Dear Mother, London is beautiful but bunions are not…

Dear Mother,

I’m sorry it has been so long since my last letter.

Since starting my fourth rotation here in London I’ve been faced with many new experiences that I did not think that I’d be confronting.

My very first English Christmas was an alien experience but an enjoyable one. I have now firmly accepted my new found identity as a ‘hipster’, having discovered my favourite place to sit and drink tea in Camden. Lastly, I saw my first ever bunion today and it looked worryingly familiar.

I missed you and the rest of the family more than anything else this Christmas. In India; the lights, the religious fervour, the intangible feeling of festivity itself is borne on the air. At nights, when I still struggle to sleep in the relative quiet of my flat in Clapham, I entertained myself imagining the rest of the family walking through the markets in Mumbai. I pictured you sending off Ranjeet and Papa to claim the spices and fruits whilst you and I sneaked off to sip on cool Mango Lassis. I wondered if this year you’ll be sharing that lassi with anyone else, or if you’ll be sitting alone in the market.

To sate my home sickness, I visited the closest thing that London has to offer in comparison. When I asked my flat mates about the local Christmas Markets, I think they misunderstood me. The only place I needed to go to lift my Christmas spirit, they told me, was Hyde Park. Although it was a far cry from the Mumbai Markets, Hyde Park’s Winter Wonderland certainly delivered a festive shot of entertainment that put a smile on my face that did not disappear until well past the New Year.

With the joys of Christmas and the New Year behind me, the start of this year has been dedicated to living at a slower pace of life and taking time for myself. Last year, the course stepped up a notch in difficulty and I found myself under increasing pressure to meet deadlines. My personal tutor recommended that I attempt to take more time to myself. He told me that there was a significant correlation between the amount of miles between International Students’ homes and the amount of hours that they pile into their work at home. So this year I’m going to be dedicating a couple hours each week to simply putting my feet up in a cosy Tea Parlour in Camden and reading a good book.

With all this going, you’ll be surprised to hear that I’ve also been getting a lot of work done in the mean time. I saw my first bunion last week – and it struck me as oddly familiar. The patient’s foot was uncomfortably squashed into stiff black shoes and it’s clear that they were in a great deal of discomfort because of this. Do you also suffer from this particular problem? I’m not sure what the treatment options are back in Mumbai, but over here there’s a dedicated private bunion surgery that patients can apply for – maybe this is something you could consider looking into?

Thank you for the presents, a taste from home is always appreciated.

Your Daughter,





Missamari to Manchester: A Student’s Journey

Bhavin’s journey from Mountain born school boy to fully fledged Medical student in metropolitan Manchester is a unique one, not to be taken lightly.

Over 2,000,000 Indian students leave the country to study every year and that number continues to rise.

However, the majority of these students tend to hail from suburban dwellings.

The cities in India are amongst the most populous across the world, so when city dwelling Indian kids leave their bustling towns to advance their studies, they often find international Educational centres to be rather quiet in comparison.

For Bhavin, though, it was a completely different story. Transplanting himself from the isolated mountain community of Missamari, he recounts his first impressions of Manchester and how he adjusted to living in his new home:

“I’d never been a big football fan as a child, although I wish I had been.

As soon as I got my papers to study in Manchester, the only cultural touch point that my fellow village people could offer me were references to Manchester United and Alex Ferguson. I laughed along and nodded, but truthfully, besides the fact that I knew Manchester University was one of the best learning institutions in the UK, I knew very little else about the city that I was going to be spending the next five years of life in.

Before I left Missamari, my Father talked to me whilst I packed my bags. The clothes I was packing were mostly traditional items, as I carefully folded my veshti away my Father warned me that I may need to adopt a more Western style of dress once I arrive in Manchester. My Father was nervous about my leaving. He wasn’t scared about the crime though. He wasn’t afraid of the football hooliganism. The thing my Father was afraid of was my Indian heritage.

I was breaking from tradition. For generations my family had farmed the land, making the most of the ever expanding crop of land we had inherited from our ancestors. Rice had been our main export for decades, but rice was to be my future.

After excelling in School, my Father knew that I had to leave the country in order to pursue the career of my dream. He’d never had the opportunity to leave India. Although he’d spent his youth travelling through the country, hitching on the hundreds of miles of railway lines, my Father had never left the country of his birth. I was the first in my family to do so and the thought that my rural cultural upbringing would hold me back was a fear that my Father held right until I left for the airport.

“Son, you must learn. Not just about the bones and the fixings of the body, but also of the culture of the people that live there. Go to one of the football matches, cheer on the Manchester Uniteds and become one of the people there.”

My Father’s fears turned out to be unfounded. Manchester is a truly Cosmopolitan city, one that is filled with people of all different cultures and nationality. England is a country that has embraced me with open arms – in a month’s time my Father will be visiting me and leaving his native India for the first time ever.

I told him to take a piece of Missamari with him for me.”