Fourteen years ago, on this very day, ๐๐ฟ ๐. ๐ฆ. ๐๐ต๐ผ๐๐ฏ๐ฒ๐ left us for good.
Even now, nearly four decades later, my residency days at GMC Nagpur return with startling clarity. I still see him stepping into Ward 23: immaculately dressed, tie perfectly knotted, suit crisp, shoes shining, and his English as flawless as his clinical judgement.
Dr Choubey wore his anger on his sleeve. He never suffered fools, yet he rarely needed to raise his voice or deliver long admonitions.
His presence alone enforced discipline. His sharp eye, precise methods, and swift diagnoses were lessons in themselves. I donโt remember ever having a relaxed, personal conversation with him; the awe, the fear, and the deep respect he inspired were too great. But the atmosphere he created during his rounds taught us more than any lecture.
He never held our hands, but he didnโt need to. The way he examined patients, the grace with which he placed his stethoscope, the seriousness he brought to bedside medicine, all of this slipped into us quietly and without effort.
Even today, when I examine a patient, I find myself holding the stethoscope exactly as he did. If imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, this is my tribute.
Fourteen years have passed, yet Dr Choubey lives on quietly and steadily in the habits, values, and discipline he instilled. Some teachers leave the world; others never really go away..
