From a Newspaper Clipping to Sevagram

I first heard of the Mahatma Gandhi Institute of Medical Sciences through a modest, almost inconspicuous advertisement in a newspaper. At the age of 18, I was largely insulated from the social and political undercurrents that defined the 1970s. Concepts like caste, reservation, or affirmative action were distant abstractions to me. My father, a bureaucrat and UNDP expert, had spent much of his career in metropolitan cities and abroad. Ours was a household of modern comforts, quite distant from the rural realities that MGIMS would soon immerse me in. I applied to the college without any particular reverence for Gandhiji; I was simply an eager student pursuing a medical career.

The journey to Sevagram for my entrance interview was my first solo voyage—a true rite of passage that began on the wooden three-tier seats of the Grand Trunk Express. I remember that 21-hour journey from Delhi vividly; my holdall served as my only cushion against the hard planks of the train. When the locomotive finally groaned to a halt at what was then Wardha East station, I hesitated. The “station” was little more than a signpost in the dust—no platform to speak of, no bustling crowd, just an immense, quiet landscape. For a moment, standing there with my luggage, I wondered if I had made a catastrophic mistake in getting down.

The Doomsday Oracle of ‘Apna Ghar’

Fortunately, Mrs. Meera Mundhada from Mahila Ashram had arranged for someone to meet me. I was taken to her home briefly before shifting to a small guest house in the city known as Apna Ghar. It was a humble place, where the mosquitoes seemed to outnumber the amenities. Despite the protection of a thin mosquito net, I barely slept that night. The persistent buzzing of the insects was matched only by the nervous anticipation of the interview that lay ahead. I was miles from the comfort of my father’s metropolitan world, and the weight of the coming morning felt heavy.

The next day, I made my way to the campus. Dr. Sushila Nayar was away, and the interview panel was chaired by Shri Sriman Narayan, the Governor of Gujarat. Contrary to the warnings I had received about rigorous questioning on Gandhian philosophy, the interaction was remarkably warm and brief. They didn’t ask about the charkha or the nuances of khadi. Instead, Shri Sriman Narayan looked at me and asked one sincere, foundational query: “Why do you want to become a doctor?” I answered as truthfully and simply as I could. I no longer recall who asked the final question, but I remember the smile it brought to the room. When the results were announced the next day, my name was on the list. I had crossed the threshold.

The Ashram: Unlearning the City

The compulsory stay in the Sevagram Ashram following admission was a profound cultural shock. For a boy raised in the shadow of UNDP missions and metropolitan bureaucracy, living by the clock of simplicity and manual service was a radical departure. I was required to sweep, to serve, and to maintain a level of self-discipline that had previously been handled by others. It was here that I began to slowly unlearn the assumptions of my upbringing.

I realized that the “invisible platform” I had stepped onto at the Wardha East station was, in fact, the beginning of a life I could not yet imagine. MGIMS didn’t just teach me the science of medicine; it fundamentally reshaped my perspective on what it means to be a human being in service to others. Looking back across the decades, that maiden train journey on the Grand Trunk Express remains the most significant voyage of my life.