When a frog twitched back to life in the lab

IT was 1977. After completing my matriculation, I had joined the pre-university class at a college in Batala. My father had encouraged me to pursue the medical stream. Back then, animal dissection was a mandatory part of the curriculum for biology students. In our first year, frogs served as our introduction to the inner workings of vertebrate anatomy.

Every week, our zoology practical class would begin with instructions from the professor, who would demonstrate the dissection process with surgical precision. Students would then return to their seats, where unconscious frogs awaited them in wax-lined dissection trays. The frogs were anaesthetised by immersion in a formalin solution. This task was handled by Garib Dass, the soft-spoken and helpful laboratory technician.

The standard procedure involved pinning the frog's limbs securely to the tray to prevent any movement. The dissection covered various bodily systems — digestive, circulatory, excretory and reproductive systems. What happened during one session remains etched in my memory. Midway through the procedure, as I was exploring the anatomy of my specimen, the frog twitched, then it began writhing violently, attempting to escape the tray. Startled beyond belief, I leapt back from the table. My gasp triggered a chain reaction; the entire lab erupted in panic as students backed away in alarm.

Our professor, however, remained unfazed. He reassured us that this was not uncommon. When insufficient formalin is used, the frog might not be completely anaesthetised. Garib Dass was summoned and, with a hint of a chuckle, he confirmed: "It happens sometimes. Nothing to worry about."

The specimen was promptly removed and replaced with a more sedated one. This time, the frog remained completely motionless — clear evidence that Garib Dass had taken no chances with the dosage.

What endeared Garib Dass to us wasn't just his role in maintaining the lab, but also his genuine concern for students. As the final exams approached and I struggled to revise the dissection material, he kindly arranged for me to practice once more with a sedated frog. This extra effort, along with the support of a classmate, helped me understand the subject better and ultimately pass my exam.

Today, animal dissections have been largely phased out in educational institutions across India. Thanks to advocacy by organisations like PETA, the UGC has banned the practice in favour of more humane and ecologically responsible methods. This decision not only spares countless animals pain and their lives but also reflects a growing awareness of biodiversity preservation and ethical scientific inquiry.

Looking back, that singular moment in the lab was more than just a disruption — it was a lesson in empathy, curiosity and the evolving ethics of science education.