“The Man Who Taught Me the Price of Success”- Remembering Norman Sharma Sir.

After many struggles and heartbreaks, I got my post-graduation admission in Medicine. It was the start of realizing my childhood dream—becoming a physician. But the task was challenging. The course had a brutally low passing rate in the final exam. Before that final exam, though, we faced smaller tests every day. My first one came right after I got my admission letter.

I had confirmed my admission for DNB Medicine at Choithram Hospital. I was thrilled. But I needed to go home and bring my things before joining. I needed written permission from the Dean of Academics, who was strict about rules. I entered his chamber with a racing heart and handed him my application. He gave me a stern look and signed it without fanfare. He warned me not to delay even by one day. I went home with more anxiety than before, wondering if I’d make it back in time.

That’s how I met him. Dr. Norman Sharma, the Dean of Academics. He later became my friend, philosopher, and guide.

The Choithram Years

Three years of residency at Choithram gave me and many residents countless memories. Memories we’ll cherish for life. Norman sir was part of most of them.

No matter which department you were in, you were never out of Norman sir’s sight. He knew exactly what each resident was doing. He knew your performance. He’d call anyone to his chamber when “course correction” was needed. Most of us tried our best to stay on track and avoid that dose of correction.

I need to control myself here. If I write all my memories of sir from those three years, this article will never end. But no article about sir would be complete without the morning sugar calls. That half hour of collecting blood sugar readings from all the wards and reporting them before 7:30 AM was the most dreadful task for any Medicine on Call (MOC). I saw colleagues rehearsing before calling sir. Some stood up from their chairs before making the call. A few even bowed before hanging up. That’s who sir was for us—fearfully strict, yet a constant source of excellence in learning. Now I get similar sugar calls at my hospital. Every morning, I remember how sir gave us the judgment to manage blood sugars without us even knowing he was teaching us.

Starting Over

After getting my postgraduate degree, I left Choithram and started my practice at home. Those early days were hectic. A new doctor makes every effort to establish himself. I worked round the clock. I lost touch with sir, except for a quick hello every few months.

Six or seven years into my practice, I met sir at a Diabetes Conference in Pune. Pure coincidence.

It was a pleasant surprise. A few of my juniors were there too. We formed a Choithram gang. Sir asked each of us about our work and life. He listened patiently and dropped his trademark witty comments in between. He rested in the afternoon. In the evening, he called me. We met in the lobby. He wanted to buy something to take back home to Indore. I decided to take him to a famous sweet shop in Pune. We couldn’t find a taxi. He said he was fine with an auto rickshaw. And so I rode through Pune with sir in a rickshaw.

I was in awe the whole time. Here was the man who scolded us for the slightest mistake, who never compromised on discipline, whom we respectfully feared, he had changed his attitude towards us so easily. He still guided us, but now in a friendly, fatherly way. This change surprised me, but he handled it naturally.

Today I realize he always accepted change with ease. At least that’s how it seemed from the outside.

A Deeper Bond

Our tuning changed after that Pune trip. Conversations became more open and comfortable. I interacted with him often while planning the alumni reunion. His every word and action showed pride and happiness about his students and his institution.

One day he commented on a photo I posted on social media. I was wearing a cap. He complimented me on it. (Those who have seen me would understand the joke.) Then he said something that changed our conversations entirely.

He asked me to take all his golf caps as a gift. I knew he had cut back on clinical work. I had blamed it on his age. But why would he stop playing golf? That’s how I learned about his illness. It was devastating. I went to his place and met him. He had accepted this change too. He refused to fight what destiny had chosen. He had no interest in discussing his disease or treatment. He just said, “You and I are both reasonable physicians. We know what’s going to happen.” After that, we never talked about it. But we talked about everything else—politics, education, the army, technology, morality, and more.

He was full of wisdom. These conversations taught me things that will last my lifetime. When I visited him, sir was taking an online course called “How to Learn Better.” That shocked me. He had a relentless spirit of learning. He kept it going until the end. His last message, just five days ago, asked me technical details about a new app he planned to use. Such was his passion for life.

No Real Ending

I don’t know how to end this article. I feel I haven’t even started. But I’ll keep the rest of the memories for our conversations at reunions. He’d be happy about that, wherever he is.

In one conversation, I shared how I was burning out from too much work. He said, “Amit, nothing is free. There’s a price for everything, even success. You have to decide what price you’re ready to pay.” This changed my perspective on work-life balance. It made everything easier.

Norman sir left us today. But he left his mark inside all of us—through what he taught us from medical textbooks and from his own book of life.

– Amit.