It was cold when I first stepped out of Kiev’s Boryspil International Airport in Ukraine on August 12, 2019, but the adrenaline rush that came with landing in a new country kept me warm. I was one of the 75 Indian students who had landed that day. We were soon taken in a bus arranged by our college and we set out to cover a 300-km journey across Kiev to reach Vinnitsa National Medical University in Vinnitsa city, where I was to study for the next five years to achieve my dream of becoming a cardiologist.
After two attempts at NEET, I had got into a BDS course in India, but as the year progressed, it became more apparent to me that it was MBBS that I wanted to study. I decided to apply to medical colleges in Ukraine, which offered affordable education for someone like me, who comes from a middle-class family (my father is a government servant). During the first year, I stayed at a hostel with the first floor occupied by Indian students, the second floor by Moroccan nationals and the third and fourth by Nigerians and Ukranians respectively. Our common kitchen and bathroom felt like a carnival with people speaking various dialects.
With my college about three kilometers away from my hostel, we had the option of either walking up to the college or taking a bus or tram. While on the days I woke up early, I preferred walking to college soaking in the beautiful weather, the tram rides offered a perfect opportunity to strike up conversations about Raj Kapoor and the Taj Mahal with complete strangers.
During one such tram ride, I met a 60-year-old Ukrainian gentleman who was travelling with his granddaughter. He enquired if I was Indian and when I replied in the affirmative, his next statement was if I knew the song Jimmy Jimmy aaja aaja. I said yes and his face lit up with a smile.
It was then that it dawned on me that the popularity of the song, which was known to be a hit among Russians, also extended to most aged 40 and above in Ukraine. We went on to talk about Amitabh Bachchan, whom he admired greatly, and finally the Taj Mahal that he wished to visit. The gentleman then told me that now that I was in Ukraine, I should marry a Ukranian and settle down here. I blushed as my friends giggled.
It was this urge to make more friends that pushed me to join a local club called ‘The English Club’, where I volunteered to teach English. I went there twice a week and often visited various restaurants and cafes for lunch. It was during one such visit that my friends and I went to Biblioteka Café, which literally means a library. While my friends relished pork and brosch, a dish made with chicken broth, I, as a vegetarian, settled for a pastry. I remember the bread melting away in my mouth — it was nothing like what I had tasted back in my hometown Bhopal.
We were just beginning to get to know the city, its people and their culture when the pandemic acted as a spoiler. While we had the option to return to India, I was among a few Indian students who decided to stay back. We moved into an apartment outside the hostel. It was one of the best decisions I had made. Unlike India, Ukraine did not go into a complete lockdown — the shops and public spaces stayed open.
It was summer then and the daylight lasted until 10 pm. We would go to the Central Park near our apartment to jog and use the open gym at the park. It was during one of those visits, when I was running with my friend, that we were approached by a gentleman called Sergii who challenged us arm-wrestling. We lost miserably, but learnt that Ukrainians are regarded as one the best in the world in arm-wrestling.
The summers also provided a window for us to travel and explore the city.
Having got an international driving licence, I had planned to buy a car in Ukraine and travel across the country. But before that, things took an ugly turn with Russia getting aggressive. I wanted to stay back, but my parents insisted that I come back. So I flew back on the first Air India flight that left Ukraine on February 22. I am relieved to be back in the safety of my homeland, but I feel helpless that I cannot do anything for my teachers, fellow students and Indian students who are stuck there. Last night at 2 am, my friends were asked to move into bunkers. They could come out only in the morning and had to rush back in after sirens went out. A chemical factory near our college has been attacked and my friends are being asked to wear a mask at all times.
I am now volunteering with the Government of Madhya Pradesh, helping them identify and contact students stuck in Ukraine.
Even as we are trying our best to get all Indian students back to safety, I shudder when I think of the 60-year-old gentleman I met on the tram and his granddaughter. I wonder if Sergii, with whom I arm-wrestled, is safe.
(The writer is a third-year MBBS student at Vinnitsa National Medical University, Ukraine)
