The Nostalgic Corridor
There are places that exist only as buildings. And then there are places that quietly become a part of who we are.
The photo of the corridor of the Gauhati Medical College posted by Rondeep, with its vast, echoing space with worn stone floors, the familiar staircase, fading notice boards, was the beating heart of our college life. Looking at the photo now, it feels strangely familiar and wonderfully foreign at the same time.
The walls are cleaner. The vending machine stands where we stood in clusters with gossip and tea cups from the canteen. Now, the corridor is quieter. More orderly. More purposeful. It is undoubtedly better.
Yet, somewhere between the polished floors and formal notices, I find myself searching for the ghosts of our youth. This was where we celebrated. Where we laughed without restraint. Remember a shy Yaupi crooning a love-song as Diganta played the guitar? Abir's tunes and Partha's "musu- musu haasi" transformed this ordinary place into an auditorium filled with music, dance, applause, and youthful dreams. Dipak's palmistry predictions were discussed here too. There was no need for elaborate stages or sophisticated lighting. We had enthusiasm, friendships, and the conviction that every gathering would become a memory worth carrying for life. Thankfully, that emotion continues among our batchmates..
This was where we arrived as freshers, with hopeful eyes and seniors waited with mischievous smiles. Yes, ragging began here.
Today, the word carries deserved discomfort, and rightly so. No one should ever be humiliated in the name of tradition. But memory has its own way of separating cruelty from camaraderie. What many of us remember is not fear, but nervous introductions, forgotten names, trembling voices, shared laughter, and eventually, friendships that lasted a lifetime. This corridor was where strangers slowly became family.
Every staircase carried stories because there were no lifts to rescue us, atleast we didn't get inside those boxes frequently.. We climbed the stairs countless times every day; scurrying after anatomy practicals, rushing for lectures, carrying heavy books, skipping steps when late, or lingering halfway through simply because someone interesting was sitting there. Those stairs taught us patience, endurance, and perhaps unknowingly, prepared us for the long climb that our professional life itself would become.
Medical science was demanding then. It is perhaps even more demanding now. But we were pretty carefree, weren't we? Today's students appear more serious, more focused, more aware that competition begins from the very first day. Their schedules are tighter, expectations higher, distractions greater. Unlike us, they wear uniforms (of absolutely colourless and boring hues!). They navigate a world of online lectures, digital resources, entrance exams and social media visibility, and these were pressures we never knew.
We had fewer resources. They have fewer pauses. Perhaps every generation envies something about the next while secretly believing theirs was simpler.
The corridor has evolved, just as medical education has.
Technology has entered where handwritten notes were in demand, especially Julie's... Vending machines have replaced hurried trips to the canteen. Safety has replaced unchecked traditions. Professionalism has replaced casual chaos.
But I hope one thing never changes. I hope that this corridor continues to witness friendships born over shared anxieties before examinations. I hope juniors continue to discover mentors, classmates become lifelong colleagues, and somewhere in these corridors, someone still falls in love with medicine, and perhaps with another human being. Like Moitreyee-Partha, Diganta -Yaupi, Utpal - Pallabi, Animesh- Neelakshi, Sumana-Gunabhi....Because that is what colleges truly create. Not just doctors, but lives intertwined forever, either in friendship or in romance.
When I look at these photographs, I do not merely see a renovated lobby; I see echoes. I hear applause from forgotten functions. I hear Gunabhi singing "Mayabini"... I hear seniors calling out to nervous freshers. I hear footsteps racing up endless flights of stairs
And for a brief moment, I can almost see our younger selves, full of dreams, convinced that adulthood was still far away.
The corridor has grown older. So have we. But somewhere between these familiar walls, a small part of us is still waiting for the next lecture to begin, and for the next reunion of the Best Batch in the College, THE JAMBOREE!
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