Neighbours are your real relatives. The flat opposite our’s has always been owned by the Pandits. But it was only when they decided to shut down their hospital in Devlali and shift to their Pune house that our relationship started. Dr Pandit’s dad had started the hospital in the 1960s – and though Subodh ji had an option of a more lucrative career in Mumbai after finishing his MS from Nair Hospital, he chose the tougher option of coming back to Devlali and continuing the legacy. He was helped in his journey by Asha ji, who also being a doctor, was an equal partner in running the hospital. The town people showed their love for the Pandit family by naming the local bus stand after Pandit Sr.
I sometimes wonder whether he would have been happier in Devlali. Uprooting yourself and shifting base to a new city at the age of 60 is not easy. But the family had decided that it was better to take a clean break from the hospital that they were running. It took them a year or two to sell off their bungalow and the hospital building. And then shifted to Pune. What helped was that Dr Pandit’s sister, Anita, had a flat next to theirs in the same building. Dr Pandit’s discipline was amazing. He joined Surya Sahyadri hospital in Pune and continued his surgical practice there.
A few incidents remain etched in my memory. I had an infection in my thumb which refused to heal. Dr Pandit advised that a minor surgery would be required to take it out. He came home the same evening with a sterilised scalpel – and the surgery was done inside our bedroom! During the pandemic, Pinki, my better half, spent a sleepless night, thanks to a nagging shoulder ache. We met with Dr Pandit in the morning. He had a look at her – and asked her to get a dupatta. He tied up the shoulder joint – and pulled. We heard a small whoosh – and the pain disappeared. The ball of the joint had been dislocated from the socket – and Dr Pandit just pulled it in. Later on, we came across a person who spent a few lakhs at Sancheti hospital, for the same problem!
One hallmark of Dr Pandit was his ethics. To his patient, he would never recommend anything that was unnecessary. A lot of my ideas for preventive healthcare were formed under his tutelage. Funny that a surgeon took under his wings a person like me, who has little faith in medicines and vaccines. Subodh ji was an excellent speaker – and I had the privilege of organising a few talks of his about diabetes, diets and lifestyles.
I learned a lot from Dr Pandit. About health, About life. About death. Dr Pandit was clear that dying at home needs to come back into fashion. As destiny would have it, both my parents spent their last moments at home. The irony was that the last 3 months for Dr Pandit were spent in ICUs. His knowledge continues to live on. He donated his body to AFMC – so that he could continue teaching the rest of the world in death, as much as he taught all of us in life. In a country where lakhs of people want to become doctors, there are only a few thousands who donate the way Dr Pandit did. Have decided to follow him – and will also be pledging my body to a medical college.
We got closer during the lockdown years. Asha ji, his better half, was stuck in the US then – and Dr Pandit used to be a regular dinner guest at our place. He recounted a lot of stories about his younger days when he had just started his practice. I was sure there was a book inside him. I tried my best to nudge him to write about his experiences. He started – and wrote a few chapters during the first few weeks of the pandemic. Unfortunately, his work at Sahyadri restarted and the book remains unfinished. I hope Nyati, his daughter, publishes this writing as a blog. Here is the first chapter:
My friends often wonder why a surgeon from Mumbai’s prestigious Nair HospitalI started a surgery in small sleepy Devlali back in 1978? The story goes back to 1976, whileI was still a resident at Nair Hospital. A resident is a posting where you work 24×7 in the hospital. I usually went two to three times a year to Devlali meet my parents. My father had passed out of KEM hospital, Mumbai, in 1938. He did a 3 year residency in Gynaec, but unfortunately not being sweet of tongue, could not clear his MD. In 1943, he left Mumbai to take charge of the beautiful, scenic Cantonment Hospital. He worked there till his retirement in 1968. Post retirement he started a small 8 bed nursing Home in Devlali. His interest was in Obstetrics and Gynaec and his reputation was mind boggling.
By 1975, my dad’s health had started deteriorating and he was handling only medical cases. I had left Devlali for Mumbai in 1968 to pursue my education. To be honest, my relation with my dad was like that of a school teacher – full of awe, but not someone who you discuss your future plans with. I used to be scared of my dad, who was famous in Devlali for his temper and perfectionism. On that trip in 1976, I reached Devlali in the evening and was spending some time in the hospital, which was on the ground floor with our house on the first floor. A bullock cart rolled in in front of the hospital and stopped. Those days, bullock carts and cycles were the primary mode of transport for the surrounding villages, as buses plied just 2 to 3 times a day. A farmer from Lohsing, a village 25 km away, got out of the cart. There was no hospital between Lohsing and Devlali. He had come to show his 18 year old son. The son was a healthy well built guy, who would not have been out of place in a wrestling arena. My dad diagnosed him to have a ruptured appendix and there was no option but to do an immediate surgery. My father asked me if I wanted to operate.
I refused. I was yet to qualify as a surgeon and was scared about what would happen if I made a mistake. The Cantonment hospital, where my dad was earlier employed, had a surgeon, but the surgeon was out of station. My dad arranged a taxi to transfer the boy to Nasik Civil Hospital. Later that evening I enquired about the facilities in the OT at the nursing home. My dad had trained a ward boy, Sawliram, who had been working with him for the last 20 years in autoclaving. There was no anaesthetist available locally. A Sister, who had also been trained by my dad, had been doing anesthesia by a primitive, but safe, open ether method. As a trainee surgeon with access to the most modern equipment in Mumbai, I was taken aback by how my dad had been doing surgeries like LSCS, hernia and emergency appendix single handedly for 35 years, with great results!
After dinner, my dad called me over for a chat, to discuss my plans after my MS. ‘You can go abroad but your presence there will not affect too many. You would be totally dispensable, if patients had a choice of a super-specialist doctor. Probably, the same would happen even in a Bombay practice. If you were to join Nair there would be intense competition among residents for surgical cases. In Devlali, the situation is different. Excluding Nasik Road, there is no surgeon in a 40 km radius around Devlali. The draining population (potential patients) is about 1lakh. Your presence in Devlali will be a boon to the people around. I don’t want to force you. You take a call.’
The next day, I was back in Mumbai and got engrossed with the humdrum of Nair hospital residency. The following Sunday, I spoke with my parents. Communication those days was via a booked trunk call. My father, through his influence with the Devlali telephone operator, had fixed a time in which he would receive my call. I was curious to know what had happened to the son of that Lohsing villager, who I had refused to operate on. I was informed that the boy expired after 2 days. The Nasik civil hospital surgeon was late coming to the operation. I was devastated at the loss of a young life. I got another jolt a month later when my dad passed away suddenly. Destiny had arranged a conversation with my dad only a month before his death. I still had two years left to finish my MS.
I had lost my father, but was lucky to have three godfathers. The first was my brother- in- law Dr. Arun Wagle, a non-medico who had been a professor at IIT Kanpur. The second was my cousin sister- in- law, Dr.Beena Pandit, a senior gynaecologist having her own private practise at Dadar, Mumbai. The third was my teacher, Dr.Dilip Trivedi. My godfathers told me that a stint in Devlali would be a good opportunity to master basic surgeries. In any case, the bigger surgeries will take time to get a hand on. The other advantage of being in Devlali was economic. Most of my dad’s patients knew that I would soon be a surgeon. Additionally, I would not have to take a loan, since the nursing home was already established. The heart prevailed over the head, and as soon as I finished my MS, I packed my bags to start my career in small town Devlali.