Localised Hunger Games
“Mera bacha tou doctor banay ga” is the universal punchline of desi parents for every slightly above-average student, explaining the appearance of an average of fifty-five thousand candidates in the MDCAT from Lahore alone. The MDCAT, prepared and conducted by PMDC (Pakistan Medical and Dental Council), is an MCQ-based test comprising 180 questions (as per the recent 2025 amendment), for which three hours are given. For admission into government medical colleges—as is the preference of every aspirant—a score well above 170 is considered acceptable.
So, in this version of the localised Hunger Games, all kinds of tactics are employed, justified, and glorified: from simple studying, hard work, and determination to austere measures like bribing and cheating. The rules of this setup are simple: a lot is done, and a lot is expected. For the 9,235 seats available in the country’s public sector, there are approximately 175,000 to 180,000 candidates—many of whom are repeaters.
The Bitter and the Ignominious
After the MDCAT results are announced, there are two broad categories of candidates: those who are admitted into government institutes and those who aren’t. The second category is subdivided into the bitter, the undeterred, and the slightly relieved.
Identifying each is not difficult. The bitter are characterised by a change of stream and a string of negative comments to future aspirants—like, “Tumhari salary tou 20,000 se zyada nahi hogi”—under the façade of looking out for them. This group pretends to have opted out of the medical stream at the last second, merely to avoid backlash.
The slightly relieved are those who genuinely wanted a career outside of medicine but were coerced into it by family. These students had already applied to other universities as backups and are not disheartened when they don’t land at King Edward Medical University (affectionately nicknamed KEMU by medicos). They are hard-working students who thrive in whatever fields they enter—not because of negligence, but due to a lack of passion for medicine.
Second (or Third) Time’s the Charm
There is a great hush around the repetition of competitive exams, and the topic remains a taboo in the overachieving, one-shot circles of society. These students are in no way the failures or losers that others make them out to be. Inability to clear the exam or obtain the desired score may stem from a number of reasons: burnout after joining MDCAT prep classes immediately after FSc/A-Levels, poor timing, or struggling to adapt to the pattern. MDCAT demands both conceptualisation and memorisation—not just one or the other (in contrast to the focus seen in FSc or A-Levels).
There lies great strength in someone who doesn’t give up—even when they receive cutting looks from classmates a.k.a. “the freshers” and passive-aggressive remarks from relatives like, “Kab tak maa baap ka paisa zaya karna hai? Kuch aur kar lo,” and constant targeting by teachers, who seem to find immense pleasure in making repeater students the butt of all jokes: “Koi masla ho tou in se pooch lena, inhon ne pehlay bhi dia hua hai MDCAT.” Hilarious, and so original.
Crazy Rich Pakistanis
The reason people prefer repeating the exam to get a better score is no mystery—because their current score isn’t good enough to get them into a government medical university. Private ones, in all honesty, cater strictly to the filthy rich. An average of two lakh rupees per month for five years isn’t exactly the Pakistani dream.
Golden Ticket
The craze around MDCAT finds its roots in the widespread belief that survival in Pakistan is impossible without an MBBS degree. People who chase it to fill a void (and not the passion-shaped one) are made to believe it’s the only path to financial stability and social acceptance. In reality, this is far from true. Doctors have to work their way up from measly wages, with consistency, patience, and determination, in order to reach the status the masses imagine when they hear the word “doctor.”
Safe to say, MBBS is not the instant golden ticket to success that people think it is—it’s an underpass under construction, one that must be built and painted, brick by brick, and laid in a particular order.
3 Idiots
“Follow your passion” is a cliché line we’ve heard since childhood—yet many hesitate when it comes to living by it. Children are told that movies like 3 Idiots are just that—movies—and have no bearing on reality. “Yeh, he movies dekh dekh kar dimagh kharab ho gaya hai.”
However, MDCAT is often the first real test of passion. If one doesn’t enjoy science or feel genuinely intrigued by it, what once made sense quickly becomes arbitrary scribbles. Instead of improving, one’s academic graph begins to decline. When this happens, it is crucial to recognise the lack of passion before it’s too late. Children are told that this is how they will serve their country—but the country doesn’t need medical professionals who treat half-heartedly, who are exhausted by their work, and who care more about money than the patient.
So really, is 3 Idiots the reason we have so many doctors who can’t even treat a simple case of lip dermatitis?
