I come from a very orthodox family, the kind where even a group outing means 100 questions at home. When I joined medical college, my parents said, “If anything bad happens, you’re quitting. No discussion.”
But in the hostel, the ragging began. Seniors called it “fun” making us stand for hours, mimic teachers, answer humiliating questions. My heart would race, my hands would shake. I wanted to cry, to call home… but I couldn’t. If my family found out, they’d pull me out instantly. My dream of becoming a doctor would end right there.
So I smiled during calls and said “everything’s fine.” But inside, I felt trapped. Ragging isn’t a joke. It’s a silent trauma so many of us carry because we’re too scared to speak. And no one deserves it.