My Nephew Wants to Be a Doctor. I Have Better Ideas.
A doctor, an uncle, and a country full of cockroaches.
(Written in the middle of India’s cockroach protests. Read it as satire, not literally.)
The problem with today’s youth is their seriousness. About everything. Look at them. Ask them their goal in life and they will actually tell you one. Seriously, who thinks like that?
Yesterday I asked my nephew, “What do you want to become when you grow up?”
“Doctor,” he said, without an iota of doubt. I kept looking at him. I hoped he would give me options. Multiple choices. Let me pick one. That’s how elders choose careers for kids.
“Or?” I asked, hoping he would get the hint. I wanted something realistic. A bus conductor. A sweeper. Anything. But he looked dead serious about his so-called choice.
“A doctor,” he said, shrugging the options out of my head.
“Okay. So what’s your plan to become a doctor?” I gave up after five minutes of staring at him.
“Entrance exam.” He nodded, like he had passed a judgment.
I kept looking at him. Who suggests such a thing in a country where people prefer easier ways to become a doctor? Bribe someone. Throw your father’s money at a seat. But he looked determined.
God, who teaches these kids concepts like determination and courage nowadays. I am determined to throw such people out of the country.
“Why?” I finally asked.
The reluctance in my voice made him uncomfortable. He studied my face like a doctor studies an incurable patient.
“What do you mean, why?” He wrinkled his nose. “There’s an entrance exam, so I’m appearing for it,” he shrugged.
I took off my spectacles. Rubbed them. Put them back on. I resisted the urge to call him an idiot. “Just because there’s an apple on the table, you don’t eat it. Do you?”
His brows met his nose, in what could be called mild amusement. “Yes. Why not? I love apples.”
I almost pulled my hair out. “I mean, just because there’s an exam, you don’t have to appear for it.” I cleared my throat. “There are better ways to become a doctor.”
“Like?”
I looked at the people behind me at the bus stop. An ad for a coaching centre promised to make kids doctors. I turned my nephew away from it.
“Convince your dad to donate his kidney instead. It’ll get you there faster.”
“But I don’t want to be a nephrologist. I want to be a heart surgeon.” He smiled.
I wanted him to ask for his dad’s heart instead. But wishing his father dead was my goal, not his.
“My point is, there’s no point in giving the entrance exam. It’s rigged. Don’t you watch TV? Read the news? Ask your father to buy you a seat instead.”
“I only watch reels.” He chuckled as if I were an oldie from an old movie.
“Look, buddy, I don’t care what shit you watch. But there’s a pattern in this country. Entrance exams are like believing in gods. You keep faith that it’ll work in your favour. But it mostly works for people with money. So get your dad’s kidney, heart, whichever organ you prefer, and buy yourself a seat.”
He pulled his hand away from mine. I heard him breathing hard, so I stepped back. Getting hit by a teenager would embarrass me more than sitting a rigged exam ever could.
“You are such a pessimist, Uncle.” He shook his head. “I have already appeared for the entrance exam twice. Instead of giving me hope, you tell me the paper will leak again? The government promised it wouldn’t happen. And you won’t believe them?”
See, that’s the problem with today’s youth. Too optimistic. Too much belief. Someone needs to tell them promises don’t exist as a concept in reality. They exist like ghosts do. Nobody has seen one. People believe anyway.
“Look, buddy, listen to me.” I paused. “Why do you want to become a doctor? To earn money, right? I’ll tell you an easier way. No struggle. No exam.”
“What?”
“Leave your studies. Leave school. That’s it.”
“What?” he looked confused.
“Leave school. Be illiterate. That’s the only qualification you need to become a politician. Or rich. Eventually.” I nodded.
His mouth fell open. He shook his head. “I want to be a doctor. That’s what I’ll be.”
For the next few minutes, I listed the benefits of becoming a politician. Cheat people out of their money. Answer to no one. Zero accountabilities. Corruption with no risk of getting caught. Authoritarianism thrown in for free.
But nothing appealed to this goal-oriented idiot.
“No matter how much you try to kill my goal, I will re-emerge with stronger determination,” he said. “Just like a cockroach.”
My eyes fell on a pest control ad in the background. I thought for a while. No matter how much I tried to explain it to him, he couldn’t be bogged down.
He pulled out his phone and went back to his reels. I watched the students passing by, heavy bags on their shoulders, more than they could carry.
“Okay, fine, buddy. Become a doctor.” I looked at him. “But become a doctor of the shoulders specifically. You’ll get plenty of patients.” I pointed at the students. “It’s quite painful carrying the burden of expectations families pass down to their kids.”
He scrunched his brow. “You mean an orthopedician?”
“What?” I said, unable to even pronounce the word.
He chuckled. “Looks like you already qualify to be a politician.” He went back to his reels, where millions of students protested. My mind, meanwhile, dreamt of rolling in unaccounted money. Not giving a shit about accountability.
But hell. Who teaches these kids things like hope? My mind is now filled with it too.
P.S-No cockroaches or politicians were hurt in the making of this story. All resemblance is highly intentional. This is a work of satire.
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