Remembering Dr T N Dudha: A Tribute

Dr. Shivani Dudha

After my father’s death, it took a very long time to not feel angry and bitter but instead celebrate his glorious life. I can’t believe that here we are again, trying to get used to Sabha “was” instead of “is”.

Sabha papa didn’t live for himself, he lived for others. Not a single day went by in his life since he graduated as a doctor when he did not treat patients.

“What kind of a doctor do you want to be like?”

“Like Sabha”.

This was my aim since the age of 15, and 15 more years later I have constantly judged myself whether I have been able to be even 1% like him.

No one else got up early in the morning and before anything else opened the gates to the clinic because “patients have come from so far away”. Sabha often had his morning tea with them in the waiting room. He had to be dragged out of his office for lunchtime after several reminders, apologising on the way to a long line of patients sitting in the lobby for keeping them waiting. He did not waste a single second before rushing back down to the clinic. The same scenario repeated at dinner time, but this time he ate at leisure, simultaneously ringing several family members to check on their welfare.

Sabha did not leave his desk until every last one of the patients were seen, often working until 11pm. Of course, be took a 30 minutes break to catch his favourite crime thriller on Sony TV at 10pm with a big plate of rice, dal, lots of curd and a curry. Often, if there were patients arriving very late in the night, he left his dinner halfway to attend to them. Sabha never, ever refused to see a patient no matter what the time.

All of Sabha’s patients, old and new, absolutely adored him. Even if they came after several years to visit him, he remembered the names of their parents, children, grandparents… He would always enquire about their family and treat everyone with warmth and kindness. His empathetic and compassionate approach towards patients is something I have never seen anywhere else, either in India or in the UK. His vast expanse of knowledge in general medicine and women’s health was extraordinary. He never recommended unnecessary tests and always referred on to other specialists appropriately when needed.

I forgot to add, he was also 24×7 available for patients (previously reviewed and strangers) on his mobile. For many years, technology moved forward but he carried on using a very tiny basic handset, saying “it does the job” or “kaam cha chalaan” in Kashmiri.

Sabha never worked for money. His fees was affordable for the poorest man, and he never demanded fees from the underprivileged, instead offering them any kind of monetary or non-monetary help.

From a very young age, I have been a big fan of Sabha papa and Kaki mamma because we felt so pampered in Noida. Soooo many memories, I feel he is sat right next to me as I am fondly recalling them. As kids me and my brother always got to play on the 2nd floor where Kaki mamma ran a primary school. The walls were full of our favourite cartoon characters and there were so many mini swings and fun storybooks to read. I remember Sabha giving me my first maths graphs book from Kaki mamma’s stock sneakily and saying “don’t tell her”.

Our yearly family Kashmiri tradition, “Gadh batt”, was usually held at their place and the feast was similar to Hogwarts school’s long dining table with the addition of DJ party on the rooftop.

Sabha treated all my illnesses as a kid – Fever? Call Sabha. Cough? Call Sabha. Cold? Call Sabha. Tummy ache? Call Sabha. Ear ache? Call Sabha. Vomiting and diarrhoea? Call Sabha. I think the only other time I saw another doctor was for a Japanese encephalitis vaccine or tetanus shots after injuries. Every time I got a shot elsewhere I muttered under my breath angrily, “ugh I wish Sabha would have done that, wouldn’t have hurt so much”.

My little brother Ishu and I had a spectacular knack for goofing around and breaking stuff wherever we visited. Of course, Noida home was not spared. We’ve smashed 3 beautiful dining tablets (2 on the same day even) and several others tumblers, embarrassing our parents until their cheeks flushed. Sabha did not even once frown or tell us off – in fact he laughed with us at our mischiefs. He was utterly forgiving. Over the years, we visited Noida for the yummy food, getting the chance to sit in Sabha’s clinic and see patients (my secret childhood inspiration) and playing with all the animals both inside and outside Noida house. All sorts of birds, dogs, cats (heck I’m sure he would have even adopted a dinosaur) found their home at Sabha’s. His love for them knew no bounds and would have featured as the top viewed video on The Dodo channel, for sure. He fed them day and night – not just leftovers but special delicacies straight from the butcher. He sat with the animals every night petting each of them and talking to them. So many cats and dogs have taken birth under his wing, and he raised them all like his kids and was massively protective towards them. This was not an exception even when one of the dogs chewed off his calf few years ago. Yes, he still fed the canine the following day and said “I could see regret in his eyes, he felt so bad”.

Sabha created time. He managed to visit us at the most unexpected time of the day – 05:30/06:00 or 23:30/00:30, after an hour long drive each way. These were stolen moments when he wasn’t seeing patients. We did the same, because we knew this was the best time to visit him! Any other time, and he would never be able to come upstairs even for a cup of tea to take a break.

I did not see Sabha very much after I went away to college at the age of 18. But you know what? Every time I got home from the airport or was about to leave for the airport to head back, he was there. He was there after driving his little red car with his beautiful squint eyes and cursing all the way through the UP-Delhi traffic for an hour. The same continued even when I went to London and returned back home every 3 months pre-pandemic. Sabha was there to make sure he gave me his blessings “khush raho, abaad raho, longer life”. I wish we could all add some of our own lives to increase his…

Sabha also had a spontaneous and hilarious side. Ever so often, I would get calls at random times during the day and he would put me on speaker phone and be saying to his patients, “She is my daughter, my daughter is also a doctor, Hatate Chinu, emis seath kar kath (here talk to XYZ patient and tell them what you are doing in London, they want to know)”. I would go along and say… “training to be a psychiatrist blah blah blah” and wouldn’t even know when they hung up. Other times he would just call me to say hi and give his blessings. Throughout my life, Sabha had NEVER ever said goodbye on the phone, and a telephone conversation with him usually started exactly where we left it. 

Sabha asked me a million times how far Pummy Bua lived away from London, because he was always excited with the idea of me taking a train to Coventry and being together with her. You see, what filled his heart with love was seeing everyone together and being happy. 

Sabha loved food, and we often joke that my little brother Ishu was born with Sabha papa’s and Baraja papa’s (our other adorable bade papa) hands on his head as Ishu too loves to clean up the fridge at 3am in the night since he was a little kid.

There is so much more I want to write, but can’t because it’s very difficult. I am angry at Sabha for leaving us so soon, for seeing patients even in his 70s and not caring for his own health despite so many co-morbidities. I am bitter because this was not the way for him to go, just like so many others who have had their life snatched in an insensitive and isolated way. 

A part of me wonders whether he wanted to kickstart his journey to be one with God while serving others, as that was the meaning of his life. 

Goodbye Sabha, hope you are enjoying Kehwa and Chzir Chzot with papa, Thathaji papa and Vijay Jijaji.

Forever in our hearts.