RIP : Dear warrior

RIP: Dear Warrior!

                                                                        By

                                                                 Vivek Hande

 

I lost a patient the two years ago   on this very date , after  a valiant  fight with  his multiple ailments for the past five years. He was sixty eight going on eighteen when he died. He was under my care but on several occasions, I actually felt it was he who was doling out medical and every other kind of advice to me.

 He was actually more than a patient. I learnt many things from him. I probably got much more from him than I could give him. He was suffering from Hepatocellular Carcinoma(Cancer of the Liver). He had undergone surgery for the same and suffered through chemotherapy and its side effects. He subsequently developed Kidney failure and required weekly dialysis. To make things worse, he also had severe bronchial asthma and required nebulizers and a lot of other medications. He did not consider his Hypertension a problem at all and that was considered part of the background score. He was truly and verily , nothing short of a walking medical disaster.  He gulped down pills and capsules by the dozen thrice a day. He could recollect his weekly blood reports by memory. He was a walking medical dictionary and read up constantly and updated himself on all his ailments. He knew the adverse effects and consequences of all the medical procedures he had been subjected to over the years. He had every reason to ask the Lord why he had been singled out for attention and why he had every conceivable medical problem. He had reason to be frustrated and upset with life.

And yet, not once did I see him pity himself or curse his fate. I am sure, he must have had his lows and felt miserable physically and psychologically. But not once did he let it play out on his face. He always maintained a cheerful demeanor; a smile playing on his face. He bore his infirmities with grace and dignity. He would often ask me to take it easy and lighten up and start enjoying life. He would tell me that before I realized, life would slip away. He would encourage me to take the weekends off and spend more time with my family. In a large measure, he was the one responsible for motivating me to take up Golf as a sporting pursuit. Every time, I tee off , I invariably remember him . As the disease got hold of him in a vice like grip, he knew his countdown had begun. His days were numbered and he was ready for it. I saw him shrinking away each day.

 He was passionate about cricket .He had predicted an an Australian victory in the Ashes . Lying on the hospital bed with drips and catheters invading him, he would cheer every Indian victory on the television. He was not alive to see the match , but I am certain ,he was fervently praying from the skies for an Indian triumph. He taught me self belief, he showed me grace and dignity – the dead man truly showed me how to live life!! RIP , dear warrior..

identity crisis

                                                    Identity crisis!!?

By

    Vivek Hande

 

It is a technology driven society today and being net- savvy is more a necessity than a luxury .I am a netizen too and I must confess that  I  often surf the net to seek out interesting e-mail ids. Each e-mail id says so much about the individual and gives a fascinating glimpse into the mind of the owner. Often , an address says more about the person than the mail!

 

lawyer.kochupillaiparthasarthy.tvs@hotmail.com is quite obviously a serious individual who is rather particular about the way he is addressed and means business. doctorjoinbones@rediffmail.com is an orthopedic colleague; gasbag@hotmail.com is an anesthesiologist and believe it or not, babies-out@gmail.com is a gynecologist friend of mine. A final year medicine resident at my hospital is waiting to go into private practice and makes his intentions clear with moneyraker@vsnl.com .

 

There is a bunch of sports crazy individuals on the net who carry their sporting affiliations as a badge of honour. One encounters spsdhonitops@gmail.com or vkmanchesterunited-forlife@hotmail.com   and I find prerna-dravid-ismine@msn.com interesting. A rare one –vishwnathananandgps@mac.com !

 

Some addresses are clearly aspirational. My son gets mail from britneyismine-rp@gmail.com and sharapova-iwant-u@usanet.com. Another of his friends is yogihasferari@msn.com .   Some make their musical preferences clear –    beethoven-u-rock@dna.com and elvis-is-king@gmail.com don’t leave much to imagination. Some addresses make it clear that the couple is much in love ; mp&rita-r-1@vsnl.com and minaraju-janamjanam@gmail.com are good examples of love on the net!

 

Then there are some e-mail ids which convey a social message as well; save-papersandy@hotmail.com ; saynotosmoking-vijay@indiatimes.com and conservewater-rishi@rediff.com are prime examples. Some convey different kinds of messages-      ihatemen-rina@tna.com; rksays-brinjals-r-yuck@sify.com   Some addresses give an insight into the mental state of the person    -ihatexams@hotmail.com and lifesucks@vsnl.com and drowningdeep@gmail.com  might need assistance.

It truly is a fascinating study and I am really hooked on to it. I would love a feedback from readers and would love them to share interesting addresses with me on my email id ubetterlikethisarticle@indiatimes.com !!

 

 

friendly neighbourhood

Friendly  neighbourhood??

By Vivek Hande

 

He introduced himself as, “Sam , an investment banker with a multinational bank”. He was based in Mumbai for the past five years. We met at the departure lounge of the Chattrapati Shivaji International Airport. Our respective flights being delayed, we had a long wait of nearly three hours ahead.

We struck up an instantaneous friendship. One just gets along famously with some people. We discovered several common passions and had lots of common ground to talk about. We agreed that Deepika Padukone was a fine actress ; we shared our unhappiness about Vishwanathan Anand being displaced from being the World chess champion ; we discussed the Indian cricket team in the post Tendulkar- Dravid era.  Simon & Garfunkel , Jethro Tull and Carpenters were common favorites. We expressed our dismay about Mumbai’s pot- holed roads which became worse during the rains. We lamented about corruption , price rise, inflation and generally cursed politicians . Consensus was reached that vegetarianism was healthier. We spoke about the recent plays watched in NCPA and the best watering hole in town.

We were warming up over several cups of coffee and the talk was getting more animated. Conversation drifted to our neighbours . His perspective as a financial expert was about the terrible course the Pakistani economy was taking and plunging the country into an irreversible downward spiral. I reminded him that the Indian economy was reeling too. He spoke about the expenditure on the Defense   budget of Pakistan. I was more concerned about our troops indefinitely deployed on the borders away from their families in hostile conditions. I expressed my angst about a proxy war being carried on from across the borders. He seemed unusually defensive and seemed more perturbed about where Pakistan was headed rather than India.

A trifle surprised, I asked him his reasons for this unexpected bend towards our neighbor; I was taken aback when he clarified that he was Sameer(Sam , for short) Haider from Pakistan and was heading home on leave for Karachi.

Suddenly, the blossoming friendship didn’t look so wonderful after all. The bonhomie seemed to chill and the air seemed a little frosty. We had spent three hours being friends; we had enjoyed each others’ company; we could think similarly; we talked on the same wavelength and we had common interests and passions, but somehow friendship seemed distant and remote.

I suddenly needed to make an urgent phone call and Sameer Haider remembered an unavoidable errand and friendship was tossed out of the air-conditioned lounge. I wonder who was to blame- Sameer, me or the times…

 

 

diamonds are forever

Diamonds are for ever…

By Vivek Hande

I am not much of a pet-lover. I don’t feel comfortable with dogs, cats, parrots, parakeets or any other such creatures.  I did, however, have an encounter of the close kind with a pet and that was a long time ago.  My father, then in service, had a boss who quite liked him and he decided to present us with a pedigreed Dalmatian pup, fresh from the oven, in a manner of speaking.

We took in the little white thing with a little trepidation and uncertainty. It was almost like having a new baby at home. The only catch was that this was our first (and only) tryst with pets and none of us were particularly comfortable with the four legged creature.  Within a week, black diamond shaped spots started appearing on the white coat. It was christened “Diamond” because of its spots.  It was introduced to a strictly vegetarian diet. Efforts were made to get friendly with Diamond.  Diamond grew very fast and  was a voracious eater.  It would devour everything and look with doleful eyes for more. We were not sure whether we landed up overfeeding it .We were singularly unsuccessful in toilet training Diamond.  Consequently, one had the task of clearing up the mess and my brother and I did the honors.

 It was a playful little creature and would jump on us with joy, on our return from school or work.  It would have been nice, but unfortunately, we were all rather terrified by this excitable creature.. My mother made tentative attempts to get friendly with Diamond and was rewarded with a friendly bite on the fingers. That was the end of her efforts to befriend Diamond. After a couple of my Dad’s trousers got torn off by the cheerful fellow, my Dad did his best to protect himself and his clothes and his legs. A whole lot of my shoes went missing. My brother had quite a few of his notebooks happily ripped apart by the young master. He was trying to be friendly and get our attention but we could not reciprocate satisfactorily.  We have a solitary family portrait with Diamond in the center and all of us looking to keep a respectable distance from him. Fear writ on our faces and smiles forced, it was a portrait of abject discomfiture for all concerned, Diamond included. 

I am sure Diamond sensed our discomfort and maybe our aloofness. He started retreating into a shell. His barks sounded less frenetic, his leaps a little forced and his antics a trifle contrived. He seemed a little depressed; we were feeling a little guilty. But there was a total transformation, in the chap, when, my cousin, a confirmed canninophile (if there is such a word), came visiting. They discovered each other and got along like a house on fire. He would follow my cousin all around the place and they seemed to be soul mates. They were quite inseparable and Diamond seemed to have been reborn.  It was quite obvious that Diamond would have a new home where he would be appreciated and enjoyed. Diamond and my cousin lived happily ever after for many years.

Having a pet is not easy.  It has to be a relationship of mutual comfort and affection.  Much perhaps, like marriage.  But for pet lovers, there can be no other way of life. For these diehard pet lovers, Diamonds are forever

destined to go

Destined to go…

By

Dr Vivek Hande

It was many years ago. I was young and recently armed with my MD degree. I felt powerful and I certainly believed I could save the world and get everyone on the road to healing ,if not completely on their feet.

Sushant was a handsome young sailor who was sailing on one of the Coast Guard ships on the high seas in the Andaman islands. He had everything looking  up for him- a bright future, doting parents ,a lovely wife ,Smita , who was carrying their first child ,back home in Patiala. Fate ,it seemed ,had other ideas.  He was carrying out some drills on the deck of the ship that bright Sunday morning. He had been feeling a bit unwell for the past two days with a bit of a headache and a slight fever. He suddenly fell on the deck and started convulsing repeatedly. His colleagues and the paramedics rushed to assist him but he had lapsed into a comatose state. He was evacuated by helicopter in very quick time from the high seas to the hospital in Port Blair.

I assessed him on arrival and found him deeply comatose and with evidence of Pneumonia affecting both the lungs ,probably on account of aspiration during the convulsions. I moved him to the ICU. I rushed through a battery of investigations . I did a lumbar puncture and drew out some cerebrospinal fluid and also took him for a CT scan. The verdict was clear –he had severe Bacterial Meningitis, an infection affecting the meninges,the covering layer of the brain.  I put him on high doses of very potent antibiotics. He was on intravenous drips and being fed through a tube through his nose. He was being monitored vey closely and all his vital parameters were being frequently assessed. By late evening, he started dropping his oxygen saturation and the lungs were not functioning optimally and I had to place him on ventilator support to ensure there was adequate oxygenation . The young man was fighting for his life and was quite literally hanging by a thread.

I saw this strapping young lad, just about the same age as me, with his entire life ahead of him, reduced to a whole lot of tubes and drips and monitors and catheters invading every orifice of his body. I felt  a strange kind of bonding with him. I had to save him, I told myself. His aged parents and very pregnant wife flew down to rally around him. I kept returning to the ICU a half dozen times a day and often late at night  to check on him. I adjusted his fluids, his antibiotics, his ventilator settings and everything else that was in my hands.  I would talk to Sushant and exhort him to fight  and coax him to get back to the world. I told him we were going  to win this war. He never gave any sign that he could perceive or appreciate any of my rumblings. Every time I stepped out of the ICU, his parents and wife would look at me expectantly. After a few weeks of this routine, they started averting my gaze and started preparing themselves for the inevitable.

Was this a doomed war? I was beginning to lose hope  but somehow  at some level, kept hoping he would come out of this state ,inspite of all  medical and prognostic indicators pointing to the contrary. After nearly four and a half weeks, the tide started turning and Sushant started showing some signs of improvement. I intensified my efforts and the ICU was suddenly injected with a sense of hope .The ICU nursing matron smiled at me and told me , “Doctor, we are going to win!”  .The next couple of days saw dramatic improvement in his condition. I was able to get him off the ventilator; he came out of his coma and started moving his limbs feebly. He soon started feeding himself and in a few days was walking around. Sushant had come back, from the dead. It was a tremendous feeling and I was elated . I somehow felt I had got a new lease of life. The gratitude of the family and  the joy  and relief of the elderly couple and Smita made me feel like a victorious General ; we had indeed won the war!

Sushant walked out of the hospital, a trifle weak and scarred but on his own feet. He returned to Patiala on leave . I got regular inputs from him over the next several months on telephone. He had become a proud father. My eyes turned misty and my spectacles fogged up when he told me that his son had been given my name.  He told me his mother had distributed sweets on the happy occasion to most of Patiala! He gave me inputs about his son’s progress and his crawling and his climbing and so on.  I was happy for them..

And then suddenly a call, almost a year to the day ,Sushant was admitted under my care. His father on the line, choking with emotion and barely talking coherently, “Sushant died yesterday. He was on his scooter and had a head on collision with a bus . He died on the spot” I felt devastated. The thought ringing in my head, “What a waste of a life! After such a heroic battle , dying so insensibly; such a meaningless death”. I felt it was such a sheer waste of an effort; all the struggle and anguish for nothing at all. I got on with my patients and OPDS and emergencies and carried on with my work but thoughts of a wasted life and a wasted effort kept coming back to me.

A few months down the road, another phone call from Sushant’s father. Quite controlled and much in command of his emotions,he told me, “Doctor, we had given up Sushant for dead a year back. You breathed life into him.  You gave him an extra year- a very precious year. We have cherished his presence and thanked God and you for every day that he was with us. He was destined to go. You changed his destiny and gave him the opportunity to hold his child. You gave him the chance to enjoy his family for another year. You gave us the chance to love him and care for him for another year. We will remember you in our prayers every day”.

His words echo in my ears every time I have a Sushant. One can only try and one can do all that is in your hand as a physician, but the humbling truth is that when one is destined to go, one has to go……

 

big boss

Big Boss…

By  Vivek Hande

 

There is a creature called the “Boss”. It comes in various shapes and sizes and many hues. There is a lot of variability in this particular species.  Your existence, professional and often, personal as well is dictated by this creature. It can be a male or a female or sometimes indeterminate. It can   affect you in many ways; good, bad and ugly!

There are Bosses who give you a task and forget about it and only want to be informed when completed. There are others who are micro-managers and will question every step of the task and will involve themselves with each little detail – it would have been easier for all concerned if they had done the job themselves. Some make the performance of a task smooth and graceful; others make it onerous and unpleasant. However , it must be remembered that the only time some people work like a horse is when the Boss is riding them. Some have the ability to render an easily performed job complicated and seemingly impossible. Some breathe down your neck; some don’t let you breathe; some make you breathless!

Some are big hearted and allow you take credit and compliment you generously. There are others who are stingy with compliments and never have an encouraging word to say. There are some who are masters of hogging the credit, for a job done well by you – without a twinge of conscience. There are those who encourage and others, who discourage, discredit and demoralize.  There are some who raise you to the skies and quite easily drop you like a hot potato as well. There are Bosses who are inscrutable and don’t let you peep into what goes on in their mind and then there are some others who are loud and vocal about their feelings and thoughts and let every one around them know what they are thinking!

You may have Bosses who expect you to fawn and suck up and if you don’t ,they feel insecure and agitated .And then you have some who despise sycophancy of any kind and make it clear that they don’t expect any such behavior. There are some who encourage informality and a casual banter and then there are the stiff –upper –lipped species  that won’t be caught smiling or allow anyone to smile. There are those whom you want emulate and then some whom you want to decimate. There are some, for whom, you would be willing to give a limb or life and others whom you would like to push to the other life.

Interestingly, these traits are not gender specific and you could have either the male or the female species behaving either way.  Whether you like it or not, a Boss becomes an integral part of your existence. You can hate her or love him, but ignore you cannot! But, I also like to remind myself that, “Your real Boss is the one who walks around under your hat!”

An Army Brat and other stories…

Those were the best days….

By Vivek Hande

I grew up an Army brat.  I say it with pride and as I grow older , I realize it was a truly privileged existence. It was the finest childhood a parent could offer a growing child . I am what I am today ; I think the way I do ; react in the way I do , in  large measure to my Army , my Cantonment up -bringing..

It was a different way of life . I saw nine schools by the time I passed out of school. Yes, I felt bad leaving school each time , leaving friends and class-mates. But each new station and each new school , brought in a new set of friends , a new range of experiences and a whole lot of new adventures. One joined good schools , bad schools , indifferent schools and one adapted . You always had other Army brats to help you in the journey.  There were classes at times under the open skies-the roof of the school had been blown off in a storm .  At times , there were no classes at all – no teachers could be motivated to serve in those remote far flung areas- so one played football the whole day long and studied at home ! But do believe me , all my co –brats are doing amazingly well today in all walks of life ,all across the world. They are all professionals – executives , physicians ,journalists , fashion designers , Armed Forces personnel  of the highest caliber…

The cleanest air we breathed; the best of grounds we played in. We had access to the finest sporting facilities in the country –tennis , squash , riding , swimming –we  had it all.  We saw the geography and the topography of this great country. It is a different thing that we often had to dig out the Atlas or find out from Dad’s colleagues in the Signals as to where exactly the place we were posted to existed. Learnt terms such as NRS-  Nearest Railway Station- very rarely was one lucky to detrain at the same location. But the reception at the station and the onward journey by road made one feel like a feudal prince. Every Army brat knows the high regard one had for the “Bhaiyya “. One did not know about Sewadar or Sahayak but one certainly knew “Bhaiyya” was family. He was Jeeves , your friend  and guide rolled into one .

One learnt that there was a family beyond the  four walls of your home. . One learnt that when your Dad went on course or exercise or got posted out , there were a whole lot of “Uncles” and “Aunties” who adopted you and made you feel special and cared for and somehow made things easier .  The “Pot-luck” dinners and impromptu “Chaat –parties” and Sunday brunches by the riverside with the entire unit in attendance gave you something special to always look forward to. One learnt that the more you give , the more you get ..

It was not always rosy and beautiful and cheerful. There were mosquitoes, erratic electricity supply , extremes of weather , paucity of supplies and provisions at times . Connectivity was often a problem . Medical facilities were often rudimentary .  Yet , when I think back , I rarely remember that . I remember the sense of belonging ; I remember being part of a huge loving family ; I remember the beautifully laid out roads; the thousands of trees marked with brown and white ; greenery and open spaces; fresh air and the thrill in simple pleasures of life.  If there was good times to be enjoyed, one did so heartily and if there were bad times around the corner , one faced them with stoicism .

I am proud being an Army brat . I would not like to trade it for any other kind of childhood . I am what I am , the way I grew up. Those were the best days…

a grand-woman of substance

A grand -woman of substance

By

Vivek  Hande

There was a lot of hype recently regarding Women’s Day.  Women have established themselves and proven their mettle in every sphere of life. The Modern woman of today is second to none and perhaps better than many of their male counterparts in their chosen fields. It is something that we, as men , have learnt to accept.

But , is it really only today ,that women have come into their own ?Women have always been a force to reckon with . I think back and reflect on the life and times of my late grandmother and realize that she was a woman of substance, if ever there was one. She was married when she was eleven .  Her husband , my grandfather was only a few years older. My grandmother , Dodda (short for  Doddamma) as we called her was never formally schooled or tutored. She taught herself the ways of life and much more as she moved to various corners of the country with my engineer grandfather.

She was a fast learner and had an amazing ability for languages. She learnt to read and write with considerable fluency,  Kannada, Bengali , Marathi , Telegu and Hindi . She could hold her own in Tamil , Bhojpuri and manage a bit of Malayalam as well.  Her linguistic abilities never ceased to amaze me. She raised four children, often single –handedly ,as my grandfather had to go across the county on work for prolonged periods. She realized the value of education and encouraged her children including her two daughters to study and aspire for higher learning. She wanted to equip them better tan what she was to face the world.

  She was a walking treasure trove of recipes across the country and always willing to learn and try something new.  My wife always joked with her and told her that they ought to compile the recipes into a book and Tarla Dalal all the way to the bank! Though , not formally educated , she had an amazing grasp of numbers. She could calculate interest rates and chalk out the dividend due to her on deposits made by my grandfather. Her photographic memory allowed her to ask my  mother to send reminders on the due dates, if dividend cheques were not received on time. She was a walking accountant and calculator and a small computer rolled into one !  She just had an intuitive feel for numbers.

She read extensively in all languages and read on diverse subjects and an esoteric range of authors. She devoured her Kannada and Hindi newspapers and had strong views on every subject and could hold her own in any conversation. She was game for adventure and visited us at Bhutan and Port Blair(where I was stationed at different times) and wanted to take on what ever excitement the places had to offer. Her frail health notwithstanding , she was ready for any kind of action.

She is no more . But in many ways , she is still very much around.  Whenever I am stuck or down and out and in a fix , I think of her irrepressible spirit and her determination and her ability to be unfazed, whatever the nature of the problem. More often than not, I am able to lift myself and get on. She , most certainly was a woman of substance . A toast to the indomitable spirit of the women of the world!!

a matter of wife & death

A matter of wife and death !

                                                 By

                                         Vivek Hande

 

This is a tale of tangled webs and avoidable crossed connections. I have a friend Vikram; handsome , highly qualified ,eminently eligible and not so very young anymore; a bachelor. Somehow, marriage did not work out for him. Initially , perhaps a case of missed opportunities and later time just kind of  slipped away. His mother, Mrs.S,  a genial , affectionate soul , tried for a long time to get him married and then after many years gradually started stepping down her efforts. During earlier days, she would seek alliances through her extensive network of friends, relatives and colleagues ,but at some point in the course of events , she gave up. Her affections and energies got transferred to Victor, her prized , pedigreed Labrador.

Enter Mrs. R , who  still considers my friend a good catch and is keen to get her niece married to the gent in question. She is not aware that Mrs S is now focused only Victor, the Labrador. Incidentally ,  Mrs S, having shifted her attentions from her son to her pet is rather keen to acquire a mate, of appropriate pedigree for her canine to ensure a handsome litter and that is currently uppermost in her mind. The conversation that followed could have many tongues and tails wagging….

 

Mrs S( looking fondly at Victor): He is getting old , you know.

Mrs R(thinking fondly of  Vikram): Come , come , he is still very youthful and attractive.

Mrs S: I want to see little babies running around and yelping around the house.

Mrs R: How many babies would make you happy?

Mrs S: At least half dozen and they should have his lovely skin and beautiful brown eyes.

Mrs R: Half dozen? Well , whoever it is , she will have a real tough time!

Mrs S: I am looking around . She should have good pedigree and preferably she ought to be mating for the first time.

Mrs R( taken aback ): I can assure you, we come from a very good family and our children are brought up with the highest values.

Mrs S( interrupting with excitement): I don’t want to waste any time. He is in heat and I want the mating as early as possible. Let us arrange it for this weekend. It will be more convenient at our place. You just give her a good scrub down and bring her across.

Mrs R(convinced that this was definitely not the place for her niece): I better get going.

Mrs S: Let us have some sweets to celebrate . I just can’t wait for the weekend!

 

Well, Mrs. R beat a hasty retreat and decided to try her luck for her niece in a more restrained family. Mrs S was disappointed over the weekend but has not given up her efforts to find a suitable pedigreed mate for Victor. My friend , Vikram remains a bachelor and incidentally , has always hated dogs!

 

 

Kuzu-Zang Po- a foot in my mouth &other stories

A foot in my mouth

By Vivek Hande

 

It was a pretty long time ago- almost two decades since.  I received my transfer orders to Bhutan, as a young medical officer, with a considerable sense of excitement and anticipation. I wondered, what exotic treasures and experiences did  the land of the peaceful dragon have for me.  It was an eventful two years and I still recollect with great pleasure, the wonderful friends I made there and the  rich tapestry of memories of days spent there  still makes me glow.

I am definitely richer for the adventures and associations I had in this very lively, vibrant and verdant country. The Bhutanese are a very warm, simple and affectionate lot and it is not for no reason that they are amongst the happiest in the world!

These strong and sturdy people greet you with an enthusiastic “kuzuzang-po”, in welcome and nod “tashi – delek” in affectionate farewell every time you come across them.  As a young doctor, I was able to move all over Bhutan and get to know the locals and gain their confidence. During my brief sojourn in Simtokha, a few kilometers short of the quaint capital city Thimpu, I had gained some mastery over the local language –Dzongkhag.

Keen to explore Thimpu and try my newly acquired linguistic abilities, I trekked upto  Thimpu , one bright Sunday morning. I looked around the markets and the gardens and the lovely gumphas . Trudging back to my location, a bit exhausted after my excursions, I flagged down a passing Toyota and requested the gentleman to give me a lift. A pleasant looking, dignified man and too cautious a driver for my liking.

We got talking – a mix of English which he spoke perfectly and Dzongkhag , which I spoke imperfectly. I told him I was a doctor and he reported that he was working in Thimpu.  When he learnt, I was a doctor, he asked me about the health scenario in Bhutan from a neutral medico’s perspective. I conveyed my dissatisfaction about the work being carried out by the Department of Health and lamented about the haphazard and inadequate medical infrastructure and facilities in general. I spoke about the poor vaccination coverage and the lack of toilets in public spaces. I made no bones about my disgust about the state of affairs.

I realized that my friendly driver was certainly an enlightened and interested citizen. Having reached my destination, I thanked him and bid him “Tashi-Delek”.  A week later, at a banquet to honour a visiting dignitary, some senior ministers of the royal government of Bhutan were also invited. My heart sank when I saw everyone stand up to welcome, His Excellency, the Honourable Home Minister of Bhutan – Dago Tshering – none other than my “enlightened driver friend”!

I was told, much to my mortification that he was then, perhaps the second most powerful man, after the King of Bhutan. I was quite flabbergasted to think that powerful ministers could be such simple men and drive their own cars, sans security and other paraphernalia.

On being formally introduced to him, I could see more than a glimmer of recognition in the ministerial eyes. He put an arm around me and greeted me as an old friend while I blurted a very weak “Kuzuzang-po”!!!