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The Three-Year Old Itch

- Shamit Chopra
from Spandan 1999

This insipid effort as an amateur poet is a feeble attempt to encapsulate the dilemma faced by a 3rd year MBBS student, who can't make up his mind on whether to "live life to the lees" (my sincerest apologies to James Joyce) or to drown himself in studies. Here goes...

Comes the 12-1 lecture, and I am thoroughly disgusted,
It seems as if my cerebral hemispheres have been busted;
Our esteemed professors are the worst,
Whenever it comes to bewildering the mind first;
On they go about their accomplishments,
Never paying heed to our predicament;
Overdone gesticulations and histrionics galore,
Always fail to dispel the fact that they are a big bore;
God take me back to the time,
When biological cramming held neither reason nor rhyme;
When Physics numericals and Chemistry equations hadus by the neck,
But when compared to THIS monstrosity, they were but a small speck;
Now I am at my wit's end,
Trying to fathom what and how I can comprehend
Today, as I frequent theatres with unconcealed glee,
There always hangs the Damocles' sword of a supplee;
As I look up to the masters of this "noble" profession,
I realize I have to make a candid confession;
Whenever I gaze at an eminent urologist or cardiologist,
I get the portentous feeling I'll fare no better than being a philologist;
Sometimes, I dismiss these thoughts as being borne by youthful truancy,
But then again - truancy could hardly be an alibi for lunacy;
A lunatic asylum, the best in the state,
Would suit me, not as a doctor but as an inmate;
My psychiatric future looks a bit hazy,
But what the hell! All docs must be crazy!

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