5. 9
The Farewell Letter
Aa Ab Laut Chalein
As I packed my bags in Berkeley, overwhelmed by the prospect of returning home, I wrote this note to my colleagues in Sevagram…
Berkeley, California 11 May 2005
Dear Friends,
It was the best of times; it was—fortunately—not the worst of times. But now, my Berkeley season is drawing to a close. On May 24, I will touch the soil of Sevagram once again. A year that was educating, entertaining, exciting, and at times exasperating, has come full circle.
Last fall, when I arrived at the University of California, Berkeley—a vibrant town barely twenty miles from San Francisco—I was a man in his mid-forties grappling with the restlessness of the middle years. I had come conscious of the vast gaps in my knowledge. Statistics, epidemiology, and evidence-based medicine were languages I struggled to speak. I had tapped the portals of Berkeley hoping to fill those voids.
Berkeley accepted me with open arms.
By nature, I am shy, inhibited, and often tongue-tied around strangers. Moreover, I had never lived away from my family for so long. The fear of a foreign land, and the daunting prospect of surviving independently without even the most basic cooking skills, weighed heavily on my mind.
But survive, I did.
I found Berkeley to be warm, compassionate, and deeply tolerant—a place that celebrated diversity rather than just tolerating it. It is a small town where, of the 102,000 residents, nearly half are students. Slowly, I began to decipher the American accent, just as they began to absorb my Indian cadence. I learned their culture, and they went out of their way to understand what rural India meant. I grew comfortable with the informality of first-name relationships. Within days, the senior doctor from Sevagram had transformed into a student walking the campus with a backpack and a lunchbox.
Berkeley took me back to my undergraduate days. I returned to classrooms, home assignments, unit tests, and midterms. I spent nights preparing for seminars, writing a thesis, and dreading the finals. All my life I had been math-challenged—perhaps the sole reason I became a doctor—and initially, I struggled to figure out exponentials, logs, and coefficients. I will never forget the professors and friends who helped me navigate those complexities. I acquired outstanding friends as I travelled hopefully, and I value their camaraderie in more ways than one.
My teething troubles over, I began to settle. The days rolled by, and eventually, so did the dough—I finally learned to roll a perfect round roti, perhaps my greatest achievement of the year! I learned how to thrive without asking for help, embracing the fierce independence that Americans cherish.
What did I learn here?
I learned how to count, how to measure, and how to associate A with B. I discovered the rows and columns that make a table, and the bars, pies, dots, and lines that breathe life into a graph. I learned to read, write, analyze, and interpret. I realized with some shame that three-quarters of the medical articles I used to read in Sevagram had never truly made sense to me. Berkeley decoded the anatomy of a research paper and showed me what it takes to publish in JAMA. It taught me that medical research is serious science, and that India needs it—perhaps even more than the developed world—to solve its own unique problems. Indeed, I learned that to find the right solution, one must first learn to ask the right question.
I won’t fall into the familiar trap of comparing the US with India. Berkeley has simply filled my heart with a sense of fulfillment. It opened a massive canvas for me, and my amazement at discovering its colorful kaleidoscope never ceased. I loved Berkeley, and my eyes might well tear up when I say goodbye.
And yet, as spring replaces the fall, a gentle homesickness is enveloping me. I miss Sevagram. My dreams these past few days have been woven around my family, friends, colleagues, and patients. The countdown has begun—I am excited to return home in exactly two weeks.
Words fail me when I try to thank those who coaxed, cajoled, and literally pushed me into accepting this fellowship. I value their support more than I can say. I won’t name them, for I can never repay the debt I owe them. I remain ever conscious of the love and affection that my friends and the MGIMS family have showered upon me.
So, it is time to turn from San Francisco back to Sevagram.
Goodbye, Berkeley. I love you. I will miss you.
SP