I was born in Nagpur on 20 December 1958. My father had migrated from Rawalpindi to India during the partition in 1947. First, he came to Punjab, then moved to Nagpur in 1952, where he started a transport business.

I often call my parents “illiterate but educated.” Let me explain. My father could only read and write Urdu; he didn’t know Hindi, Marathi, English, or Gurmukhi. Before he left Rawalpindi, he had studied only up to fourth grade. My mother could read and write Punjabi, but she did not know Hindi, Marathi, or English. Yet they understood the power of education. By 1968, they had four children. My sister earned her MSc. My elder brother Joginder Singh became a chartered accountant in 1976. My second brother, Ravinder Singh, became an engineer.

So when it was my turn, my father used his own clear logic. “We already have a CA and an engineer in the family,” he said. “Now, Tarvinder will become a doctor.” And that was it. In ninth grade, I switched from mathematics to biology, and that’s how I began my journey toward medicine.

I studied at Prudent High School up to fourth grade, then at SFS School for 5th to 11th, and did my first year of BSc at SFS College, Seminary Hills, Nagpur.

When MGIMS announced its PMT, I appeared for it. The test had two papers with essay-type questions. The system was a bit chaotic then. Candidates were not called for interviews based on marks or names. For example, although my name was Tarvinder, I was called on day one. My interview started at 9 am, and by 10, it was over.

In 1976, MGIMS held its own PMT—separate from AIIMS and BHU.

The interview? Let’s just say it wasn’t exactly a crucible of merit. I suspect it was designed to give a second chance to those who hadn’t aced the written exam. Or to help someone with the right connection.

No guidelines. No clarity.

Were they judging our knowledge? Communication? Empathy?

None of the above.

You were called in. Sat down. A random question, a polite nod, and out you went.

A one-minute ritual that felt more like a formality than a filter.

I remember noticing that the final selection list wasn’t alphabetical. That told me one thing—it was likely based on exam scores. Still, I knew someone who was interviewed at the very end of the day and ended up near the top of the list.

So what was the process, really?

The interview stretched from 9 in the morning to 5 in the evening. But the purpose? A mystery.

And yet, here we are.

Decades later, I look back—not at the fairness of the process, but at what each of us did with the seat we got. Whether deserved or not, it was an opportunity.

Some climbed high. Others served quietly.

In the end, life gave us a path. And we walked it.

How we got there?

Perhaps less important than what we did once we arrived.

When the merit list was put up on the principal’s office noticeboard, four students from Maharashtra were on the waitlist: Santosh Prabhu at number one, me (Tarvinder Singh Oberoi) at number two, Nitin Gupta at number three, and Mridul Panditrao at number four.

Someone told us that results for GMC and IGMC Nagpur were yet to be announced. Many students might leave Sevagram for government medical colleges, which had better infrastructure, higher reputations, and lower fees. So, we decided to wait.

Santosh and I rented a room at the Annapoorna Hotel near Wardha Railway Station and stayed there for a week. We became such good friends with the hotel owner, Surendra Bajaj, that by the second day, we were sitting at his desk, collecting cash from customers and chatting with them as if it were our own hotel.

A few days later, exactly four seats were vacated. All four of us—Santosh, Nitin, Panditrao, and I—got admission to MGIMS Sevagram.

That day began a lifelong friendship between Santosh Prabhu and me. We became family. When Santosh got married, my entire family—parents, brothers, uncles, aunts—attended his wedding. When I got married, his entire family came too.

Years later, when Santosh opened his 300-bed hospital, he invited me specially for the pre-inauguration function, which he named Mere Apne (My Own). His entire family was there, and so was mine.

It has been nearly fifty years since we entered MGIMS as the 1976 batch. Our friendship has only deepened over time. Even today, I can still feel the fragrance of those early days in Sevagram, and for that, I am forever grateful to MGIMS.