Memory may usually play funny games with one’s mind, but sometimes it can be deadly serious. As it was with me just last week as I was forced to traverse Josip Broz Tito Road, where Delhi is building its first BRT (Bus Rapid Transit) segment of 5.8 km. My driver had warned me against crossing it even at this late evening hour. But rushing for a live appearance at the NDTV studio I had no real option. Truth to tell, I was also curious to see what the commotion was all about.

I will not waste your time, or this paper’s space, to describe to you what a revelation it was. For that you read the front pages of all Delhi newspapers every day. I will only tell you what it reminded me of: my four-year tryst with biology. And while that I still managed to graduate with flying colours speaks more for how a disastrous examination system can somehow deliver you a brilliant result, none of my teachers would even have vouched for my skills with the scalpel in the zoology lab. Every unfortunate animal that died for the sake of mankind — as in the ’70s you only studied biology to try and become a doctor — turned into a mass of blood and goo on my dissection table. Veins and arteries, muscle and bone all lay in a horrible mess as I, invariably, looked apologetically to the teacher or the lab attendant for help. All I got in return was the look that said, “And what if you ever became a surgeon! If you ever opened up a patient for surgery, you would never be able to stitch him back together!”

... contd.