In Good Faith

Anatomy

AnatomyIt was just past six a.m. and Rahul’s bedside alarm clock was shrilling loudly and ceaselessly. He sprang out of bed like a jack-in-the-box, suddenly remembering that he had planned to study for an hour before that morning’s Anatomy tutorial.

“Damn! I’m going to be late today. I hope the dragon-lady won’t notice if I slink in quietly.”

In fact, Rahul had already decided that he didn’t care much for Anatomy, although the Dissection Hall was okay in a ghoulish kind of way. His first foray into the Hall wasn’t fraught with disaster, as in the case of one or two of his classmates who’d felt queasy or fainted. He wasn't squeamish, but he had wondered what it would feel like, cutting up dead bodies. Now, as he gulped down a cup of coffee, he pictured the long Anatomy Dissection Hall with its stone tables and groups of students working at each of them, and was instantly transported back to the first time he had entered it. Nothing could really prepare one for the first sight of the Dissection Hall.

He recollected tiptoeing into the Hall with the other freshies, all looking around in dreadful anticipation of sights so horrific that they defied imagination. The Hall was so large that Rahul was sure that there would be an echo if he tried calling out from one end. Its very vastness seemed to have a mitigating effect on the scene, somehow unreal, before them. There were three long and fairly wide stone baths that divided the room neatly down the middle, but allowed passage between them from one side of the room to the other. From these, a couple of grey-uniformed peons were dragging out body parts, here an arm, there a leg, and occasionally a torso with arms attached, dumping them unceremoniously on the marble tables that lined both the long walls of the Hall. However, these body parts bore no resemblance to anything that the students had ever seen before, being only parts of a whole, and as such, seemed to have always been the inanimate objects that they now were.

Then came the moment they had all been expecting. An entire body was pulled out from the bath, and a muffled gasp arose from the crowd of students assembled near the tables. Rahul could see that the body was rigid as that of a mannequin in a shop window. As the peons deposited it on the nearest table, the students, their curiosity getting the better of them, came closer to look. Rahul was surprised to find that, although the cadaver was undoubtedly human, it was remarkably different from a live human body. For one thing, the skin was dark and leathery and the bones stood out like metal bars, while there seemed to be no fat on the body at all. The lips were mere strips of flesh that bordered the teeth, which were displayed in a grimace. Many of these cadavers were unidentified persons whose bodies had remained unclaimed from the mortuary. Most likely they were homeless wanderers who had met their deaths on the streets from starvation or exposure, and hence were severely malnourished.

Rahul quickly stripped and got into the shower, turning on the cold water faucet to prevent himself from getting scalded. He remembered how some of the students had seemed to find the sight of the body disturbing. A couple of the girls clapped their hands to their mouths and gulped, looking as though they were going to throw up. Perhaps it was the all-pervading smell of formalin, which was almost as bad as the smell of putrefying flesh. It was pungent enough to bring tears to your eyes if you bent too close to your cadaver, yet it also smelt sweetish in a sickening sort of way. It was used as a preservative for the bodies, injected through the jugular vein, and the other anatomy specimens were pickled in it as well. The smell of formalin got into your clothes and you couldn't get rid of it even after you had bathed, or maybe it got into your nostrils and lingered there all throughout the year. Rahul involuntarily rubbed himself harder with the soap.

“Won’t be long, though, before you’re eating your sandwiches in there at lunchtime,” Vivek had cheerfully assured Rahul on the first day of college.

The two boys had been standing next to each other in the long queue of students that wound its way up the stairs, waiting for the doors of the Dissection Hall to open. Vivek had grinned at him, and Rahul had grinned back, and a bond had been established which would last them through the next five years.

The household opposite, too, was arousing itself from slumber. The new inhabitant of the room upstairs, Atul, was hurriedly brushing his teeth while looking forward to a satisfying breakfast of toast, omelette and coffee. Mr and Mrs Perreira were early risers, though the same could not be said of the rest of their family. Mr Perreira went out for a walk as soon as he awoke, while Mrs Perreira bustled about in her kitchen, preparing breakfast for her brood. Atul usually ate alone, as he preferred to get to work early, so avoiding the mad crush of office-goers in the train at rush-hour, which was every hour from nine to noon. Besides, he found that solitude stimulated his creativity, and he felt he worked best when alone in the office early in the morning, with a cigarette dangling from his lips and a cup of coffee for comfort.

It was a typical monsoon day, with gray clouds completely blotting out the sun. It had been raining most of the night, and now the air was cool and moist. Atul strode quickly, ducking to avoid being splattered by the muddy spray from the wheels of the fast-moving black and yellow taxi cabs. A heavy downpour began suddenly, and he sprinted the last few steps to the bus stop, glad he’d worn his jeans and a waterproof jacket. He pulled the hood over his head, for the wind was blowing the rain right into the bus shelter, and the raindrops slashed at his face. A couple of bedraggled crows perched forlornly on the bars of the shelter; but for them, Atul was alone. The bus tore around the corner, leaning precariously, and stopped with a screech which caused the crows to fly off, cawing raucously, while Atul scrambled up the steps which were slippery with mud. So slippery, in fact, that a boy behind him who was scrabbling for a foothold seemed to be in imminent danger of sprawling on the road. As the bus roared off, Atul put out an arm and pulled the newcomer to safety.

“Thanks,” said Rahul, when he had caught his breath. He had recognised the guy from the swimming pool.

“You seem to be in a hurry,” said Atul.

“I am,” replied Rahul, “and if I’d missed this bus, there wouldn’t have been another one for half an hour.”

“You study in town?” inquired Atul.

“Yes, I’m in medical college,” replied Rahul. “I have to attend a lecture at half-past eight, and I might just make it, thanks to you. What about you, where do you work?” It was obvious that his new acquaintance was well past college-going age, so Rahul presumed that he had a job.

“I’m in advertising,” Atul said. “I work for an advertising firm called Panorama.” Rahul hadn’t heard of Panorama, but he nodded his head politely. “We handle quite a few important accounts,” Atul continued, naming some popular brands of detergent, coffee, and cosmetics. “I’m in charge of a major ad campaign at present. It’s quite a coup for our firm. In fact, I’ve got only two days to meet the client’s deadline, that’s why I thought I’d get some work done early this morning. I’m not going to get any sleep till this one is out of the way.” He grinned, “Saw you at the pool yesterday with your kid sister. I’m Atul, by the way. I live right opposite your place, at the Perreiras’, you know?”

Rahul introduced himself, adding wryly, “I know who you are. My sister found out as soon as you moved in.”

Atul laughed heartily. “Younger sisters are like that. I know. I’ve got two sisters. They’re married now, but when they were at home it was like being investigated by a detective agency.”

“You’re not married?” queried Rahul.

“Me? No way, man!” exclaimed Atul, smiling. “I intend to have fun for as long as I can.”

He seemed so sure of himself, career and everything, that Rahul envied him for a brief moment. His thoughts turned to his family. His father would have thought he was crazy if he’d said he wanted to work in an ad agency. Not that he did, but he wouldn’t have minded saying so just to shake his father out of his complacency. “What sort of career is that?” he would have stormed. “Throwing away a bright future!” No, he definitely wouldn’t have been sympathetic. And Ma wouldn’t have been much better. She always sided with his dad in these matters. “All this time you have been studying, managed to get admission to medical college, and now you want to leave?” she would say incredulously. And then there would be the inevitable recriminations, the tears from his mother, the alternating castigating and cajoling from his father. It was enough to make anyone sick. It wasn’t that he seriously wanted to quit; he just wasn’t sure what to do. Suppose he was making a terrible mistake? There would be no going back. Suddenly he wanted to unburden his mind to someone about the fact that medical college wasn’t so hot after all. Someone who could view the matter objectively, without getting all worked up about it—in other words, someone who wasn’t involved. But who?

The huge amphitheatre was filled with an animated buzz as students came in with their books and bags. The Anat Hall, as it was called, had a high ceiling with tiered rows of wooden desks sloping down to the front, where a large semicircular table occupied pride of place. A lectern stood beside the table, with the college crest adorning its front. The ancient desks were spattered with pigeon droppings, while the perpetrators gurgled gently on the rafters overhead.

Rahul slid into the hall and found a place in the very last row but one, just as the ‘dragon-lady’, Professor Hema Shah strode in right on time. Professor Shah was a stickler for punctuality. Besides, she had a no-nonsense attitude, a razor-sharp tongue and an incredible memory. She never ever forgot a misdeed. The din subsided into complete silence as she swept into the lecture theatre, an enormous woman swathed in a pale pink organdy saree which managed to make her look even larger. Her grey hair was pulled back tightly in a bun, and steel-rimmed spectacles completed the picture of a woman with a mission. Hers was to steer her students through the uncharted seas of Anatomy.

“Like a battleship with pink sails,” thought Rahul.

Professor Hema Shah turned to face the class. She did not say a word, but stood tapping the end of her pen against the palm of her hand, surveying the entire class, like a drill sergeant. When all eyes were on her, she rumbled, “I am going to test you on last week’s lesson…” but the rest of her words were drowned in the collective groan that emanated from the class.

Ignoring the grumbles that were audible from all parts of the theatre, “Not fair”, “We didn’t know”, “Haven’t studied”, she said, “I will write the questions on the blackboard, and you can begin right away. You and you—” pointing with the chalk, “please pass around the answer sheets. Hurry up, hurry up, child!”

This last was to a girl with her leg in a plaster cast, who was making her way slowly up the steps. “There’s no need to go up with a broken leg, is there? You can sit down where you are—right there,” she pointed. “Aren’t you the Mistry boy’s sister? Tell me, child, how will you look after your patients when you can’t even look after yourself…,” as she turned to the blackboard, tsk-tsking loudly. The girl flushed pink, mumbled an apology and hurriedly sat down.

Rahul quickly read through the questions on the board.

Formation of the brachial plexus?—Luckily, he had been reading that last night. But there was a horribly complicated diagram. He wasn’t sure of being able to reproduce that correctly.

Course of the brachial artery—draw the palmar arch—supracondylar fracture humerus.

“What’s Saturday night palsy?” hissed a voice behind him urgently.

Rahul knew the voice belonged to a plump youth with a serious case of acne. He didn’t know the guy’s name, but he knew that he was in the next Anatomy tutorial batch. This guy had informed him during their Anatomy orientation programme that he got a crop of pimples whenever he had an exam, and what he did then was to pop a couple of steroid pills. “Like if I have to meet someone. You know,” he winked significantly. “That zaps them right away.” Girls or pimples, Rahul wondered.

Now out of the corner of his eye, Rahul could see that the guy’s face was covered with angry-looking volcanic eruptions. But he couldn’t have known about the Anat test, so it didn’t seem as though exams were the only pimple precipitants in his life. Rahul frowned in concentration.

“Saturday night palsy…something to do with the radial nerve, I think,” he whispered back. “Thanks,” the guy muttered. “I’m not sure of the course of the radial nerve, but that’s okay. I’ll do the median nerve instead. At least she’ll give me a couple of marks for trying.”

Rahul didn’t think so, but he did not reply. Tests and exams in First MBBS did not have any choices of questions, and one never got marks for trying to be original. Either you knew the answer, or you did not. Patients never gave you a second chance or a choice, he was sure. Looking down, he could see the top of a girl’s head and on her desk was her neatly labelled drawing of the radial nerve. The fellow sitting behind him would have given much to change places with Rahul.

“Time’s up,” called the Professor, wagging her finger at a couple of students still scribbling furiously. “Pens down!” she added, with a frown.

Papers collected, Professor Hema Shah resumed her lecture. She wasn’t a great teacher, thought Rahul, but then nobody could make Anatomy enthralling. All around him, students were drowsing on their desks or carving graffiti into them.

“—and this is the ischial tuberosity, the bone that you sit upon. Here, I’ll show you,” boomed Professor Hema Shah. She turned, and the class erupted in delighted amusement. “Ha ha ha!”

Professor Hema Shah seemed oblivious of the sensation her words had caused as she picked up the hip bone from a pedestal behind her, then slowly revolved on the spot, her steely gaze fixed on the front rows of students, who were trying to stifle their amusement.

“You there,” she ordered, “come and hold this for me, please. Now this is the ischial tuberosity—”

But just then, a bell jangled and the chatter became more excited, books were collected, and the students left the room. Grunts and snorts of suppressed laughter were audible, which, once outside the classroom, bubbled to the surface and finally burst forth in glee. Professor Hema Shah was clapping her hands briskly to rid them of chalk dust, or perhaps it was the powder that covered the mouldering surface of the bones. She did not say a word, and her face was as impassive as ever.

Rahul blinked as the sunlight assaulted his eyes on emerging from the dimly lit Anat hall. Vivek was waiting for him outside. For once, he was looking wide awake after an Anatomy lesson.

“That was hilarious. I laughed so much that I feel ravenous. Come on, let’s go grab a bite,” said Vivek.