Brotherhood Dharma, Destiny and the American Dream (44 page)

Ever since I became a professional outsider, I’ve tried to expose the outworn beliefs that hinder the next leap in consciousness. Science holds out hope. If our species keeps evolving, maybe we’ll become more conscious. Spirituality holds out certainty. If we become more conscious, we’ll keep evolving. A dying planet waits with bated breath to see which course we choose. My stake in the game is clear. When “I am the universe” isn’t a religious belief but a statement of fact, all my personal dreams will have come true. I will then be ready to break out of the cocoon. What kind of light will greet me?

Sri Aurobindo died in 1950, and very soon miracle stories swirled about him. At one stage he was furiously occupied writing about his vision for mankind. He churned out thousands of pages in relatively few years. A disciple recalls walking in during a heavy monsoon rain. Aurobindo was sitting at his typewriter before an open window, the curtains blowing wildly. The rain should have come in all over his desk, but instead, the desk, the typewriter, and Aurobindo himself were completely dry.

There are a few parallels with him that send a hint of a shiver. His father, like mine, was a doctor who went to the British Isles for his training. Aurobindo tried to become completely Westernized before India reclaimed him. And I certainly know what it means to write furiously. But if it should happen that I’m sitting in front of an open window with my laptop and the rain begins to blow in, so far it’s very likely that I will get wet.

24

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Peak Experience

Sanjiv

Sanjiv on a golf pilgrimage to St. Andrews, Scotland, 1997.

I
N 1985 AMITA AND I
went on a pilgrimage to the legendary Amarnath Cave in Kashmir. This is a famous pilgrimage made by many thousands of Hindus every year. One has to traverse the most challenging mountain terrain to arrive there. There is a renowned Shiva shrine at the cave. This is situated at an altitude of 12,756 feet. According to legend, the god Shiva explained the secret of life to his divine consort, Parvati, at this sacred site.

Getting there was indeed quite difficult; the cave is located in a narrow gorge high in the mountains. We had to travel the last few miles to the cave on horseback, led by a mounted guide. The path we followed up the mountain was only about four feet wide. There is no railing, no protective guard of any type, and at various points it is a sheer drop of several thousand feet. For some reason the horses like to walk along the edge, as far as possible away from the mountain. It is quite dangerous and very frightening. We arrived at the Amarnath temple in the early evening. Amita went inside the inner sanctum and prayed for a long time; for her this whole journey was much more spiritual than it was for me. For me it was more of a beautiful and scenic trek. By the time we finally were ready to begin the trip back to our camp it was about midnight.

We were physically exhausted. As we started back Amita noticed a large tent. It belonged to a couple of large families, and the folks inside were very welcoming to us. Amita thought it might be a good idea to stay in that tent for the night. No way, I said, asking her to step outside. It had rained earlier in the day and the sky had been covered by ominous clouds. But now the storm had passed, the clouds had disappeared.

“Look at the stars,” I told her. “What a beautifully brilliant night it is. In fact, I have never seen stars this luminous. They look so close it feels as if you could extend your hand and literally snatch one out
of the sky. The clouds are all gone. That’s a message. God has lit our path and you and I can walk now. We will go back to our base camp, where we have a comfortable room and beds with warm blankets.”

It was at least ten miles back. Amita looked shocked.

“You’re nuts,” she said. “It’s too dangerous.”

But I was insistent. It was too dangerous to ride the horses through the gorge at night, I decided, so instead we would walk. Our guide would lead the horses. We set out at about two in the morning. As I walked along this narrow mountain path, beneath a starlit sky, I thought, oh my God, we really are a long way from Boston.

We walked through the night and the following day, arriving at our camp in the early evening. At one point during our arduous journey, I looked nervously over the edge at the sheer drop.

“If you fall,” I asked the guide, “how far do you go?”

“Sir, you would go all the way to America.”

We laughed at the image that answer had evoked, of course, but clearly I understood the thought. It really was a long journey from India to Harvard Medical School—although definitely not as dangerous or as quick as the one from the mountain to the valley below. Certainly it was as good a metaphor for the distance we had traveled in our lives as I had ever heard.

My path, my dharma, has taken me from my home in India to America. In our upbringing Deepak and I had been taught to respect and uphold our dharma. Very early in my career it had become obvious to me that my dharma is to teach, to be a mentor. It is not something that I believe I should do, it’s something that I cannot help but do. I had so many amazing role models. I was fortunate to have a good memory. I could embellish my teaching with many mnemonics and alliterations.

In the last two decades I have received numerous teaching awards. Deepak and our parents and family were very proud and supportive of all these accomplishments. In May 2012 I was honored by the National Ethnic Coalition of Organizations with the Ellis Island Medal of Honor, which is given to a number of people each year in recognition of their contribution to America “while continuing to
preserve the richness of their particular heritage.” When I received this award I began wondering how different my life might have been if I had stayed in India or returned there after completing my education. I suspect every immigrant thinks about this at some point.

Had I stayed in India I have no doubt I would have lived a comfortable life. I would have had the same moral compass as I do now, and I would likely possess the same core values that had been instilled in both Deepak and me when we were young children. Almost certainly I would have been successful in my career; my father had a thriving medical practice, he was the physician to the president of India and I would have joined him and, in later years, he, Deepak, and I might very well have opened our own hospital. I would have been happy in India, there are so many wonderful things about my homeland; we would have had a lot of servants, maybe less pressure and even my golf game might have improved. Indeed there are scores of golf courses all over India, a legacy of British rule, and the second oldest golf course in the world is in Calcutta.

Deep down I knew too well that as Amita and I got older we would have aspired for our children to go to America to study. Ironically, early in our careers in the States, when we would return to India we would spend time with our classmates from medical school who had decided to stay behind. They often would ask us what was so wonderful about America, and then suggest—sometimes vehemently—that we should return. But almost inevitably sometime later during that very same conversation they would ask us if we could help their children get into a good American university. It was not envy on their part and we never mistook it for that, but rather the acknowledgment that the intellectual stimulus and opportunities based on hard work and achievement that were found in America were quite different from those in India. They wanted to offer these unique advantages to their children.

It wasn’t just those friends who asked, either; we were asked several times by the cook and the chauffeur, “When will you take us to America? How can we qualify for a job there?” These people were not well educated. They knew very little about the real America, but
they equated it with hope. The only thing they knew about this place called America was that people who lived there had an opportunity to improve their lives and they wanted to go there.

If I had returned to India after completing my education I would have missed all the amazing, awe-inspiring, mind-expanding experiences I’ve had since we arrived in 1972 with eight dollars and Amita wearing her brand-new expensive Italian sandals. My dharma didn’t just bring me to America, but more specifically to Boston, which as far as I’m concerned is a mecca of medicine. I could just as easily have ended up in Nebraska, or North Dakota, or anywhere else, working at a fine institution, but for whatever reasons that wasn’t my path. Working and living in Boston I have had the opportunity to listen to lectures by Nobel laureates, to work alongside some of the most respected people in modern medicine, to learn firsthand from researchers who have spent their lives investigating the mysteries of the human body. I have been challenged to be better every single day—and I’ve been given the responsibility of passing along a great body of knowledge to physicians around the world.

Maybe the most difficult thing for many immigrants to deal with is the fact that they have left their country, their tradition, behind. There can be some guilt attached to that thought. People deal with that feeling in many ways. Deepak has a foundation that sponsors orphanages in India and makes sure young people can go to school. I like to feel I have contributed to my homeland in several meaningful ways. When I received that honor on Ellis Island I reflected, “Harvard Medical School Department of Continuing Medical Education should not only be the best academic CME department in the world, it should be the best academic CME department
for
the world.” With my dedicated and talented colleagues, we have taught CME courses to medical professionals from around the world. We have instructed them in critical lessons, but I also believe there has been a modicum of inspiration. We have provided tools—such that they can not only acquire and retain the new knowledge but can also incorporate into their practices, thus improving the lives of their patients.

Perhaps more than other areas, science and especially medicine have the utmost ability to have a worldwide impact. Communications, entertainment, the legal field, teaching, sports—while all of these areas may make a huge impact on a country, generally they do not translate internationally. Medicine is different; a discovery anywhere in the world will impact the lives of patients everywhere in the world. I feel I have the privilege of informing and inspiring colleagues. I believe through our work that many of the attendings leave informed and inspired, and do so with a renewed commitment to cherish all that’s glorious and best about the medical profession.

I also serve as the editor in chief of the hepatology section of
UpToDate,
an electronic textbook that directly reaches eight hundred and fifty thousand physicians in one hundred and fifty countries around the world, informing them of the latest developments in that branch of medicine. I’ve also published numerous articles and published five books, including
Live Better, Live Longer,
with my colleague Alan Lotvin, which provides the scientific evidence to the most interesting questions being asked about modern medicine.

I don’t believe I would have had many of these accomplishments if I had stayed in India, and it is my conviction that what my colleagues and I do benefits people from all around the world, including India.

The excitement of America is that there is always more to be discovered. That is also true of India. The India of today is not the country that we left decades ago, a country in which tradition and status still dominated the nation’s economic life. While there still are remnants of that, as a result of the availability of a free education India has become more of a partner with America than ever before in its long history. But as Amita and I discovered when we came here, probably more than any country on earth, America rewards hard work and dedication. In a very singular and remarkable way this country is blind to anything except results. The system for advancement is based on the ability of each individual rather than seniority or nepotism. We found the opportunity to fulfill our dreams here.

And while I still speak with a slightly pronounced Indian accent
in just about every way I consider myself an American. An American of Indian descent, but an American. I think the thoughts of an American, and when we have problems I worry about my country. Sometimes when I’m traveling, for example, I find myself complaining about “the partisan politics we have in my country.” That’s the phrase that I use, “my country,” and that’s the way I feel about it. I have learned to appreciate what I found here and to love the best parts of America. I remember being called to jury duty once and actually being somewhat excited about it. When someone I know found out that I had been summoned, he told me I could simply tear it up, since it wasn’t sent by certified mail, and claim I had never received it.

“You don’t have to serve,” he told me. Apparently the court actually factors in a percentage for people who will not respond. “I’ve never served,” he continued in a proud voice.

“Why are you proud of that?” I asked him. “I want to serve. You should be chagrined, because it’s a wonderful system to be tried by a jury of one’s peers.” So each time I’ve been called I’ve packed up my reading material and showed up at the court bright and early, ready and willing to serve.