Reflections on Medicine and Life by Dr. S.P. Kalantri
A woman of forty walks into my OPD. She complains of “gases.” Some acidity, she says, a little heartburn, the odd burp that will not come up and will not go down. She has had this for years. It comes and goes with worry, with weddings, with festival food. Nothing about her story is alarming. … Read the essay
Two respected doctors in Nagpur died within little more than a year of each other. One was a radiologist, the other a neurosurgeon. Both were young, at the height of their careers, well known across the city. The radiologist was tall, soft-spoken, and loved by everyone who knew him. He went in for a routine … Read the essay
An invitation to address 400 NCC cadets on careers became an unexpected lesson in public speaking. Stories worked better than lectures—and twenty minutes would probably have worked better than forty.
“Enough.” It was the only time I heard Mamta Tiwari refuse treatment. For almost three years she had accepted everything that cancer demanded of her — major surgery, chemotherapy, repeated hospital admissions, drainage tubes into both kidneys, powerful antibiotics, pain, uncertainty, and nearly eighty journeys between Wardha and Mumbai. Each time a new complication arose, … Read the essay
A chance meeting in Sevagram became my last conversation with Dr. Harshvardhan Tikle. This is a remembrance of a quiet boy who grew up in the warden’s quarters, loved Marathi books, followed his father’s calling, and left far too soon.