“I’ve done more than 30,000 tubectomies,” my classmate said over tea in Sevagram today.
The number hung in the air between us.
We are both from GMC Nagpur’s 1973 batch. But my friend wasn’t a postgraduate gynaecologist or a surgeon — just a plain MBBS doctor. In the early 1980s, he quit his surgical postgraduate training. Back then, these unpaid traineeships had a cheeky nickname: “Poor PGs.” He gave up an academic career for a steady paycheque in the state public health service, and spent the next three decades moving from one rural Primary Health Centre to another. Then he climbed the rungs — CMO, RMO — before finally retiring as medical superintendent of the district hospital.
“I had no specialist degree,” he told me. “But I learned by doing. I honed the skill until I could wake up at 2 a.m., half-asleep, and perform a flawless operation.”
In those days, family planning operations were conducted in rural camps. Ambulances brought women in from distant villages. They were carried into makeshift operating rooms, prepared, operated upon, observed for a few hours, and driven back home before sunset.
No pre-op workups. No qualified anaesthetists. No modern monitoring equipment. No informed consent forms. No prophylactic antibiotics.
“Yet in all those years,” he mused, “I never lost a single patient. Not one major complication.”
Listening to him, I thought of another classmate practising in Wardha. Also an MBBS. Trained in the 1980s under Dr Rani Bang, she threw herself into family planning camps across Gadchiroli and Wardha. She estimates her lifetime total at nearly 50,000 operations.
Maybe there’s a bit of exaggeration in that number — back then, no one kept a real count. But do the math on all those weekly camps over thirty-odd years, and it starts to add up. She, too, worked the scalpel with real flair. She was faster than a T20 batsman — a complete tubectomy in less time than it takes Vaibhav Suryavanshi to score a half-century.
Times have changed. Science has advanced, technology has crept in, and modern medicine is far safer. Today, our tertiary hospitals boast sterile, state-of-the-art operating theatres, continuous multi-para monitoring, and teams of postgraduate residents.
Yet I wonder: can this generation ever match the instinct, muscle memory, and raw dexterity of those rural pioneers? They had no safety nets, no fancy equipment, and no fallback options — only grit, repetition, and an extraordinary stroke of luck.
Nostalgia, you might say. Perhaps. At seventy, what else is a doctor left with, if not his memories.
Wow, Sir. Another deeply relatable piece—one that made me pause and reflect. Behind every “perfect hand” lie countless patient encounters, mistakes corrected, lessons learned, and mentors who believed in us. The last line already fills me with nostalgia. Thank you for sharing this perspective, Sir. 🙂
Where there is a will, there is a way.
I have always admired your incredibly insightful and thought-provoking write-ups on a wide range of subjects.
They are not only informative but also deeply inspiring.
The following lines, in particular, convey emotions and truths that words can scarcely capture:
“Grit, skill, and service. 30,000 operations with not one lost — that’s not luck, that’s devotion.”
“They had no safety nets, only hands that knew the work by heart. A beautiful tribute to a generation we’ll never see again.”
“Muscle memory built on thousands of rural camps. True heroes of public health.”
“Science has advanced, but that instinct, dedication, and courage remain unmatched. A heartfelt salute to those pioneering souls.”
These are far more than beautifully crafted sentences—they are timeless tributes to selfless service, unwavering commitment, and the indomitable spirit of a remarkable generation.
They leave a lasting impression and inspire profound respect.
This is the sheer force of experience, confidence, determination, and spirit of service. Although no longer permissible in today’s times, I recall childhood times where graduate doctors performed cesareans, hysterectomies, and appendectomies; operated on hernias and hydroceles; and even did tonsillectomies. It was quite normal in district hospitals, which hardly had any postgraduate specialists. It was a strong desire to learn from the seniors and provide selfless service to the masses. Also, litigation wasn’t much of a problem, and patient relatives were considerate enough to forget & forgive if something went wrong at all.
This is the sheer force of experience, confidence, determination, and spirit of service. Although no longer permissible in today’s times, I recall childhood times where graduate doctors performed cesareans, hysterectomies, and appendectomies; operated on hernias and hydroceles; and even did tonsillectomies. It was quite normal in district hospitals, which hardly had any postgraduate specialists. It was a strong desire to learn from the seniors and provide selfless service to the masses. Also, litigation wasn’t much of a problem, and patient relatives were considerate enough to forget & forgive if something went wrong at all.
During our days at MGIMS, there was a Dr. Dawande, then in his fifties, who served as the Deputy Civil Surgeon at the Wardha District Hospital. With only an MBBS degree, he was a true master of all trades. He was cheerful, approachable, and remarkably down-to-earth. He handled surgery, medicine, obstetrics, and gynaecology with the confidence of a specialist from Sevagram.
Always with a paan in his mouth, he would often brush aside discussions about complex surgical procedures. His typical remark was, *”I know anatomy inside out. Once I know what has to be removed, I don’t need to read the textbooks. Just gain access, control the bleeding, ligate, and resect. That’s all there is to it.”*
I observed him from my clinical posting days in Wardha through my house jobs and later during my brief tenure as a Medical Officer under the PP programme. I never heard of a single allegation of medical negligence against him. Yet, despite his vast practical experience, we never regarded him as being on par with even our young teachers who held MD or MS degrees.
During the Emergency, tubectomies and vasectomies were being performed on a massive scale as part of the government’s population control programme. For Medical Officers, this became one of the primary responsibilities. I am sure many of them performed several thousand sterilisation procedures during those years. I was fortunate to be under relatively little stress because I could delegate most of these operations to the surgery and gynaecology house officers, while I maintained the records and submitted the reports to the District Health Officer.
Dr. Pandey, you would be pleasantly surprised to know how enduring Dr. Dawande’s legacy has been.
His daughter, **Dr. Savita Dawande Borle**, devoted 35 years of her life as a dental surgeon at our Sevagram hospital before we sadly lost her to cancer about a decade ago. Her story is here:
https://books.kalantri.co.in/architect/dr-savita-borle/
Her husband, **Dr. Rajiv Borle**, is one of India’s most accomplished maxillofacial surgeons, admired nationwide for his surgical expertise. He also played a pivotal role in the growth of JNMC, Sawangi, through his outstanding academic and administrative leadership:
https://books.kalantri.co.in/architect/dr-rajiv-borle/
Their son, **Dr. Firoze Borle**, also an MGIMS alumnus, is a plastic surgeon, carrying the family’s tradition of excellence into the next generation.
Dr. Dawande’s legacy, therefore, extends far beyond his own distinguished career. It lives on through three generations of doctors who have served thousands of patients and enriched the institutions they were part of. Few physicians leave behind such a lasting and inspiring legacy.
SP Kalantri, oh dear! Your simple, understated narrative about her felt like sitting alone on the banks of the Ganga, quietly watching its gentle summer flow.
My respect for Dr. Dawande has multiplied after learning that he belonged to the first batch of GMC Nagpur. It is no surprise that he nurtured a daughter who embodied the finest qualities of compassion, grace, and womanhood.
My respectful salutations to both the father and the daughter. 🙏 And thank you for sharing this precious, little-known chapter in the remarkable story of Dr. Dawande. ❤️
A wonderful tribute, Sir. It reminds us that true surgical skill is forged through years of disciplined practice, dedication, and service under challenging circumstances. While modern medicine rightly prioritises patient safety, informed consent, and quality standards, the commitment and resilience of those rural pioneers remain truly inspiring. Having spent two years in a rural setup after MBBS, I can deeply relate to many of those challenges.
As always 👌👌Sir💐Experience does matter over qualifications… hands on, real time, resource limited experience is priceless.
So true, Sir.
Advances in medical technology have not always helped, especially in this regard. In many ways, they have contributed to deskilling, as younger doctors increasingly rely on investigations and machines rather than clinical judgment and bedside skills. The emphasis often seems to be on acquiring more degrees and qualifications instead of refining the art of medicine.
At the same time, media-driven mistrust has strained the doctor–patient relationship and pushed many clinicians toward defensive medical practice.
The future of our profession deserves serious reflection. I only hope we can revive the trust, compassion, and healing that have always been at the heart of medicine. 🙏🏻🙏🏻