SP Kalantri
SP Kalantri
This morning, on my rounds at Sevagram hospital, I walked past the small patch of road connecting the main hospital gate to the Medicine department building where I work. Workers swarmed the area, spreading hot tar on the gravel, smoothing it with heavy rollers. Steam rose as the molten surface settled, the sharp smell of …
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 …
In the good old days, life in Sevagram was simple. The roads were dusty, the air always hot, and the village felt far removed from bustling cities. Yet amidst this simplicity, something rare filled the air—humility. Once upon a time, the heads of departments and deans were more than just figures of authority. They were …
In the good old days, life in Sevagram was simple. The roads were dusty, the air always hot, and the village felt far removed from bustling cities. Yet amidst this simplicity, something rare filled the air—humility. Once upon a time, the heads of departments and deans were more than just figures of authority. They were …
They mended hearts and bodies. For decades, the stethoscope was their instrument, the hospital their stage. But when the white apron came off, their hands turned to brush and canvas, paper and pen. Dr. Om Prakash Gupta and Dr. Pushpa Chaturvedi —two stalwarts of MGIMS Sevagram—walked parallel yet independent paths, coloured by their devotion to …
That old black phone—solid, heavy, a relic of a time when voices travelled through wires, not airwaves. Each number on its dial, a small circle, waiting for a finger to spin it. No speed dial, no saved contacts—just memory and precision. Calls were brief, words measured. Every minute cost money. The phone perched on a …
Nalinbhai Mehta’s khadi attire rustled as he moved, his square face and broad jaw set with quiet confidence. His deep-set eyes, fixed on a ledger, missed nothing. His voice, though measured, had a presence that filled the room, demanding to be heard. Numbers and finances flowed through his mind. He saw the financial landscape with …
It all started on a whim—those small, unexpected moments that often turn into the most memorable. One winter morning in 1986, while making my rounds at the hospital in Sevagram, an unusual thought crossed my mind: I should learn German. The idea seemed absurd, even to me. But then I learned that Mrs. Sunita Kawale, …
Shankar sat on the old wooden bench outside his workshop, absently rubbing his rough, unshaven chin. The bright sparks of welding had once lit up his face, but now it was worn, lined with worry. He had battled difficult customers, unpaid bills, and broken machines, but this was different. This was a fight he knew …
The names—Kabir, Ramdas, Vivekanand, Guru Nanak, Ramkrishna, Dharmanand, Martin Luther King, Patel, and Birla—are more than just colonies in Sevagram. They hold memories of beginnings, struggles, friendships, and quiet acts of courage. Each name has a story to tell. Yesterday, a thought crossed my mind, almost by accident Dr. Sanjay Diwan had asked whether the …