Reflections on Medicine and Life by Dr. S.P. Kalantri
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.
We walk past her statue, work in her hospital, and invoke her name often. But how many of us know who Kasturba really was before she became Gandhi’s Ba? Ask anyone in Sevagram today, and chances are—not one person might recall who she is. Or who she was. Until you pause and whisper her name. … Read the essay
It was 1974 — a year when Sevagram went to sleep early, and the nights belonged to the crickets and a handful of restless medical students in the JN Boys’ hostel. MGIMS was still young then. The world had no screens or smartphones to stare at, and evenings found purpose on a small wooden stage … Read the essay
Dilip arrived in my outpatient room and settled on the stool with the solemnity of a man about to announce something of national importance. “I have a stone in the gall bladder,” he declared. He did not sound like one in distress, but rather like someone unveiling a secret possession. I leaned forward. “Yes, but … Read the essay