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Spice of Life | Good teachers live on in their lessons
The all-important lesson that each patient is unique and offers a different insight into the same illness, was always stressed upon by him. We, as students, would find his advice strange as we were obsessed with finding the “correct” diagnosis
Gulbahar S Sidhu
Teachers occupy a special place in the lives of each one of us. The memories of our teachers, including their mannerisms, their favourite one-liners and the life lessons they taught, always stay with us. Now that I’ve spent five long decades on this planet, I’ve come to realise that a teacher’s imprint goes far beyond the subject he/she teaches. Teachers offer students a newer and an entirely different perspective of their lives, which is objective and not painted by parental bias.
While learning from a teacher we almost never realise that they too are mortal beings with a limited lifespan. Losing a teacher is difficult to accept and is akin to losing a part of one’s own self. This painful truth dawned on me a few weeks ago when I lost Dr Rajeev Gupta, a noted psychiatrist and my teacher in post-graduation, after he put up a valiant fight against cancer.
It seems just yesterday when I first met him on joining the department of psychiatry at Dayanand Medical College and Hospital, Ludhiana. The year was 1999 and I remember the handsome and charismatic persona of Dr Gupta. His enthusiasm and energy were infectious. He managed to maintain a near perfect balance between professional requirements of the residency programmes and the affectionate relationships with those very students after duty hours. He would always insist on us to think out-of-the-box when evaluating patients and would encourage us to go beyond our standard textbooks.
The all-important lesson that each and every patient is unique and offers a different insight into the same illness, was always stressed upon by him. We, as students, would find his advice strange as we were obsessed with finding the “correct” diagnosis which was not always apparent. Now, I realise how correct his observations were! Indeed, the diagnostic entities and the manuals are designed by us humans and why should we insist that all illnesses should fit into our rigid categories? In fact, as Dr Gupta would say, all patients will not have a psychiatric disorder per se, but their emotional problems still need to be addressed.
After completing post-graduation, my relationship with Dr Gupta evolved into one of friendship. He would shake hands with his students and would not mind sharing a joke or two over a cup of coffee. A few years on, I had a difficult patient admitted under my supervision and I called up Dr Gupta late at night for his advice. When I hesitantly said, “Sir, aapko disturb toh nahin kiya (Sir, I hope I haven’t disturbed you?)”, he replied, “Tum apne dad ko kabhi aisa kehte ho? Phir mujhe kyun kaha? (Do you ever ask your dad this question, then why this hesitancy?)” and assured me that I could call him at any hour without thinking twice.
Over the years, I would make it a point to send him the newspaper clipping featuring my articles or poems and I always found in him an ardent admirer of my writings.
It was an absolute shock to know that our dear teacher had developed renal cell carcinoma a couple of years ago. Even this did not dampen his spirit. We found him still just a call away, ready to share his experiences and knowledge. We still found him smiling always.
“This is my last birthday on this planet,” declared Dr Gupta in March this year, asking all his friends to connect with him once. I could not muster enough strength to do so. He fought valiantly until his last breath, giving us a lesson in resilience and courage.
Good teachers never die. Their lessons stay with the students. Your legacy lives on, sir. May you rest in peace. gulbaharsidhu@rediffmail.com
The writer is a Jalandhar-based psychiatrist
