Science, Stories and Sevagram: A Physician-Teacher’s Reflections
Insights into medical ethics, human rights, and the art of teaching in a rural medical college.
I call her Badibai—the elder mother. It is a heavy title, perhaps, for a woman who is my sister, but from the moment I opened my eyes to the world, her affection has been as encompassing and natural as a well-worn cotton sari.
This morning an old man stepped into my office, his jacket sagging and a faded muffler loose around his neck. His wooden tulsi beads had deepened in colour with age as he joined his palms with a shy, familiar smile. ‘Gabbar,’ I said. ‘So you have come.
The bustle of modern elections brings back memories of an older, quieter contest in Sevagram. I recall the Lok Sabha battles of Dr. Sushila Nayar, ‘Behenji’, and the humble scooters that powered a movement of great medical and social work.
Fourteen years after his passing, the image of Dr. B. S. Choubey stepping into Ward 23 remains startlingly clear. Immaculate in dress and flawless in clinical judgement, he commanded a respect that taught us more than any lecture ever could.
A tribute to the spirit of a man who balanced the rigors of his profession with a deep-seated humanity. This reflection captures the essence of a life lived with purpose and the quiet impact he left on everyone in Sevagram.
Twenty-four hours can change the trajectory of a clinical case—or a life. Looking back at a pivotal day in the wards, these memories serve as a reminder of the thin line between crisis and recovery in the practice of medicine.
Our GMC Nagpur batch of ’73 is a little emptier today. Remembering Rajendra—a dear batchmate from B Batch, Roll No. 117—and those quiet moments on the dissection hall benches where our lifelong medical journeys first began.
Yesterday, I wrote about the miracle pill that found a home in every drawer and pocket. Today, I reflect on the post-miracle buzz—the warnings about its darker side, from weakened bones to fading B12 stores, and the delicate balance of clinical care.
An hour from now, I will be sitting in the Medicine OPD, thinking about a drug that the whole world seems to prescribe. This modest little tablet, born to tame the fire of acid, has quietly conquered the globe without firing a single shot.
Two men from across the ocean entered my life and forever altered the course of my medical practice. This is a story of mentorship, transatlantic influence, and the unexpected ways our professional identities are forged by those who believe in us.