Becoming a doctor has always been a deeply respected path, one that requires more than just academic rigor. It demands emotional strength, patience, and a lifelong commitment to service. But today, in India’s medical colleges, this path begins not with seasoned adults, but with teenagers—barely 18 years old—who find themselves thrust into one of the most demanding professional courses in the world.
These young students, fresh out of school, often arrive at medical college full of hope and ambition. But what they’re met with is not just a complex curriculum, but a reality for which they are rarely prepared. The pressure is immediate, the syllabus is vast, and the expectations—both academic and emotional—are immense. They are expected to function with the maturity, discipline, and endurance of adults, while still navigating the emotional and cognitive transitions of late adolescence.
For many, this is their first real experience of living away from home. It is the first time they are cooking for themselves or eating food they may not find familiar or comforting. It is the first time they are separated from the emotional safety of their families. Many feel overwhelmed by hostel life, the absence of supportive parental figures, the loss of personal space, and the disorientation of adjusting to new routines, environments, and social groups.
In April 2024, the National Medical Commission (NMC)’s Anti-Ragging Cell launched a National Task Force on Mental Health and Well-being of Medical Students. Their findings made headlines for all the wrong reasons. Twenty-eight percent of undergraduate students reported experiencing mental health disorders such as anxiety and depression, and a staggering sixteen percent admitted to having suicidal thoughts. These are not just numbers—they are stories of young students who are struggling to hold themselves together in a system that demands a great deal but gives very little support in return.
A significant part of the problem lies in the transition from the school system to the medical college system. The Class 12 curriculum, often centered around coaching classes and rote memorization, does not equip students to handle the depth, complexity, and responsibility that medical education requires. Once in medical college, they are expected to absorb a massive volume of information, adapt to clinical settings, and face real-life medical situations—often without any transitional support.
The result is a dangerous combination of high expectations and inadequate preparation. Many students suffer in silence, hesitant to seek help due to the stigma around mental health, fear of judgment, or lack of trust in the system. The NMC survey also revealed that nearly one in five students felt mental health services were inadequate or difficult to access.
Yes, the NMC has initiated welcome reforms—Tele-MANAS helplines, on-campus counselling, and yoga or mindfulness sessions. But these are not enough. Every medical college must have a full-time, trained psychological counsellor who is not just available but actively integrated into student life. Mental health care should not be reactive—it should be proactive, visible, and normalised from day one.
Moreover, we must seriously reconsider the structure of medical education. Should the first year of MBBS be lengthened or reorganized to allow students to acclimatize? Can orientation programs and mentorship systems be built-in to help students find their footing before they are plunged into the academic deep end?
Because the truth is, we are asking too much, too soon. We are handing 18-year-olds an enormous emotional and intellectual burden—and calling it “normal.” How can we expect these young, unacclimatised students to become doctors who will care for others with empathy and resilience, when they themselves are left to struggle alone? It is time we stop romanticising toughness and start acknowledging that vulnerability, especially in our youngest medical students, is not weakness. It is a signal that the system must change.