After spending four decades in Sevagram, I often find myself reflecting on the past, comparing it to the present, and pondering what the future holds.
It’s one of my most cherished pastimes—a price I pay for the salt that now outnumbers the pepper on my scalp.
The conversation begins with medical students. We often blame them for skipping classes. Missing bedside clinics. Focusing solely on their exam-oriented learning and preparing purely for NEET.
“They lack interest in bedside learning,” laments one of my colleagues. “They only care about career and commerce, not the art and science of medicine,” sighs another old-timer.
“You know, at the patient’s bedside, we hardly ever see residents actually checking for physical signs anymore. Instead, they’re glued to their iPhones, hunting for apps that can give them quick answers,” says one of the old professors. “It’s like they can’t wait to order CT scans and MRIs, often skipping the whole neurological exam,” another colleague adds, shaking his head.
“And can you believe it? Pregnant women are wheeled into the ultrasound room before anyone even thinks to check their bellies!” sighs an obstetrician, visibly frustrated.
The comparisons are everywhere—in classrooms, post-graduate seminar rooms, OPD chambers, wards, ICUs, labour rooms, labs and operating rooms.
The older generation seems to have a long list of concerns about the younger one.
We believe that values were stronger then and that we worked harder.
It’s easy to think today can’t possibly live up to the “good old days.” We may feel that the world has changed in ways that have lost something important. Students seem less engaged, and there’s a growing reliance on technology over clinical wisdom.
But are these comparisons really fair? Is it right to compare our experiences in medicine across different generations?
As we grow older, it’s natural to look back with nostalgia. We often compare the present to those earlier days, convinced that the past was better. Back then, things felt simpler and more meaningful. Dedication, respect, and commitment were the norm. A focus on clinical skills and genuine patient care was standard practice.
Aren’t we simply romanticizing the past? Are we yearning for a time when we felt more in control and certain about our roles? Maybe these are just our biases. Perhaps our view of the present is clouded by nostalgia and cynicism. Maybe we’re struggling to keep up with the changes around us.
I’m reminded of a quote I once read: “The past wasn’t as good as you remember. The present isn’t as bad as you think. The future will be better than you expect.”
I can’t recall where or when I read it, but it helps me grasp the complexities of the world around me more clearly.
Years ago, in Sevagram, PC, a young girl, arrived at our hospital in the midnight—motionless and speechless. Her ordeal began after a family dinner. Her family noticed something was amiss. She couldn’t speak, move, or even swallow her saliva. Panic set in as they rushed her to our hospital.
In the ICU, residents checked her vitals, examined her brain, and ordered a brain scan. A normal scan ruled out a stroke. Malaria? The test was negative. Electrolyte disturbance? Potassium was normal. Labs? All test results were normal. Poisoning? Perhaps, but no clear signs. Suspecting pesticide poisoning, a common medical emergency in our setting, the residents initiated treatments. A stomach wash, atropine, and antidotes, and mechanical ventilation. But her condition remained dire.
At 2 am, a young lecturer arrived in the ICU. She saw the patient and thought outside the box. Could it be a neurotoxic snake bite? Her droopy eyes and paralyzed palate hinted at it. The residents were not convinced of the diagnosis, though.
With the family’s reluctant consent, nurses injected anti-snake venom into her vein. Neostigmine injections followed. We continued supporting her lungs with mechanical ventilation, waiting for her to regain her breathing. At the crack of dawn, PC’s journey to recovery began.
As hours passed, her drooped eyelids lifted, her muscles regained strength, and she began to breathe freely. She became articulate, drank some water, and ate a biscuit. The power of timely diagnosis and treatment amazed us all. Her family could not believe their eyes. The nurses and residents were overjoyed! Nothing brings more joy to young doctors than seeing a patient respond to the treatment they painstakingly design, and in this case, watching their diagnosis turn out to be true.
Why did we miss the snake bite? We treat so many of them—hundreds—every year. In the middle of the night, tired residents might not think of a krait bite, chasing differentials instead. And sometimes, even experienced minds overlook the obvious.
Late that fateful night, something unsettling happened to PC. While she peacefully slumbered on the floor, a stealthy krait, renowned for its midnight paralysis, paid her an unexpected visit. The krait struck without warning, injecting venom into her leg, and then vanished into the darkness. What sets krait bites apart is their eerie silence – no fang marks, no pain, no swelling, no bleeding. The aftermath was evident on the girl’s face: her eyelids drooped, speech and swallowing became laboured, and every breath was a struggle.
Just a week after her ordeal, PC left our hospital, walking unaided, her eyes expressing unspoken gratitude. Her remarkable journey serves as a valuable lesson—that in the darkest hours of the night, when the world sleeps, we cannot rely solely on Western textbooks to effectively care for acutely ill people arriving from our villages.
Surprises never cease. Patients find their own indigenous way to treat their maladies, especially when they run out of money and lack support from family and loved ones. Yesterday, I couldn’t believe my ears as I heard a real-life story from a villager at the Sevagram hospital OPD—a story of strength, resourcefulness, and triumph over adversity.
This villager, aged 35, had been fighting a stubborn liver disease for years. Whenever his legs swelled up, and his belly ballooned, he would get admitted to our hospital. There, residents would expertly drain the excess fluid from his abdomen and send him home with a few medicines.
But one rain-soaked day, he found himself alone. His family was away, and there was no way to navigate the deluge to reach the hospital. As the rain poured down, his belly swelled bigger, and distress led to despair.
Faced with no other choice, he designed a daring plan. Armed with nothing but a needle, an IV tube, and a few empty bottles borrowed from the nearby pharmacy, he decided to take matters into his own hands. Using his mobile phone and some guidance from a YouTube video, he drained the excess fluid from his swollen belly.
With hands trembling, he carefully inserted the needle, connecting it to the tube, and watched with anxiety—and hope—as the fluid flowed into a bottle below his bed. As two liters of fluid drained away, he felt a wave of relief wash over him. He started breathing better.
A week later, he returned to our OPD, eager to share his incredible story. It was a tale of courage and self-reliance, one that would have made even our Munnabhai proud.
“During my frequent hospital admissions,” he explained, pride evident in his voice, “I had carefully observed how your residents drained the fluid from my belly. And I used my mobile to watch a YouTube video to ensure that my steps were right.” He had let the cat out of the bag, revealing his resourcefulness and keen observation.
“What more could I do on that day?” the frail, pale villager reflected, his yellow eyes vividly recalling the memory of that challenging moment. “It was raining heavily—water, water everywhere—and I had to use a plan to bail me out.”
Time and again, I’m reminded that in places with limited resources, people often reveal incredible strength and resolve. This villager, with only eight grades of education from his village school, showed that the human spirit can conquer even the most daunting challenges.
Close on the heels of Dr OP Gupta, a true legend in the world of medicine, we bid farewell to another remarkable stalwart today—the incredible Dr AP Jain.
He also decided to hang up his boots today.
If Dr OP Gupta was the renowned Sachin Tendulkar, then there’s no doubt that Dr AP Jain embodied the fearless and swashbuckling spirit of Virender Sehwag. His illustrious career spanning five glorious decades at MGIMS has left a lasting mark in Sevagram, and his influence on thousands of medical students through his teaching and clinical skills is nothing short of awe-inspiring.
Dr AP Jain’s journey from Bulandshahr to Sevagram in the summer of 1974, spanning nearly 1100 kilometers, speaks volumes about his passion for academic medicine. As a distinguished alumnus of KGMC, he carried with him the knowledge and values instilled by his alma mater, ready to tread on a path that would shape the lives of countless medical students and residents.
Though coming from a family with strong business roots, Dr Jain’s decision to take on a full-time teaching assignment with no private practice might have been surprising to some, but it showcased his deep desire to make a meaningful impact in the medical education landscape.
Dr AP Jain’s teaching methods were designed to be dynamic, making the pursuit of knowledge an exhilarating experience. He was never one to shy away from taking innovative approaches to complex medical cases, just as Sehwag would fearlessly take on the fiercest of bowlers.
His love for teaching was evident in the way he engaged with medical students and residents, sharing his wisdom and expertise selflessly. For him, the joy of witnessing his students grow and excel was akin to the joy of a business visionary witnessing the flourishing of their enterprises.
A true teacher at heart, Dr Jain believed in the power of preparation. Before every class, he immersed himself in textbooks, taking copious notes to ensure that he taught in a style that touched the chordae of the students in the classrooms. Teaching was not merely a profession for him; it was a passion that allowed him to grow as a clinician and improve his ability to convey complex medical concepts to his patients with clarity and compassion.
Dr Jain’s insatiable appetite—he was a compulsive book lover—for learning defined him as a lifelong student. He understood that the journey of medicine was one of continuous exploration and discovery, and he embraced this ethos wholeheartedly.
In an era where the department heads and the Deans are struggling to find dedicated and proficient preceptors for medical students, Dr AP Jain stands as a shining example of someone who poured his heart into teaching. Although his teaching sessions were known for his caustic wit and sarcastic remarks, they reflected his refusal to compromise on the quality of education he provided.
His approach to patient care was not only highly skilled but also unorthodox and unconventional, making him a standout personality in the medical world. Just like Sehwag’s unyielding confidence on the cricket pitch, Dr AP Jain’s confidence in his abilities was infectious, instilling a sense of assurance in all those around him.
He firmly believed that history and physical examination were the very essence of medicine, and he took great pride in applying these principles at the patient’s bedside.
His ward rounds and teaching sessions were filled with captivating moments and legendary one-liners that left a lasting impact on his students. Learning from him was a genuine delight, as his words carried the wisdom of a seasoned player and the enthusiasm of an ardent fan.
With a keen sense of punctuality and discipline, Dr Jain would arrive precisely at 8 am in the department for the PG session. His presence in the room set the tone for an attentive and focused learning environment. As a stickler for preparedness, he pushed the postgraduates to excel, ensuring they mastered the subject matter and delivered their presentations and cases, accurately and precisely. As one who seldom suffered fools gladly, his mere presence in the seminar hall was enough to create a sense of discipline and expectancy in the hall.
He fervently encouraged students, residents, and professionals to practice medicine in a humane, holistic, and individualized manner—values he believed to be the essence of medical education. During his bedside rounds, he often quoted Osler’s wise words, emphasizing the importance of treating the patient, not just the disease. His teaching philosophy centered on shifting the focus from the ailment to the person behind it, fostering a deeper connection between the medical practitioner and the patient.
Dr AP Jain’s last decade was a testament to his unwavering dedication to medical education and his profound love for teaching. Even after stepping down as the department head in 2010, his commitment to shaping the future of medical professionals extended far beyond his institute’s boundaries.
His association with the National Board of Examinations, Geriatric Medicine, and Diabetes courses showcased his immense pride in contributing to aspiring doctors’ academic progress. Dr Jain’s deep interest in DNB Family Medicine led him to spearhead this course at MGIMS for almost a decade. His goal was to equip his students with the same competence as MD residents, preparing them to handle diverse medical challenges. Under his devoted guidance, the DNB Family Medicine program at MGIMS earned the prestigious distinction of being rated number one in the country, a true testament to his exceptional teaching and mentoring prowess.
Beyond his remarkable clinical skills, Dr AP Jain’s ability to mentor and shape the careers of countless medical students has been nothing short of extraordinary. His residents consider him almost like a demigod. Many of us owe our passion for medicine and our success as healthcare professionals to his invaluable guidance and unwavering support.
As we bid farewell to Dr Jain, an extraordinary teacher and clinician, we acknowledge the end of an era filled with brilliance and dedication, much like the retirement of Sachin Tendulkar and Virender Sehwag from the cricket pitch. His legacy as an inspiring teacher, a compassionate physician, and a lifelong learner will continue to shine bright, leaving a lasting impact on all those whose lives he touched. Our hearts are filled with gratitude and admiration for his remarkable journey.
Thank you, Dr Jain, for being a true maestro in the field of medicine and for leaving an enduring impact on all of us who were fortunate enough to be under your tutelage. Your contributions have been nothing short of extraordinary, and you will forever be remembered as a beacon of inspiration in the medical community. As Dr Karunakar Trivedi wrote today, may your retirement be as fulfilling and enriching as your remarkable career.
Very few are aware of Dr Jain’s fascination with the golden era of Hindi cinema, particularly his admiration for Hemant Kumar. May I borrow Hemant Kumar’s famous song from “Bees Saal Baad” to pay homage to Dr AP Jain-
बेक़रार करके हमें यूँ न जाइये, आपको हमारी कसम लौट आइये
Dr. OP Gupta, a true “Ajatshatru” in the world of medicine, has retired today after an awe-inspiring five-decade journey.
Today, as the clock struck noon, he entered my room, ready to bid farewell. My heart overflowed with emotions, pride for having risen to become his colleague in the department and sadness at saying goodbye to a remarkable mentor and friend. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I found myself at a loss for words to adequately convey my gratitude and admiration for this extraordinary man.
As I walked with him to his car, and he gracefully stepped inside—his heart filled with emotions—I couldn’t help but keep my gaze fixed on the car as it slowly pulled away. I was reminded of our childhood days when we would watch departing trains with a mix of anticipation and sorrow, knowing that our loved ones were moving away but cherishing the memories we shared.
I stood there—my heart filled with a profound sense of gratitude for having spent four decades in Sevagram with such an extraordinary person.
He joined MGIMS in 1971 as a young lecturer at the age of just 29, and quickly earned immense respect within the department. Alongside two other physicians, he fearlessly took on the challenging responsibilities of clinical work, teaching, visits to the Civil hospital, Wardha, and administration.
In the summer of 1982, I first stepped into the wards of the Medicine department. Fresh with an MD degree and eager to make a mark, I was a senior resident at the time, and he, the head of the unit and the department. Little did I know then that we shall be rounding the wards together in Unit 1 Medicine for nearly a decade.
I distinctly remember his weekly trips to nearby places, diligently serving patients in Alipur and conducting diagnostic camps in Deoli, Pulgaon, and Kagaz Nagar. He was not just an exceptional clinician but a visionary teacher, always striving to create a nurturing environment for all of us under his guidance.
I consider myself fortunate to have been one of the junior members in the department he mentored. He nurtured an environment that encouraged us to explore our passions and strive for excellence. His enthusiasm at the patient’s bedside was contagious, and his hunger for reading journals was unmatched.
His dedication to his patients and students was awe-inspiring. In 1983, he became the formal Head of the department, and later, in 1994, he became the Dean of MGIMS. His leadership was unparalleled, and he effortlessly carried the weight of his responsibilities, balancing administration with clinical care.
As a teacher, Dr. Gupta held a profound influence on his students. From the very first batch to the last, he dedicated his heart and soul to shaping the minds of every student, both in the classrooms and at the bedside. A quick calculation reveals that over five decades, he has taught nearly 3800 medical students. This is indeed a big number- and it is likely that his students can now be found on every continent, carrying forward the knowledge and inspiration he imparted to them.
Even after stepping down from leadership roles, Dr. Gupta’s thirst for knowledge and his commitment to his profession never waned. His social media presence—his Facebook posts were so readable— was a delightful surprise, where he continued to inspire, educate and support his students, even from afar.
Dr. Gupta was always the first one to arrive at the postgraduate sessions in the Medicine department, usually accompanied by Dr. AP Jain. He defied his age, walking briskly and standing tall. As he listened to the presentations, his sharp mind and vast experience enabled him to make quick remarks whenever he detected an error.
In 2012, the Medicine department moved into a new building, and I found myself sharing a close proximity with Dr. OP Gupta, becoming office neighbours. We were allotted 100 square feet chambers each, separated only by a wooden partition. Dr. Gupta’s chamber was modestly furnished with a wooden desk, computer, printer, and a book rack. Every time I passed by his room, I couldn’t help but notice him hunched over his chair, deeply engrossed in his computer screen, always eager to learn something new from the vast resources of the internet.
A decade ago, even though Dr. Gupta had stepped down from leading the unit after reaching the age of 70, he still found joy in working alongside much younger colleagues, many half his age. He remained humble and unassuming, diligently making rounds in the hospital wards, never once giving off the impression of his prestigious past where he had led the department, the hospital, and the institute.
Despite his numerous accolades, he remained humble, always putting the needs of his patients and students above all else.
Dr. Gupta’s love for literature and poetry added yet another layer of depth to his personality. He edited the journal of MGIMS for nearly two decades- his poems gracing the pages of the journal, showcasing his artistic flair.
The department shall keenly feel the void left by Dr. Gupta’s absence. However, his legacy will undoubtedly continue to inspire generations of medical professionals in India.
Thank you, Dr. Gupta, for your love, your kindness, and your passion for medicine. Your presence will be sorely missed, but your influence will live on in each one of us whom you’ve touched with your warmth and compassion.
