In 1982, I began my medical career as a senior resident in Medicine.

By 1983, while living in Wardha with my parents, 8 km away from the medical college, I began teaching the 1979 batch of students from MGIMS.

That summer, Sevagram faced a severe water shortage. Wells dried up, rivers shrank, overhead tanks emptied, and taps ran dry. The 300 students in the hostels struggled as basic needs went unmet, making cooking impossible.

Dr. Chhabra used to say, “Water is the most precious thing now. When we have water, I try to fill every utensil in my kitchen, even a teaspoon.”

She couldn’t have found a better way to describe the lack of water.

As conditions worsened, the Dean sent students home until the monsoon brought relief four months later. During this period, parents questioned whether their children had been sent home officially or suspended. It was a time before cell phones, laptops, or the internet existed, and students grappled with boredom. They struggled to find ways to pass the time at home. Most deeply missed the camaraderie with their hostel companions.

For those four months, they were away from Sevagram. The classes of 1979 and 1980 will always remember the summer of 1983 spent in their homes.

As it began to rain, the students came back, but they had missed four months of theory classes and practicals. Their final MBBS exams were set for November, and the students and the teachers had a tough job catching up on the missed lessons and syllabus.

So, classes started at 7 am, an hour earlier than usual. At 8 am, another theory class followed. From 9 am to 1 pm, clinics were split between two departments: students studied strokes and broken heart valves in medicine, then rushed to the surgery wards to learn about hernias and hydroceles.

Everyone had to work hard to catch up.

Back then, Dr. OP Gupta led the Medicine department with Dr AP Jain and Dr Ulhas Jajoo as unit heads. They wore discipline on their Khadi shirts, arriving promptly at 7 am and expecting their juniors to follow suit.

7 am. How many students today would wake up, get dressed, skip their tea, and trek from the hostel to attend a full 60-minute class? Yet, back then, MGIMS students did just that, with hardly a single absence.

I was tasked with teaching disorders of the lungs to the undergraduate batches. At 7 am.

One morning, I was in a rush. I had visited my sister in Bhopal over the weekend, and on Monday morning, I had a 7 am theory class to teach in Wardha.

Little did I know, my return journey would turn into a frantic race against time. The train was delayed, and anxiety grew with each passing minute. I kept checking my watch, hoping the train would speed up.

The train came to Wardha East, now Sevagram, at 6:35 am. I had just 25 minutes to get to my lecture. Home was a mile away and no auto-rickshaws were there.

I had to move fast.

I ran from the station to my house. I could not be late and risk the anger of the three bosses in my department.

I quickly washed up, switched into a khadi shirt and trousers, and slipped on my Quo Vadis sandals. Before my mother could even offer me a glass of milk, I was already on my Priya scooter, heading towards Sevagram.

I had to make every second count.

Halfway between home and Sevagram, I hit another obstacle: a manual railroad crossing near Wardha East station.

The crossing, run by railway staff, often stayed closed for long periods as slow passenger and freight trains passed. The gatekeeper had closed it because the Nagpur Bhusawal train was coming through.

It was 6:50 am, and my lecture was starting in 10 minutes. Panic set in as I ran out of options.

Then, I had an idea. I saw a friend stuck on the other side. We swapped scooters, and I jumped onto his. He was heading to Wardha, the opposite direction from my route to Sevagram.

The borrowed Lambretta was old, worn-out, and noisy. I sped down the empty road, wind rushing past, adrenaline fuelling my speed. Hoping to arrive on time, I pushed the Lambretta to full throttle. The meter showed 80 km/h. Helmets were unheard of; I rode without one.

Finally, I reached the college. I struggled to park the old Lambretta on the muddy, slippery ground outside and rushed into the Adhyayan Mandirโ€”the lecture hallโ€”just as the clock struck 7.

The 1979 batch of students looked up, surprised to see me on time. As I caught my breath, ran a comb through my thinning hair, collected my thoughts, and began writing on the blackboard, I felt a sense of pride and accomplishment.

Making it on time after that challenge filled me with satisfaction. It was a small win, but it meant a lot.