I was really an average student with no claims or pretensions, or desire to clear my medical subjects with good marks. I have lost a few terms, first for attendance shortage, second for poor performance and third for being an outspoken, thorn in the flesh of powers that be – that means the in-house examiners. They rubbed their palms with glee when they saw me in the practical and viva voce hall: they mauled me, for my manners (or lack of it), my impudence, my insolence and last but not least, my shoulder length mane. In the late sixties and seventies, it was an 'in' style, but much frowned upon among white coated professionals – for long hair was symbolic of a hippie subculture, of subversion or drugs and flower power – none of which I was subscribed to – yet, for daring to look different I paid much by was of penalty.

But took it all sportingly and in my stride: I wasn’t a moron, and I and my examiners knew it – only I was different, and I couldn’t help it. But I persevered on, relentless and unshaken, till, one or two kindly souls, looked beyond, beneath and through my mop top, and felt I deserved a better deal than a fourth attempt casualty – so I ended up with an MBBS, far later than many in my class. One professor in a final year subject took particular ‘interest’ in me, and singled me out for the most complicated questions (for an undergraduate, that is). He derived much sadistic pleasure in joking and jibing at me and my appearance, once, even promising during the session, to pass me if I consented to lop my locks. Since that was never an option for me, I flunked again, and again – till time removed him from the examiner-ship panel and a more liberated don came in his stead.

My run of misfortune didn’t cease after my clearing final year, for Lady Luck played cruel games again, shunting me for my clinical posting during Internship, right into that very professor’s unit – and so it continued, the endless and lengthy sessions of ridiculing and belittling. He wore a sneer (which hid a sinister smile) when he sanctioned me one day’s absence – when I requested permission and leave to get married in Bangalore and return.

After my rotating houseman year got through – I felt the bondage and bonds that had burdened me down for years, lifted, and so, elated and emancipated, I walked up to his cabin and told him exactly what I thought of him and swore that some day, I would have more research papers in his specialty in five years than he had in twenty-five. I heard him roar with laughter as I left, sick in the pit of my stomach.

With much stress, financially and personally, I pushed my way through a postgraduate degree, worked my way up the professional career ladder – till one fine day, I found myself in the Head of Department’s chamber – not as a caller, but as the one chosen to occupy that chair. Over the years, I cultivated a love for teaching and research, achieving my targets and goals – getting promotions and awards in both. I regularly mailed an envelope or two now and then to my former professor, enclosing reprints of research publications – which by now had reached more than twenty-five, with nine or more in his specialty alone.

Early one dawn, I heard an ambassador car park near my gate, and lo and behold, I saw my former nemesis, aged now, but still as grim and granite faced as he had been decades earlier. He hemmed and hawed, till he came to the crux of the matter that had delivered him to my door – his son was appearing for his university examination in my subject, and could I help him, please?

His son was mired in anatomy in another medical college, two attempts down already, and the father was desperate and at wits end. He had learnt that I had been appointed examiner as an external to his son’s institute – so, he was here, pleading, crawling, cringing for grace and benevolence.

Life indeed runs in cycles. What is up, must come down, and vice versa. It was pathetic to see this once haughty man, squirming like a worm, begging. All the past years, I had hoped such a situation, when the mighty bite dust, would happen - and now when Ozymandiaz was floored, somehow, it didnt elate me. It wrenched my heart and saddened me. This shouldn’t happen to any parent: if only the son could see what a humiliating and humbling show his father had to perform – in front of someone he had treated with such contempt and derision – it would have sickened him.

I did go to that college as examiner and I did help the boy, two extra marks negated the two less his own internal had given him for perceived ‘insolence and impudence and long hair’. The lad finished his medical course with a first class, completed his post-graduation too, and is now a much respected medical college teacher – a teacher with his heart in the right place.

Postscript: Be nice to people on your way up, you may need them on your way down.