PROLOGUE For Poems - Verse, Not Averse, Worse

  “Always laugh when you can. It is cheap medicine.”

Lord Byron (1788–1824)

If Ernest Hemingway — winner of the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction, the Nobel Prize for Literature, and often acclaimed as one of the greatest American authors — could say, “The hardest thing to do is to write straight honest prose on human beings,”you may understand my predicament in presenting this collection of stories as my first attempt at writing.

It could be argued that, under such circumstances, no one should attempt to write at all. Yet, having the audacity to do so despite this disadvantage, I hope readers will accept the errors of my inexperience and judge me in proportion to my eagerness in recording some interesting incidents from my time at Medical College.

These stories were born of faded memories that floated into my fancy like half-forgotten dreams. Now, at a stage in life when I forget faster than I can remember, it was clearly a case of now or never.

In recalling these events, imagination has been used liberally to fill gaps in memory and to maximise amusement. Each story contains more than a kernel of truth, though many have been wrapped in layers of exaggeration and garnished with a concoction of fabrication. These embellishments were intended to enhance the comic effect and make the reading more enjoyable, without straying too far from accuracy — except, perhaps, in a few instances. I make no apology for not being scrupulously exact.

The events portrayed here are a collection of unrelated narratives with two features in common. All occurred during my years at the Faculty of Medicine, Colombo, between 1960 and 1965, and all, in some way, touched the lives of the scholars of what was then the largest single batch of medical students ever admitted — not only in Ceylon, but possibly anywhere in the world. Those who belonged to this motley crowd still consider themselves privileged to have been members of the batch that came to be known, rather famously, as the ‘Three Hundred Batch.’

Where names of individuals are mentioned, they are largely authentic. All persons referred to were held in high esteem, and no attempt has been made to attack their dignity or cause offence. If, despite this, anyone feels that their reputation has been harmed, it is entirely unintentional and deeply regretted.

These accounts are intended for limited readership and circulation, and it is hoped that discretion and discernment will be exercised accordingly.

The chronicler has greatly enjoyed recalling these amusing incidents and has done his best to set them down in an entertaining manner. He hopes he has achieved at least a measure of the desired effect.

More episodes can no doubt be summoned from memory, should readers care to remind me of them — and I would be grateful if they did.

If, when reading about our revered teachers and erstwhile colleagues, certain passages evoke displeasure or even anger, I confess to a complete absence of malice. Even where descriptions may appear rude, they are offered solely in the earnest pursuit of maximum hilarity. I sincerely hope readers will forgive me where their opinions differ from mine — if not out of agreement, then at least out of kindness, or perhaps sympathy for a rookie author.

And if, in spite of all this, anyone feels compelled to censure me — go ahead.

“It is better to be hated for what you are than to be loved for what you are not.”

— André Gide (Autumn Leaves)