I recently had a medical student intern with me for a few weeks. Rukin had finished two years of medical college in Germany, and as he was interested in neuroscience, he decided to shadow me during his vacation. He was a sharp, well-groomed boy with a deep husky voice and full crop of thick black hair—none of the qualities I had possessed as a medical student.

He was 21. I am 42. Looking at him, I couldn’t help but remember my time as a medical student. About a little more than two decades ago, I stood meekly outside the administrative office of Grant Medical College and Sir JJ Group of Hospitals, immensely grateful to have secured admission with a little bit of merit and a lot of luck. In 1999, ours was the first batch that discounted the HSC marks and had a separate medical entrance exam. I remember 200 of us gathered in the voluminous anatomy lecture hall, where pigeons used to routinely fly across the room during lectures. Our anatomy professor was a pleasing roundish gentleman with buck teeth that allowed the air to pass through smoothly every time he spoke. “Anatomy is something everyone has, but in my opinion, it looks better on a girl,” was his icebreaker, amidst a few giggles and many glares.