now-can-we-go-please?’

The taller of the two young men was good-looking, with wavy brown hair and broad shoulders. He spoke so softly that Zahi had to strain to hear him.

“Bharat’s brother,” he said enigmatically. Obviously she had missed his initial words; she’d been so busy goggling at him. “I mean, I’m Bharat’s brother Akash. You know my brother Bharat?” He sounded almost as confused as she was.

Priya was giving Zahi a sidelong glance which said, ‘So you know this guy?’

“Yes, of course I do,” said Zahi, finding her voice. “Bharat, I mean,” turning towards Priya as she said, “We were in the same tutorial classes before this. Before medical college, I mean.” Then to Akash, “He did say he had a brother here, but I didn’t realize—you don’t look like him at all…” her voice trailed off, but Akash didn’t say anything. Zahi could feel Priya’s eyes boring into the back of her head.

Akash’s companion cleared his throat. Zahi didn’t know his name but presumably he had introduced himself when she hadn’t been listening.

“How about you two accompanying us to the canteen?”

“Do we have to?” Priya was smiling her most bewitching smile. “That sounded more like an order than a request, Rohit.” On first name terms already, thought Zahi, as Rohit hastened to rephrase his question in a more gentlemanly manner. Priya was looking up at him, her dimples dancing mischievously, as they walked down the path that led to the canteen. Zahi turned her attention back to Akash, who was asking her something in that very soft voice of his. Her stomach seemed to be gently turning somersaults.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t catch what you said,” she mumbled, hoping he wouldn’t think she was dumb. She quickly glanced down at her attire and was glad that she had worn her best fitting, favourite pair of jeans today.

“So, what’s your philosophy in life, Zahi?” repeated Akash.

The question took her completely unawares and she retorted before she could stop herself, “Are you ragging me?”

His eyes crinkled as he smiled at her disarmingly. “Well yes, you could say so. But we have to talk about something.”

What a trite question, thought Zahi. But perhaps he hadn’t had time to think of something better. And in any case, why should he want to impress her?

“To be happy, I suppose. I haven’t really thought about it,” she replied.

They walked on in silence. Akash seemed slightly disappointed with her reply.

“But do you think that’s good enough, to just want to be happy? I mean, could one be happy without experiencing the highs and lows of existence—creative passion, the thrill of ambition—what about all that?”

A poet, too. Or was he mocking her?

“What about it?” she blurted out. Then, afraid that she might have been rude, she added, “I don’t think I’d be happy doing nothing, not experiencing…what you said. I’d want to live a full life, busy, productive,” here she blushed, but went on, “But I’d like to be happy. After all, what would be the point if one wasn’t?”

A pause, then he said slowly, “Yes…I suppose so.”

She couldn’t tell from his response whether he was pleased or not, and was annoyed that it should matter to her.

“Perhaps my ideas are too simplistic for you?” she said, trying to keep the sharpness out of her voice.

“No, no…not at all,” he hurried to reassure her, gallantly. “I just wondered whether you meant it.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” she said evenly.

He did not reply, and now they were walking up the steps of the canteen. Priya and Rohit were chatting animatedly like old friends and their conversation was punctuated with Priya’s giggles.

But Zahi couldn’t think of anything to say. Casting about in her mind for a suitable topic of conversation, she said, “I—” and at the same moment, Akash said, “What—” and they both stopped and laughed.

“I’m sorry—you were saying?” said Akash.

“No, you go ahead,” insisted Zahi.

Pehle aap.

“I was going to ask you what you’ll have,” said Akash.

“What do they serve? I’ve never been here before,” replied Zahi.

“Of course, you haven’t.” He indicated the menu on a blackboard on the wall across from them.

“I’ll have the bhelpuri,” decided Zahi, after studying the board for a while.

They ate in silence, occasionally interrupted by a question or comment from Akash to which she replied politely. She didn’t want to appear excessively garrulous, but being tongue-tied was an equally undesirable state of affairs.

At times like this, Zahi remembered the crippling shyness that she had struggled to conquer in her early teens, determined that she would not miss out on things anymore. She started speaking up, initiating conversations where earlier she would have waited to be addressed. But she knew that she would never, so to speak, be the life and soul of the party. She was too afraid of making a fool of herself in front of a lot of people. Even now, she didn’t want to feign brightness when she wasn’t feeling particularly bright, so she just ate her food primly, wishing she could think of something clever to say.

She was relieved when Akash looked at his watch and said, “We have a lecture at two, Rohit. We should go if we plan to attend it. At least I should. I’m low on attendance.” He stood up and said, “See you some time, Zahi. Nice to have met you. And you, Priya.” As they got up to go, Zahi caught sight of her reflection in the mirror on the wall above the washbasin.

Damn! There was some green stuff stuck between her teeth.