The girl was born in Gondia, the youngest of six, the apple of her father’s eye. While her family thrived in business, she set her sights on medicine. She pursued her MBBS at Government Medical College, Nagpur.
The year was 1966.
During her undergraduate years, one man recognized her brilliance—Dr. G.S. Sainani, the head of Medicine. He watched as this petite, curious student devoured Harrison’s Principles of Internal Medicine, asked incisive questions, and presented cases with clarity and confidence. He saw in her the makings of a great physician—curiosity, discipline, empathy. He made her the batch monitor, her first taste of leadership. He was certain: she would return for postgraduate training in Medicine.
And for a while, she believed it too. History-taking fascinated her. Diagnoses were puzzles she relished solving. But then came the real world.
As an intern, a posting in Ophthalmology made her pause. Restoring eyesight felt miraculous. But the romance was fleeting.
Then came Obstetrics and Gynaecology—and the labour rooms.
She saw women suffer, then rejoice. She saw obstetricians labor through the night, ensuring safe deliveries, racing against time in emergencies. A baby delivered in seven minutes—an act of precision and grace.
She couldn’t look away. The draw was magnetic. The decision, inevitable.
Three months among mothers and newborns sealed her fate.
The year was 1972. She returned to GMC Nagpur for postgraduate admissions. One by one, the Dean, Dr. Pathak, called students in. In the corridor, she waited. Inside the committee room, Dr. Sainani sat beside the Dean, his face bright with expectation.
Her turn came.
The Dean had barely begun—“What would you take?”—when Dr. Sainani answered for her.
“Medicine. That is her first and last choice. Block that seat.”
His voice was firm. His eyes sought her confirmation.
She hesitated.
A deep breath. A heartbeat of silence. Then, she found her voice.
“No, Sir. I want Obstetrics and Gynaecology.”
The room stilled.
Dr. Sainani’s expression flickered—shock, disbelief, then something deeper. His prize student was slipping away.
She lowered her gaze, guilt pressing on her shoulders. He had mentored her, shaped her. But she had found her calling elsewhere.
She whispered an apology, turned, and walked out.
Three years later, she earned her DGO and MD. Pregnant women, labour rooms, gynaecology wards, operating tables—they became her world.
And the rest? The rest is history.
That girl was Dr. S. Chhabra. She became one of Sevagram’s most sought-after obstetricians and gynecologists. Her hands worked miracles in the labour room and operating theatre.
In life, some lose, some gain.
That day, Medicine lost. And Obstetrics and Gynaecology won.
