A brief introduction might be appropriate to start our story but I shall try to be real brief.I have been practicing plastic surgery in Salaja hospital, Vijayawada since 1984 along with my husband, Dr M A Saleem, a General and a Laparoscopic surgeon. We were together as classmates since 1966 at Guntur Medical College, P G I, Chandigarh, and did MS in 1975. We got married in Chandigarh after MS in the presence of surgical faculty, friends and few relatives. Most probably, on gender basis, I was denied the job of Registrar in general surgery and I applied for plastic surgery with some reluctance. Prof C Balakrishanan, Plastic Surgery Professor, probably thought that I might not do justice to my profession as I was a married woman-surgeon, but he was magnanimous to offer me the registrar post for four months to observe if I could be trained as a plastic surgeon.
We had our daughter during that time and I took only one week of maternity leave and continued the residency. Under such a strict, meticulous and methodical teacher and boss I could finish MCh in 1978 and also change his attitude towards woman plastic surgeons. He went ahead and offered me a decent job in the same department after my qualifying in M Ch.
After qualifying in Plastic surgery from the PGI, Chandigarh, my options were to continue working there or look for a job elsewhere. Although we had the opportunity to continue as the faculty in PGI we opted to go to UK to work and learn more in our respective subjects and also left a good chance of going to UAE.
After spending five to six years in Belfast UK, we had the options of settling there; or going back as faculty to PGI; or join the Andhra state service; or get into practice. We chose to take the latter option and settled in my native place, Vijayawada in private practice.
Coming back to our UK stint, it was a cloudy winter day on November 23, 1978, when we landed at Heathrow holding our two year old daughter. I was going through a roller-coaster of emotions and was wondering if I could fulfill all my dreams of getting trained further in micro-vascular surgery and cosmetic surgery while looking after our daughter and family. I only prayed that I should have the courage to accept whatever be the experience, either disappointment or achievement.
Dr Mann, our senior from Chandigarh, came to the airport to receive us and took us home. While having lunch, he said that I shall be disappointed as I might not get a chance to work and learn plastic surgery as I was hoping and I shall be frustrated. He asked us to go back home at the earliest. But I told him that we had spent all our savings to reach London and we could not afford to go back to India. He told us that he would support us for the return and suggested us to go back and look for jobs. Then I told him that we would certainly take his advice if things turned so bad.
We were staying at Downpatrick, a small town in Northern Ireland as Saleem got his first job in surgery there. We were given a big independent bungalow to stay in the residential area of the town.
In December, it was very cold and it was lonely too staying without any acquaintances in a strange land. However we had a middle aged lady to mind our daughter when we were away at work in two different hospitals. We did not have a car and I used to start from home by 5:30 am to walk a mile to reach the bus station and then another mile to the hospital where I worked.
Wearing a regular saree and slippers to walk in the mornings in that cold December was not an easy task. In the evenings, it used to get dark around 4 pm and many a times initially I lost my way to home and had to walk around for hours to locate the house. Everything became a routine in a week but I used to feel self-conscious in the bus as the rest of the passengers stared at me in my ‘strange’ dress.
Life in general used to be very organised either in the supermarkets or on the roads and also at work. The doctors in the hospital were friendly and helped me to understand the system.
As we were staying in Belfast, during those times of trouble with IRA (Irish Republic Army) in late seventies and early eighties, I came to know many facts of the troubles of the people staying there. The discrimination of the catholic and protestant communities was very obvious and felt that the Falls road always reminded me of one of Indian city roads with its graffitti on the walls and unclean areas in the residential locality. I took time to understand the reasons for the fights and bomb blasts and the security measures taken, even in hospitals like Royal Victoria, situated just next to Falls road. But I never felt scared to talk to anyone or see the patients at any time of the day or night whenever I was on the call.
The situation reminded me of religious and caste conflicts in India but the violence here was on a much larger scale. I used to express to the professional colleagues that we Indians were very much at peace in spite of the diversity of religion and language and we accepted the inter religious and inter caste marriages with open hearts, unlike them. I came to know that the marriage between protestant and catholic individuals was not welcome and usually such couples left the place to settle abroad. We saw so much of bomb blasts and destruction in Northern Ireland that we began to wonder if peace could ever be restored and if all the people here could ever lead a normal life like people in other cities of the world. We used to hear about Bobby Sands, born out of catholic mother and protestant father and jailed as a terrorist. I was pregnant with my son and used to look forward to end of troubles.
It was May 6, 1982, all the roads were blocked as Booby Sands died in jail while on hunger strike. On the same night I started having the labour pains and was taken late in the night around 11 pm to the hospital for the delivery and our son Aman (peace) was born. We named him so with the wish to see peace in the world, but we nicknamed him Bobby.
After Bobby was born, I stopped going to work to take care of my two children, while Saleem continued working at White Abbey hospital. In 1983, we got Ammu, our daughter, admitted into a private school. Though most of the people were friendly with us in the work place, Ammu faced a small problem at the school. One of the girls sitting next to her used to make faces as if Ammu was smelling foul. I did not know how to solve the issue, though I could have gone to the principal to talk to the girl and her parents. But I wanted to solve it in my own way. With her parents’ permission, I brought the girl to our house and made her spend time with Ammu in her room with all her toys and both of them became very good friends and never had an issue about anything else after that.
I always had the desire to serve my own people, having got the training from one of the most prestigious institutes in India. Also we both felt that we can bring up our children in an Indian environment. I chose Vijayawada to practice for the selfish reason of it being my native place in spite of the discouragement from family and friends as they feared that we might not be welcome due to our inter-religious marriage. We were confident that it could be misplaced apprehension and settled in private practice with the first exclusive private plastic surgery practice set up Salaja Hospital in 1984. We named our hospital to be as neutral as possible—SALAJA (Sa—for Saleem, La—for Lakshmi, Ja—for Janma meaning birth)— on February 21, 1984, which happens to be our wedding day. We stayed in my father’s house where I was born, converting the prayer room into operating room and had 10 beds. No patient was refused surgery for want of money and we always tried to be professional and helped each other in surgery. There were occasions when we were exploited and some underpaid for our services. In four years we could shift to our new premises where we had 30 beds with two operating rooms. Academically speaking, we have presented scientific papers in national and international conferences.
Though life was comfortable and the pay was decent in UK, I had felt like a bird in a golden cage and had longed for freedom for myself and my soul. Hence, I returned to my motherland India.