Can a doctor—a family friend—steer you from engineering to medicine?
Can a few words make you trade certainty for the unknown?
Dr. R.V. Wardekar did just that.
But he was no ordinary doctor.
In the 1940s, he left the bustling metropolis of Mumbai for the quiet simplicity of Sevagram —and reshaped public health.
In the 1950s, he established the Gandhi Memorial Leprosy Foundation in Wardha.
And in the years between, he oversaw the 15-bed Kasturba Hospital in Sevagram.
By the 1970s, the nation honoured him with a Padma Shri.
But his influence extended far beyond the realm of public health.
He changed lives.
Two lives, profoundly.
*****
The first: a 17-year-old boy.
Fair-skinned, with jet-black hair, a broad forehead, and bright, intelligent eyes. A smile perpetually gracing his face—a reflection of his name. Hardworking. Determined.
In 1967, he ranked tenth in the state matriculation exams and secured admission to Laxminarayan Institute of Technology, Nagpur. His path was clear—engineering, mathematics, the future.
Then, Dr. Wardekar visited his home. He wasn’t just a visitor; he was family. He had shared meals, stories, and milestones with the boy’s parents, who had lived in Wardha for decades.
“What next?” he asked.
“Engineering,” the boy said proudly.
Dr. Wardekar nodded, then paused. “Did you know your grandfather wanted me to become a doctor?”
The boy frowned. “So?”
“You should think about medicine,” Dr. Wardekar said. “Use your intelligence to serve people.”
The boy hesitated. “I hate dissections. Frogs make me queasy.”
Dr. Wardekar chuckled. “That’ll pass. Trust me.”
For days, the words lingered. The boy, who had never considered medicine, started to wonder. Then, a decision. He withdrew from LIT. Opted for Biology. He dissected cockroaches. He unearthed earthworms. He enrolled at Government Medical College, Nagpur.
The year was 1968.
That boy—𝗗𝗿. 𝗨𝗹𝗵𝗮𝘀 𝗝𝗮𝗷𝗼𝗼—celebrates his birthday today, February 14th. A doctor by fate, not by choice.
*****
Then, a 37-year-old surgeon.
A cardiac surgeon. Two years spent in the U.S. A stable, fulfilling job at a Raipur Medical College.
Then, an invitation.
The call came from Dr. Sushila Nayar, a woman with a vision. She wanted him at Sevagram. She had just founded a medical school there and offered him a deputation from the Madhya Pradesh government. He was intrigued—but hesitant.
So, he came. Walked the wards. Observed surgeries. Met the faculty. The hospital was small, its resources limited. Could he really leave Raipur for this?
That evening, he voiced his doubts to Dr. Wardekar.
Dr. Wardekar leaned in, his gaze steady.
“You’re 37. You have stability, security—a predictable life. But is that enough?”
Silence.
“Don’t you want to truly experience life? Step beyond comfort? Explore, take risks, grow?”
A pause.
“Or will you look back years from now and wonder—what if?”
The words stuck. By morning, the decision was made. He and his wife packed their bags. Sevagram was home now.
Both were surgeons. Both wielded scalpels—not just in the operating room, but in the classroom. At MGIMS in the 1970s and 1980s, they shaped generations of students, carving precision, discipline, and compassion into future doctors.
That surgeon? Dr. Karunakar Trivedi. His wife? Dr. Mrudula Trivedi.
They led Surgery and Obstetrics & Gynecology, not just as departments, but as legacies.
The year was 1969. The year MGIMS was born.
