I am pursuing my post-graduation in MD microbiology from MGM Medical College and M.Y. Hospital, Indore, Madhya Pradesh.

In MBBS, Microbiology was just another subject for me — important, but not something I thought I’d specialize in. But during my internship, I started noticing how often treatment decisions hinged on what the lab reported. A single blood culture result could change an ICU patient’s whole management plan. That made me curious about what went on behind the scenes.
Then came COVID — and suddenly, microbiology wasn’t just a subject; it was the backbone of diagnosis, infection control, outbreak response, everything. I saw the power of the field, especially when it comes to public health and hospital infection control. So the interest slowly set in, took root, and now there’s no looking back.

1. Pseudomonas aeruginosa
Ah, Pseudomonas—I call it the “artist of the lab.” It’s known for producing beautiful pigments like pyocyanin (blue-green) and pyoverdine (yellow-green fluorescence), which make even a routine culture plate look dramatic. But beyond its looks, it’s a major challenge in clinical practice.
What fascinates me is its ability to survive harsh conditions, form biofilms, and develop multi-drug resistance (MDR) rapidly. You think you’ve got it covered with one antibiotic, and it’ll throw up resistance the next week. It keeps you on your toes and teaches you the importance of rational antibiotic use, especially in ICUs and ventilated patients.

2. Neisseria gonorrhoeae
This one’s close to my heart because I’ve personally taken the sample, processed it, and actually isolated it—which, as any microbiologist will tell you, isn’t easy. It’s a fastidious organism, needs enriched media like chocolate agar and CO₂ incubation, and is quite delicate outside the human body.
But once you isolate it, the thrill is real. Seeing those gram-negative diplococci inside polymorphs, doing oxidase test, and confirming it biochemically—it’s satisfying. Clinically, it’s a reminder of how sexually transmitted infections are evolving, especially with emerging resistance. It’s also a strong case for preserving culture techniques even in the molecular era.

I’m still to properly explore the world of viruses, since most of my work so far has been focused on bacteriology. We don’t routinely handle viral cultures in our lab, and clinical virology often relies more on serology and molecular methods, which I’m still learning in depth.
That said, based on what I’ve studied so far, a few viruses have really caught my interest:

1. Rabies virus – It’s absolutely fascinating how this virus travels along the nerves to reach the brain. Even during undergrad, the concept of it being almost 100% fatal after symptom onset but still completely preventable with timely post-exposure prophylaxis left a lasting impression.

2. Hepatitis B virus (HBV) – I’ve always found its serology patterns challenging yet intriguing. It’s one of those infections where reading the serology correctly can tell you everything—whether the patient is immune, infected, or a chronic carrier. That puzzle-solving element makes it stand out.

3. Influenza virus – Mainly because of how smart it is in terms of mutation. The idea that it keeps changing its surface proteins and causes seasonal epidemics is something that really shows how dynamic virology can be.

Even before starting my MD, the way Rabies behaves felt straight out of a thriller. It doesn’t just cause damage randomly—it follows a very specific neurotropic path, traveling retrograde along peripheral nerves to reach the brain. The symptoms appear only after the virus has reached the CNS, and by then, it's almost always too late.
What amazed me the most is how the virus manages to evade the immune system for so long. And despite being so deadly, it's still 100% preventable if proper post-exposure prophylaxis is given on time. That paradox—between its fatality and its preventability—is what really stuck with me.
It’s also the first virus that made me realize how important public awareness, vaccination, and quick action are in virology. So even though I haven’t worked with viruses much yet, Rabies pathogenesis is something I’ll never forget.

1. Entamoeba histolytica
This one is very close to me academically because it’s part of my MD thesis on liver abscesses. I’m constantly working on stool microscopy, antigen detection, and correlating it with clinical data. What fascinates me is how it can be both a harmless colonizer in some and an invasive pathogen in others—causing colitis, liver abscesses, and even pulmonary involvement. And of course, spotting trophozoites with ingested RBCs still feels like catching the culprit red-handed.

2. Taenia solium
This parasite caught my attention because of its dual pathology. On one hand, it causes taeniasis in the gut, which is usually mild. But on the other, if the eggs are ingested instead of the larvae, it leads to neurocysticercosis—a major cause of seizures in endemic areas. The idea that a seemingly simple tapeworm can travel and form cysts in the brain really highlights the unpredictable nature of parasitic infections. It also brings up strong public health angles—food safety, sanitation, and hygiene.

3. Giardia lamblia
I like this one for how deceptively simple it is. It doesn't invade or cause ulcers, but it disrupts absorption by adhering to the intestinal mucosa, leading to chronic diarrhea, bloating, and malabsorption. Its "falling leaf" motility on wet mount and the classic kite-shaped trophozoites are hard to forget. It’s one of those parasites that makes you appreciate the diagnostic power of a basic stool microscopy done well.

Taenia solium.
What fascinates me is how the same parasite can cause two completely different diseases, depending on which form is ingested.

1. Candida albicans
This was one of the first fungi I read about that could be both a harmless commensal and a serious pathogen. I like how it adapts—forming pseudohyphae, switching morphology, and thriving when the host’s immunity or normal flora is disrupted. It’s also clinically relevant—ranging from oral thrush to bloodstream infections—and reminds you how opportunistic infections can take over in hospital settings.

2. Aspergillus fumigatus
The concept of fungal balls in lungs, invasive aspergillosis in immunocompromised patients, and even allergic forms like ABPA makes Aspergillus incredibly versatile and complex. I find it interesting how the same fungus can present in different forms depending on the host’s immune status. Plus, its lab identification—from septate hyphae to the classic fruiting head—is really visually satisfying.

3. Cryptococcus neoformans
A fungus with a capsule that can be visualized using India ink, causing meningitis in immunocompromised patients, and thriving in pigeon droppings—it just has a unique personality. The idea that a fungus can cross the blood-brain barrier and lead to chronic meningitis makes it all the more fascinating.

What makes Cryptococcus so deceptive is that its symptoms can mimic many other conditions—chronic headache, fever, altered sensorium. If you’re not thinking of fungal meningitis, you might go down the wrong diagnostic and treatment path—suspecting TB, viral encephalitis, or even psychiatric causes. Meanwhile, the patient keeps worsening. The fact that such a serious infection can be diagnosed so elegantly using India ink staining, CSF cryptococcal antigen test, or culture on Sabouraud’s agar—and that a timely diagnosis can completely change the line of management and save a life—is what makes this organism unforgettable

One vector that truly fascinates me is the sandfly (Phlebotomus). It’s tiny and silent, yet responsible for transmitting Leishmania donovani, causing kala-azar—a disease I actually suffered from in childhood.
Maybe that’s why it stuck with me. The fact that such a small insect can cause such a deep systemic illness made me realize early on how powerful and overlooked vectors can be. It’s a constant reminder of the close link between microbiology and public health.

If I’m being honest, my least favorite topic in microbiology has to be fungal taxonomy—especially when it comes to remembering all the perfect vs. imperfect states, old names vs. new names, and the endless list of morphological classifications. It’s not that fungi aren’t interesting (in fact, I find their clinical aspects fascinating), but the sheer volume of names and classifications—many of which keep changing—can get overwhelming. I’d much rather focus on the diagnostic approach and clinical correlation than get stuck memorizing which fungus falls under which obsolete phylum!

What I idolize most in microbiology is its quiet but powerful role in guiding antibiotic therapy and clinical decision-making.
Microbiology doesn’t treat the patient directly, but it arms the clinician with the right information—what organism is causing the infection, what it's sensitive to, and what won’t work. That moment when a culture and sensitivity report helps a physician stop broad-spectrum antibiotics and switch to something targeted—that’s where microbiology silently saves lives and prevents resistance.
I truly admire how microbiology sits at the core of rational antibiotic use, connecting the lab bench to the bedside. It’s not just about identifying bugs—it’s about supporting medicine, protecting antibiotics, and ultimately improving patient outcomes. That impact is what makes me look up to this field every day.

I find it fascinating (and slightly surprising) that armadillos are natural hosts of Mycobacterium leprae—the causative agent of leprosy.
It’s a reminder that zoonotic reservoirs can exist even for diseases we traditionally associate with humans.

Absolutely—but in my case, it was the other way around. I’ve always been naturally obsessed with hand hygiene, even before getting into microbiology. I used to be that person who’d remind others to wash their hands properly, clean their stethoscope, or be careful with surfaces in common areas.
So when I started seeing, during my clinical exposure, how much hospital-acquired infections and antibiotic overuse could be prevented just by basic hygiene and infection control, it all clicked. That’s when I realized microbiology wasn’t just about identifying organisms—it was about breaking the chain of transmission.
My interest in microbiology grew from this exact idea: if we understand the bugs better, we can stop them from reaching the patient in the first place, reduce unnecessary antibiotic use, and lighten the burden on an already stretched healthcare system. So yes, my obsession with hygiene didn't come from microbiology—it actually led me to it.

I feel like my best moment in microbiology is still yet to come.
Every day in the lab teaches me something new, but I’m really looking forward to that one moment when I make a diagnosis that directly changes a patient’s management, or catch the early signs of an outbreak, or maybe even publish something impactful in infection control

Honestly, I don’t like to think about alternate careers—because I genuinely believe that whatever happens, happens for a reason.
Choosing microbiology wasn’t something I had planned from day one, but now that I’m here, it feels right.

"Your turn will come - just stay patient, stay prepared, and believe in the force that’s guiding you."