{"id":900,"date":"2026-01-12T07:03:56","date_gmt":"2026-01-10T23:05:55","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/books.kalantri.co.in\/?page_id=900"},"modified":"2026-03-03T00:02:55","modified_gmt":"2026-03-03T05:32:55","slug":"medicine-spoke-only-english","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/sp.kalantri.co.in\/gmc73\/the-crucible\/medicine-spoke-only-english\/","title":{"rendered":"When Medicine Spoke Only English"},"content":{"rendered":"

Learning a New Language\u2014of Words and Bodies<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n

Coming from a vernacular school, the early months of medical college felt like being dropped into unfamiliar waters. Subjects such as Anatomy and Physiology were taught entirely in English, and the language itself seemed to stand between us and understanding. Words were long, unfamiliar, and stubborn. Compared to classmates from English-medium schools, I felt slow, uncertain, and quietly intimidated.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Textbooks made no concessions. They assumed fluency\u2014not only in English, but in a vocabulary that belonged neither to school nor to daily life. Reading a single page could take an inordinate amount of time. Often, comprehension lagged behind effort.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So we improvised. English\u2013Marathi dictionaries became constant companions, carried as faithfully as notebooks. We spent extra hours speaking, reading aloud, writing, correcting one another. Progress was slow, almost invisible, but it was steady. We learned not only the language of medicine, but the patience it demanded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It took nearly a year. Somewhere along the way, the words lost their menace. Concepts began to settle. To our quiet satisfaction, some of us began to perform as well as\u2014and occasionally better than\u2014our classmates from convent schools. The fear receded. Confidence, tentative at first, found its footing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

During the first year and a half, we were taught by a formidable group of teachers\u2014many of whose names remain etched in memory. Anatomy was taught by Dr. P. N. Dubey, Dr. Shakuntala Navgiri, Dr. Sathe, Dr. Mrs. Mahajan, Dr. Saxena, Dr. Shah, Dr. Gavhale, Dr. Jacob, Dr. Koranne, and Dr. Shegaokar. Physiology came alive under Dr. P. S. Vaishwanar, Dr. J. N. Deshpande, Dr. Rajwade, Dr. S. K. Ganeriwal, Dr. Kher, Dr. Mrs. S. A. Patwardhan, and Dr. Usha Joshi. Biochemistry was taught by Dr. Mrs. Indu Vaishwanar, Dr. Harihar Tiwaskar, Dr. R. D. Shukla, Dr. C. N. Kowale, Dr. Parate, and Dr. Govind Verma.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Passing the First MBBS examination loomed over us as the first major milestone. The syllabus was vast, the pace relentless. Memorisation was unavoidable, understanding indispensable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The anatomy dissection hall left a particularly lasting impression. Situated on the ground floor of the main building, it was dimly lit and perpetually serious. Marble tables held preserved human bodies, each covered with a cloth that did little to soften the reality beneath. The smell of formalin was overpowering. It clung to our clothes, our hair, our skin, and followed us into lecture halls and dining rooms.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Working in groups of eight, we took turns dissecting organs\u2014the heart, lungs, liver, kidneys\u2014and later, the brain, muscles, tendons, and nerves. Standing face to face with a motionless human body was unsettling at first. Curiosity competed with hesitation. Some approached the task eagerly; others stood back, watching, unsure when courage would arrive.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The work demanded precision. Instructors expected accuracy and attention to detail. There was little room for carelessness. After hours in the hall, lunch was a challenge. Appetite was dulled by the persistent smell of formalin. A few students felt faint; some collapsed briefly. We learnt to recover quickly and return the next day, as if nothing had happened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Anatomy itself was unforgiving\u2014dense with facts, names, and relationships. The viva voce examinations were an ordeal. Examiners questioned relentlessly, probing for weaknesses. We approached the viva table with apprehension, hearts racing, aware that confidence could evaporate at the first poorly answered question.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For anatomy, many of us relied on D. K. Kadasne\u2019s two-volume textbook, known for its hand-drawn illustrations. It was a constant presence. Certain mnemonics offered small mercies. One, in particular, stayed with us: \u201cSadhana Looks Too Pretty; Try To Catch Her<\/em>\u201d\u2014a reliable guide to recalling the eight carpal bones. In moments of panic, it never failed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Looking back, those early struggles taught us more than anatomy alone. We learnt perseverance, humility, and the quiet satisfaction of mastering what once seemed impossible. Medicine, we discovered, required not only intellect, but endurance\u2014and a willingness to learn, again and again, from the beginning.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n

Shyam Bawage teaching us Anatomy<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n

Imagine walking into the dissection hall of the GMC in 1974, where the smell of preserved cadavers lingered in the air and the sound of metal instruments clinking against each other could be heard in the distance. Amidst the chaos and confusion of students trying to navigate their way through the human body, there stood Shyam Bawage, Roll No 7, who knew Anatomy like the back of his hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Bawage was our classmate, hailing from a small town and having studied in a Marathi school. Despite this, he possessed a remarkable talent for teaching Anatomy and had the ability to keep his classmates spellbound with his lectures. In fact, just a couple of months after he had entered the portals of GMC and even before he took his first MBBS examination, he taught Anatomy to his classmates in the dissection hall, effortlessly guiding them through the intricacies of the human body.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

With confidence and ease, Bawage took centre stage and began his lecture. His classmates gathered around him, eager to soak up his knowledge and expertise. As he spoke, he guided them through the intricate web of nerves, muscles, tendons, vessels, and viscera that made up the human body. His explanations were clear and concise, and his passion for the subject shone through in every word he uttered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The students listened in awe as Bawage brought the body to life, painting a vivid picture of the inner workings of human anatomy. They watched in amazement as he deftly dissected the cadaver before them, revealing the secrets hidden within. They hung on his every word, captivated by his enthusiasm and expertise.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And so it went, day after day, as Bawage’s classes became legendary among his classmates. They made a beeline for the dissection hall, eager to learn from the young man who knew Anatomy like no other. And in the process, they came to appreciate the beauty and complexity of the human body, thanks to Bawage’s expert guidance and unwavering passion for the subject.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n

Of Wright, Wrath, and Warmth<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n

Physiology arrived as a formidable subject. At an age when we were still learning how to manage our own lives, we were handed the twelfth edition of Textbook of Applied Physiology by Samson Wright, a book written in 1926 by an author who was only twenty-seven at the time. It was revered across the world and treated, in our classrooms, as nothing short of sacred.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I bought my copy from S. Bhattacharya and Company in Dhantoli, a bookshop that seemed to exist solely for the benefit of medical students. With Wright as our guide, we set out to understand how the heart pumped blood, how the lungs breathed life into us, how food turned into energy, how nerves sensed the world, and how muscles obeyed intention.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Progress was slow. One page could take hours. Concepts resisted easy understanding. Worse still, venturing beyond Wright into other textbooks was regarded as an act of heresy. Doing so invited the displeasure of our professor, as though one had strayed from the only true path.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Examinations reflected this severity. Questions were difficult, marking unforgiving. Passing demanded relentless effort, stamina, and\u2014if truth be told\u2014a measure of good fortune.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not all learning, however, followed solemn lines. In theory classes, some of my more mischievous classmates occupied the back benches. Paper arrows flew. Movie songs were sung\u2014one student taking the male part, another the female. The lecturer\u2019s appeals for silence went largely unheeded. The young teacher appeared earnest but helpless, and the class unfolded in parallel streams of physiology and mischief.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Biochemistry proved no kinder. The Krebs cycle became our constant companion\u2014and tormentor. We memorised every step: acetyl-CoA meeting oxaloacetate, citrate forming and breaking down, ATP emerging, carbon dioxide escaping, electrons finding their way. We were expected not only to understand this cycle but to reproduce it faultlessly in theory papers and viva voce examinations.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

One incident from 1974 remains vivid. Pramod Bhise was scheduled to present a seminar on the autonomic nervous system. He had prepared diligently, using a textbook by C. C. Chatterjee. Unfortunately for him, Professor P. S. Vaishwanar believed that only Samson Wright was worthy of trust.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The seminar began badly and deteriorated quickly. Professor Vaishwanar interrupted Bhise repeatedly, firing questions in the manner of Wright himself\u2014an approach later noted by Alex Sakula in Wright\u2019s obituary. Bhise faltered. When the professor discovered that Chatterjee, not Wright, had been Bhise\u2019s source, his patience vanished. In a moment of fury, he struck Bhise\u2019s name off the attendance register, tore out the page, and declared that he would never pass.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Bhise left the classroom humiliated and frightened. His father\u2014a farmer from a small village in Akola district\u2014was equally bewildered. He knew nothing of Wright or Chatterjee, only that his son had offended a powerful teacher. Summoning courage, he accompanied Bhise to the professor\u2019s office and offered a heartfelt apology in simple Marathi.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This, however, did not have the desired effect. Professor Vaishwanar was incensed that a parent had been brought into the matter. It took time for his anger to subside. Eventually, it did. Bhise was forgiven, passed his examination on the first attempt, and went on to build a distinguished career as a microbiologist and professor.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

If Professor Vaishwanar embodied awe and authority, Mrs. Vaishwanar represented its gentle counterbalance. She was an outstanding teacher of biochemistry, but more than that, she radiated kindness. Many of us called her \u201cmummy,\u201d not out of flippancy, but affection.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When her husband\u2019s temper left students shaken, she was there to reassure us. She explained his strictness with a quiet smile, reminding us that even great teachers had their moods. Her presence softened the classroom. Her words restored confidence. She listened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Together, the Vaishwanars taught us more than physiology and biochemistry. One instilled discipline through fear and exactitude; the other through warmth and understanding. Between them, we learnt not only science, but something of human nature\u2014how authority can wound, and how kindness can heal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And perhaps that, too, was part of our medical education.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Learning a New Language\u2014of Words and Bodies Coming from a vernacular school, the early months of medical college felt like being dropped into unfamiliar waters. Subjects such as Anatomy and Physiology were taught entirely in English, and the language itself seemed to stand between us and understanding. Words were long, unfamiliar, and stubborn. Compared to … Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":556,"menu_order":2030,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-900","page","type-page","status-publish"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nWhen Medicine Spoke Only English \u2014 Stetho in Sevagram<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"The struggle of learning medicine in a second language. 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