Very often I am asked, ‘What has made you so successful?’, ‘What’s your mantra for excelling?’, ‘Why did you opt for cardiac surgery?’ The truth is that I just did what I had to with single-minded focus. As a student, I had an almost photographic memory. When I would read something, I’d put all my thinking and senses into it. When a related question appeared in the exam, I would pretty much write from what I had absorbed. So much so, if the flow of words stopped as I struggled for a particular word, I’d sit back and recollect the page and the flow would resume! Needless to say, this was highly appreciated by my teachers and examiners, who got a veritable textbook rendition. In my first year, I stood fourth in class. The anatomy professor’s taunts would rankle in my head, and when it came to the second professional exam, I stood at the third rank. I wanted to better this. As I progressed to my final year of MBBS, I started spending more time studying with the postgraduate students, who also happened to be specializing in cardiology. This not just sharpened my interest in the field, but also expanded my knowledge by leaps and bounds. For the final oral exams, the internal examiner was a cardiac surgeon, the highly venerated Dr Sujoy B. Roy, who had been appointed examiner for the first time. He became so impressed by my knowledge and aptitude that he virtually adopted me. Both of us share a birthday: 6 July. For him, I became both a son and a worthy mentee to be shepherded into the world of cardiology. I have fond and vivid memories of him and his American wife, Pearl, having me over on many Sundays. They had no children of their own, so I guess they enjoyed having young people around. I relished the imported cans of beer—a rarity in those days—and lunch, cooked American-style. Often, we’d get down to playing a game of Scrabble. He was extremely erudite, and I learnt so much from him. For his affection and his guidance, I will forever remain indebted to him. For the oral exam in ophthalmology, we had to face the redoubtable head, Dr L.P. Agarwal, a highly respected teacher, renowned for planning the world’s first-ever blindness control programme. He also enjoyed tormenting his students. If you dressed nattily, you were called a dandy. If you looked shabby, you were a ‘crypto communist’. He had authored the recommended ophthalmology textbook you were obliged to buy. If you bought one from him, you would be rewarded with a personally signed copy. Occasionally, he would walk around the classroom and flip the pages of the copy on your desk to check if it was his signed version or one you may have bought in a Daryaganj shop. You see, the personally signed one also came at an enhanced price!