Roots Before Wings
Growing Up in Ahmednagar (1961–1978)
Every life has two beginnings. The first is the day we are born. The second is the gradual shaping of our character by the people, places, and experiences that quietly prepare us for a future we cannot yet imagine.
This is the story of my first seventeen years — from my birth in Ahmednagar in 1961 until I left for medical school in Pune in 1978. At the time, they seemed like ordinary years. Looking back nearly five decades later, I realise they contained the roots of everything that followed.
I was fortunate to be born into a cultured middle-class family where education was treasured. My mother was a schoolteacher with a bachelor’s degree in North Indian classical music. I often accompanied her to music classes. Although I never learned to play an instrument, I developed an ear for good music, a gift that has remained a lifelong source of joy, reflection, and inspiration.
Fig 1: Milind age 4, Ahmednagar (now Ahilyanagar), India
My father rose from humble beginnings to become a civil engineer with the State Electricity Board. His work required frequent transfers, and every few years our family moved to another town. Each move meant a new school, new teachers, and new friends. Without realising it, I was learning adaptability long before I encountered the challenges of medicine or surgery. Some of those school friendships have endured for more than half a century. Sadly, I have also experienced the pain of losing several classmates. Deleting their telephone numbers from my phone has been among the most difficult tasks of recent years. Those moments have reminded me that life is fragile, and that every sunrise deserves quiet gratitude.
Life in the late 1960s and early 1970s was wonderfully simple. My father’s bicycle was regarded as a symbol of achievement, and a handful of colourful glass marbles could provide endless happiness. Looking back, I realise that contentment often comes from simple pleasures rather than expensive possessions.
One teacher changed the way I communicated forever. Our history teacher transformed every lesson into a gripping story, almost a one-person theatrical performance. More importantly, he taught us how to prepare for public speaking: practise in front of a mirror, time yourself, eliminate repetition, and speak with confidence. I have carried those lessons into every lecture, conference presentation, and examination throughout my professional life. Nearly forty years after leaving school, I tracked him down and thanked him. When he later sent me a newspaper photograph from 1976 showing my success in my regional examination, I felt deeply honoured.
Fig 2: Milinf age 15, May 1976, Parbhani, Maharashtra State, India
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Another extraordinary influence was my mother’s paternal uncle, a National Award-winning mathematics teacher who taught me between 1976 and 1978. During school holidays, he introduced me not only to mathematics but also to the lives of Archimedes, René Descartes, and Pythagoras. He showed me that mathematics was a way of thinking rather than merely a subject. Had medicine not captured my imagination, I would happily have become a professor of applied mathematics.
During my school years, I read little beyond my textbooks. That changed when one of my maternal aunts, an obstetrician in Ahmednagar, gave me a celebrated Marathi historical novel. It opened an entirely new world. Ever since, I have believed that reading beyond one’s profession broadens perspective, deepens understanding, and enriches both language and imagination.
My earliest fascination with medicine came from another maternal aunt who had studied at B. J. Medical College, Pune, served in the Indian Air Force, and later became an obstetrician in Glasgow. Around the age of five, she unknowingly planted a dream. In August 1978, that dream became reality when I entered B. J. Medical College.
Leaving home for the hostel was my first real encounter with independence. Having studied in Marathi, I suddenly found myself learning medicine in English. It was intimidating at first, but determination, disciplined study, and outstanding teachers helped bridge the gap. That experience taught me that language should never become a barrier to ambition.
Five timeless lessons from my childhood
1. Education remains one of the most powerful forces for transforming individual lives and society.
2. Music and books nourish the mind in ways that professional training alone never can.
3. True friendships withstand both distance and time.
4. Great teachers do far more than teach a subject — they shape character.
5. Dedication can overcome obstacles that initially seem overwhelming, including language.
I did not know it then, but the greatest journeys of my life had already begun — not when I first boarded an aircraft, but in the quiet streets of Ahmednagar and the many towns of Maharashtra where character was formed long before ambition found its wings.
This essay is part of **The Window Seat Series** — reflections on medicine, leadership, mentorship, and life from a paediatric surgeon’s journey from Ahmednagar to Africa.
*Editorial assistance: ChatGPT (OpenAI) was used as an editorial assistant during the preparation of this essay.
