Chokal-Ingam Vijay Jojo - Almost black: the true story of how I got into medical school by pretending to be black

Copyright 2016, by Vijay Jojo Chokal-Ingam

All rights reserved.

Neither this book, nor any portion thereof, may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of Vijay Jojo Chokal-Ingam, or his agents, except for the use of short quotations in a book review or commentary.

ISBN: (Print) 978-1-48357-604-6 (Ebook) 978-1-48357-605-3

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I n this book, I have recreated events from the past to the best of my memory. In some cases, Ive used pseudonyms and changed details to protect my friends from becoming the shark chum of social media. I mention a number of public figures encountered in my misadventures, or, in many cases, those from whom I drew inspiration, both positive and negative. I also refer to the University of Chicago and other schools in a variety of styles: its what we called em. My goal for this book was both entertain and serve the higher purpose of exposing problems and igniting a dialogue about these important issues. Still, there are always two sides to every story and I hope this book will move you to seek out other viewpoints before you draw any conclusions.

Knowledge itself is power.

I have written this book as a form of social commentary because I sincerely want to make the United States a better place for everyone. This is NOT post-racial America as some would claim. Racism is alive and kicking and I believe that someday, maybe after I am long gone, it will no longer infect our world.

But thats just me.

Be confident in your blackness. One of the great changes thats occurred in our country since I was your age is the realization theres no one way to be black. Take it from somebody whos seen both sides of debate about whether Im black enough. In the past couple months, Ive had lunch with the Queen of England and hosted Kendrick Lamar in the Oval Office. Theres no straitjacket, theres no constraints, theres no litmus test for authenticity.

President Barack Obama
Howard University, May 7th, 2016

There are three classes of people: those who see. Those who see when they are shown. Those who do not see.

Leonardo da Vinci

Were all black when the lights go out.

Lil Jon

In loving memory of my mother Swati Chokalingam, M.D., FACOG
An inspiration for me and The Mindy Project as well.

Vijay Jojo Chokal-Ingam

To my son, Zane: Youre always therebut I still love you.

To my sister Meredith: Youre always there for me.

To those who life has shortchanged: Im there for you.

Matthew Scott Hansen

If youre not failing now and again,
its a sign youre not doing anything very innovative.

Woody Allen

T he eleven-year old Indian-American boy cooled his heels outside the office of the headmaster of Bostons chichi Roxbury Latin School. Proudly wearing a new suit, his first, he waited for his mother, who was speaking to the headmaster. The place reeked of money, but that comforted the boy who was from a well-to-do family and was used to nice things. His young eyes restlessly wandered the room. He fidgeted in his chair, but with the disapproving glare of the headmasters secretary occasionally directed his way, he couldnt squirm too much.

He focused on the nearby tagre and the knickknacks on the skinny shelves. He guessed them to be from various dynasties like Thebes and Ming. He was a sharp kid.

Which was why he was waiting.

He desperately wanted to attend Roxbury Latin School. Founded in 1645, Roxbury Latin, the oldest school in North America, took exclusive to a new level. This was the ne plus ultra of Bostons all boys prep offerings. To accurately put in a nutshell the otherworldly Roxbury Latins students average SATs of 2230 out of 2400, two words are required:

In. Human.

Entry to Roxbury Latin handed you an all-access backstage pass to life. It gave you a leg up on Ivy League success factories like Harvard and Yale, and greased the skids for a career in whatever field you pleased, from laser zapping human brains to siphoning the cash out of working class suckers pension funds through mischievous arbitrage. Whatever your fancy, Roxbury was the orchestra seat for that long running Broadway hit, The World Is My Fucking Oyster . The little boy did not know that specifically, but was aware it would be enormously positive for his future.

The boy looked out the window and saw some children about his age playing soccer. He wanted to be part of that group. He was near enough that he could see their faces and just knew that if they met him theyd all be friends. He wanted to play soccer with them. He just wanted to go to Roxbury Latin and show them what he could do.

The headmasters office was swaddled floor to tray ceiling in Circassian walnut, such that it resembled a luxuriously polished coffin or a humidor. Swati Chokalingam, M.D., mid-forties, and an Indian woman wearing a conservative blue dress, sat across from Headmaster F. Washington Tony Jarvis, a trim man in his fifties, in a slightly smarter charcoal three-piece. But there was one major difference, aside from retail price, in their ensembles: Headmaster Jarviss included a tidy little clerical collar. Headmaster Jarvis was also Father Jarvis, an Episcopal priest.

The massive, immovable oak desk between them a metaphor for the discussion at hand.

Dr. Chokalingam, an obstetrician and gynecologist of some reputation, was not practiced at kissing ass but would do anything for her son, up to and including obsequiousness if it would help. But Dr. Chokalingam walked in the door suspecting the playing field wasnt quite even and was looking for answers.

But Headmaster Jarvis, my son got a perfect score on the entrance exam, implored Dr. Chokalingam in her mild Indian accent. Please tell me, on what grounds can you reject him from your school?

Jarvis was unmoved, as if tolerating one of his janitors whining about chewing gum under the desks.

Test scores are not the only thing we consider for admission. It is not our policy to discuss admissions decisions or the myriad of factors under which we come to determine them.

How could perfect scores not entitle him to admission? How could everyone else have a superior position to his?

Jarvis sat back in his Italian leather chair and steepled his fingers.

Its not all about scores, missus, er, Doctor Chokalingam. There are other parameters.

What parameters sir ?

Im not at liberty to discuss them. Suffice it to say they take into account all factors.

Dr. Chokalingam was smelling a rat and the rat smelled like Cristal champagne and Osetra caviar on little crackers, the snooty stuff rich white folks snacked on. She felt that she was getting her chain yanked. She thought of her son waiting outside the door.