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IntroductionDyed-in-the-wool Bangaloreans all know of a little hospital

nestled behind Richmond Road called Sita Bhateja Hospital.

Its namesake - Dr Sita Bhateja, is now something of an

institution, having delivered more than a hundred thousand

children in her lifetime (you read that right). A charismatic

and empathetic lady, she is as known for the flowers in

her hair and her priceless stamp collection as she is for her

pathbreaking work in obstetrics and gynaecology. This is

the tale of what people don’t know - the long road that

brought her to Bangalore. A tale that is as much about pain

and hardship as it is about the spirit that prevailed against

it all. Today, as Dr Sita Bhateja celebrates her 85th birthday,

we doff our hats to this remarkable lady and pay tribute to

her incredible life.

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4

Pubished in Bangalore (India) in 2013.

Copyright © Sita Bhateja Speciality Hospital.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in

any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent publisher.

The author of this work is Rahul K ThomasBook design by Yamini Temujin

Sita Bhateja Speciality Hospital,8 & 9 O’Shaughnessy Road,

Langford Gardens, Bangalore 560025Phone: 91-80-40302700, 2221 4074, 2221 0701

www.sbshospital.com

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UndauntedThe life and timesof Dr Sita Bhateja

Rahul K Thomas

6

One of the greatest gifts we can receive from anyone during our

lives is a moment of absolute trust and true compassion. The joy and

relief it gives us is incomparable. In reflecting on the life and times

of Dr. Sita Bhateja, I am struck by the lakhs of people who have

been uplifted by her endless supply of encouragement, cheer, good

humour, and healing, not to mention her incredible competence in

the field of medicine.

Being in Sita’s presence infects us with her magical combination of

enthusiasm and grace. Her boundless joie de vivre regardless of life’s

ups and downs, her indomitable will to surmount every challenge,

her raw intelligence, kindness, quick wit, unbending tenacity, work

ethic and her gift of service to others. All of which is dispensed with

a smile that challenges us all to scale greater heights.

Her remarkable achievements span domains such as medical

innovation, healing people, social work, philately, equestrianism,

golf, cooking, family - the list is long and is still being compiled. She

truly has the Midas touch! For many of us, achieving one of these

in a lifetime would suffice to quench our thirst. Not so for Sita,

who is never content to rest on her laurels even for a minute but,

is constantly looking to crest the next mountain on the horizon.

Dedication

7

All those whose lives have been touched by hers count themselves

blessed by the experience, many through good health and

healing, others through social work, service or friendship and still

others (over a lakh of them) by being born in her hands when she

delivered them!

On the occasion of her 85th birthday, let us stop for a moment

and reflect on how wonderful it is to have her example of ageless

energy before us.

Dr Rajiv Bhateja

24th October, 2013

..............................

It’s one thing to know an exceptional human being. It’s quite

another to be born to one. My life has been blessed because I’ve

had both - a constant beacon that has guided my entire life and

every action.

Growing up in a city that adored my mother had its own flip side.

I was forever marked as ‘her’ son. I daresay the epithet still sticks.

8

Having lived up close and personal with the phenomenon that

is Dr Sita Bhateja left me in awestruck wonderment most of my

life. Fierce determination, boundless energy, the curiosity of a

child, fearlessness of the unfamiliar and immense (if not insane)

dedication to her purpose are just a few of the remarkable

qualities that I’ve witnessed and hopefully have inherited. What

is even more amazing is that she remains as committed as ever.

It’s as though the passage of time has only made her resolve ‘to

do’ stronger. She defies all conventional reason and continues on

her mission against all odds.

So, how does one even begin to pay tribute to a person as iconic

as this and a life as momentous as hers?

On this, her 85th birthday, we’ve made a small attempt in the form

of this little book which seeks to chronicle and pay homage to her

remarkable journey and life. I hope it will serve as inspiration for

many generations to come.

Happy Birthday Mummy!

Dr Arvind Bhateja

24th October, 2013

9

Contents1. Growing up in Multan ................................... 09

2. Turning over a new leaf ..................................17

3. A life destroyed ............................................. 23

4. Undaunted ................................................... 31

5. Touching lives ............................................... 45

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11

Growing up in Multan

12

13

n the early 1930s, visitors to the Multan borstal were

more than a little surprised to see a little girl playing

hopscotch, jumping rope and generally getting up to all

manner of mischief about the grounds. A borstal ‘school’,

as it was then known, was a juvenile reformatory which

housed minors convicted of various crimes. The goal was

to reform children, rather than punish them. Considering

a non-inmate child was playing here, they must have been

doing a fairly good job of it. But, then again, this was no

ordinary child. Her grandfather was the superintendent of

the jail and her father too was in the jail service. She was,

therefore, rather used to these surroundings.

Sita Devi Sachdev really was to the manor born. As the

grand-daughter of Rai Saheb Gokal Chand and the

daughter of Mohanlal Sachdev, she wanted for nothing.

But, simplicity defined her childhood. Exploring the

grounds of the Multan borstal, her playmates included

the children of gardeners and labourers and not a few

inmates. It was early in her life that she learned that

compassion had its rewards. The inmates were never

viewed as criminals. They were merely people who

needed direction, and direction they received. Sita could

never fear the same boys who held an umbrella over her

grandfather’s head.

14

Sita’s father and grandfather - Mohanlal Sachdev

and Rai Saheb Gokal Chand (1922)

15

School was a boring affair as Sita was a mischievous

child. She went to the jail school where the teachers were

(understandably) not the most inspiring. Paper and pen

were replaced by slate and slate pencils. The practice of

handwriting was in itself a ritual. Children had boards on

which they put ‘multani mitti’ at the end of every day. It

would dry overnight and the next day they would practice

their handwriting on the boards with cane ‘pens’. By the end

of the day, the board would be washed off and the process

repeated in anticipation of the following day’s training.

And so the time passed with games being played amidst

the walls of the prison.

After her fourth standard, Sita moved to the government

school at Miyanwali and was finally allowed to join the older

children in the family in Lady McLagan school in Lahore,

when her father was posted at the borstal there. Again,

academia was furthest from little Sita’s mind. Handicrafts

were what interested her in the beginning. Until they

introduced the Girl Guides.

Here was a programme with activities after her own heart. In

no time at all, she became a Bluebird (a rank or designation

in the Girl Guides), excelling at everything outdoorsy.

16

Rai Saheb Gokal Chand sits in the centre, surrounded by his staff. At his feet are his fam

ily.

Sita is sitting cross-legged right in front, second from the right (1931)

17

It was a carefree life with indulgent parents, grandparents

and sundry relatives. Her father, Mohanlal Sachdev, was also

a prison superintendent in charge of a different jail. They

were an enlightened family and wanted everyone to have a

good education, including the girls. While Sita’s playfulness

might have caused them some concern, they never voiced it.

Her complete distaste for studies only slightly abated

in her 6th class when she began to study English (until

then, Hindi, Urdu and Gurmukhi were the norm). Given

her background, she instantly loved it and excelled at it,

topping her class in the subject.

Sita’s love for working with her hands saw her enjoying

tailoring and machine embroidery. But as part of her home

sciences, she was forced to learn cooking, something she

detested. To boot, she had to pass an exam in that.

Come the exam, the students were asked to make whey.

Her fumbling attempts at cooking milk resulted in it going

all wrong. It was burnt and completely useless. At her wits

end, help came from a completely unexpected source. The

girl next to her quickly cleared away her things and told her

that she would give her the whey and to pass it off as her

own. She did. Sita passed.

18

Somewhere in this time, Sita went for a holiday with her

family to a hill station called Koh Mari, forty miles from

Rawalpindi. Here she came upon a rose in a garden. It filled

her with joy and happiness and she begged her parents for

the rose all night. Come morning, they gave her the rose,

and one of the great passions of her life (for flowers) was

ignited. Soon she would collect different ferns and flowers.

Her books were filled with pressings which were sent to

friends and flowers would adorn her hair always.

19

Turning over a new leaf

20

21

ome time after her eighth class, a change came

over Sita. She became more reflective and less

playful. She began to read more and think about her life.

Her grandmother was deeply religious while her father was

a devotee of the Arya Samaj, a practitioner of yoga and

a lover of music. Influenced by them, she began to read

the Bhagvad Gita. It helped her come to understand and

deeply believe that in life we have to ‘do’ something. She

understood that there were three ways of life determined

by the things we do. Thamas is the lowest form of life - that

which hurts you. Rajas is a merely transactional existence. It

was the satvik way of life which was the highest - the doing

of duty with no expectation of any form of reward.

At the tender age of fourteen, Sita had an epiphany.

Gone was the carefree, mischievous girl who couldn’t

wait to rush out of class. In her place there stood a young

woman who wished to serve humankind.

And it was no youthful flight of fancy either.

Sita began to cook and eat satvik food and do her own

chores. In an aristocratic household where an army of

servants tended to every need of the ladies, she insisted

22

on washing her own clothes, much to the horror of her

aunts and relatives. They tried to dissuade her, but Sita’s

obstinance was the stuff of legend. She would get what

she wanted and brooked no opposition.

Driven by her satvik beliefs, which dictated that she must

serve humanity, Sita set her sights on doing medicine. This

was the subject of some humour in the family as she was

known to blanche at the sight of blood. Nevertheless, she

put her head down and studied like never before. By the

time she passed her tenth, she was first in the district.

She wished to move on to studying medicine, but her father

refused to let her. When she said she would go anyway,

he refused to pay for her. Then an indulgent grandfather

stepped in and said he would help her.

Little did she know that he remarked to a relative, “You’ll

see. Once she sees a dead body, she’ll come running back.”

Little did he know that Sita was made of sterner stuff.

Sita put her head down and studied in King Edward

Medical College in Lahore. Two years she spent, drinking

it all in. Sita’s mind was a sponge, absorbing every single

thing it came across. She really did shine and in the process

23

Sita’s mother, Ram Piari, was a pillar of strength

through all the hard times (1939 - Lahore Zoo)

24

managed to annoy most of the young men in her course

(being one of the few women there) with her perennial

bookish mien. Not that it bothered her in the slightest, of

course. She spent many a sleepless night studying, driven

by her refusal to accept second place.

In the midst of her course, she went home for the holidays.

Her father was posted in Dera Ghazi Khan so she elected to

spend her holidays with her grandparents in Sialkot.

It was the 13th of August, 1947, in the middle of the night.

Shouts rang out and all hell broke loose. Cries of ‘Allahu

Akbar!’ rent the air as mobs swept through the town,

breaking open and looting shops and houses.

Partition had begun!

25

A life destroyed

26

27

he town market was put to the torch. Sita’s

grandparents’ house was five stories high. And

the flames from the neighbouring streets blackened it all

the way to the top.

For the safety of the people, gated enclosures were built

for the townspeople to take refuge in at night. Despite

their entreaties, Rai Saheb Gokal Chand refused to be

cowed and insisted that he would stay in his own house

while Sita and her grandmother were despatched each

night to take refuge in one of the enclosures.

One night, one of the enclosures was broken into and Sita

saw women running for their lives. Seventy-five women

jumped into a well to save their honour. Her own cousin

was caught, mutilated and stabbed to death in front of

her eyes. Old men and women were shot, women were

dragged away screaming. Trains filled with bloody corpses

pulled into the station.

The obstinate, independent girl refused to stay indoors

however. She would walk the streets, but with a dagger

on her person. The dagger was not to defend herself, but

to ensure that she could not be taken alive, as that would

be a fate worse than death.

28

A nineteen-year-old girl when it happened, the horrors of the

partition would stay with her all her life, as it did for millions

of others.

The hastily built refugee camps had no supplies and people

quickly began to starve. Sita and her grandmother found their

health deteriorating. Her grandfather was also quickly deprived

of everything (including his gun), and had nowhere to go.

Then they had brief respite. A (Muslim) man who ran a hotel

in town, was a friend of her uncle’s. He let them stay there

for nearly a month, free of charge. During this time, workers

loyal to her grandfather brought them food when they

could. Curfew was imposed, but still Sita would sneak out

on her bicycle.

A stroke of good luck came their way. An army officer was

taking a truck to Lahore with his relatives’ possessions. Sita,

her grandmother and grandfather managed to convince him

to take them to Jammu. He agreed, on the condition that

they take nothing with them. In that instant, they abandoned

all their worldly possessions and climbed on the truck.

Jammu wasn’t very far off. In fact, it was only twenty-seven

miles. But, those twenty-seven miles might as well have

29

been a thousand. People were being slaughtered wholesale

as they attempted to move towards one side or the other.

There was no demarcated border as the partition had just

happened. It was one large ‘no man’s land’.

The truck bumped along, with the three of them hiding

in the back. Fortune stayed with them and by nightfall

the three of them alighted at Jammu. They then heard of

a bus which was leaving the very next day for Pathankot.

Full to bursting, the top of the truck was piled high with

luggage and just about everything people could get hold

of.

Sita’s grandfather yet again stepped up. He convinced

two young men to give up their places on the bus for

his wife and grand-daughter, electing to stay behind to a

fate unknown. And so, come morning, the bus pulled out

of Jammu with Sita and her grandmother onboard, not

knowing if they would ever see Rai Sahed Gokal Chand

again.

The roads had been commandeered by the army so the bus

was forced to go offroad. Many a times, the passengers

had to get off and push the overladen bus through rivulets

and across streams.

30

Crawling along, they made it to a place called Katua

which was inundated with refugees of all sorts. There

was no place even to stand, let alone sit or lie down, and

no food to go around. They finally found a truck with a

broken floorboard - a spot which nobody else wanted.

They spent the night curled up in the space provided by

the broken floorboard.

The next day the bus moved on. It took them to the banks

of one of the canals of the river Ravi. They alighted at a

place called Madhoki, where a bund had been created on

the river.

It was pouring with rain by then. The river was rising and,

to Sita’s terrified eyes, it looked a mile wide. But, they

had no choice. They crossed the canal on foot, wading

through the water, until they reached the bund on the

other side. Looking back they realised the waters had risen

fearfully. Old women were being washed away along with

cattle, trees and all manner of objects.

They were stranded without any kind of transport.

Finally the haggard, desperate group found a buffalo and

hitched it to a cart. There was still no space for Sita. So,

31

while her grandmother stood in the centre of the cart, she

stood on the edge of the cart and hung on all the way to

Pathankot.

Safety!

They made for a relative’s house only to find it already

inundated with more than fifty people. An impoverished

lady, she had nothing to give. And yet, she managed to give

them a dekchi with rice and dhal. It was the most delicious

meal they had ever had.

That night, they had no dry clothes but it didn’t bother them.

They simply wrapped themselves in a sheet and slept the

sleep that only comes to those who know they’ve dodged

death and worse.

Sita and her grandmother moved on after three days, making

their way to a wealthy aunt’s home in Amritsar. There they

were welcomed with open arms and their every need was

taken care of for as long as they wished.

Sita’s parents were still in Dera Ghazi Khan, living in the

shadow of death every day. With great difficulty, they

joined her grandfather and made their way to the border.

32

They eventually managed to cross over in January of 1948.

In penury, but safe nevertheless, her grandfather settled in

McLeodganj for the rest of his life, in a house that was later

occupied by the Dalai Lama. Her father continued in the jail

service and was posted at Ferozepur.

33

Undaunted

34

35

ita wanted to return to her studies as quickly

as possible. Amidst all the chaos of Partition,

students who had to migrate across the borders were

given admission into various colleges in India and Pakistan,

so they could continue their studies. Thus, Sita was sent to

Bombay where she was admitted to KEM Hospital.

While admission was arranged, fees weren’t and funds

were non-existent. Luckily, another great institution came

to her rescue. She had some money in the post office in

Lahore which was transferred over a period of six months.

This paid for her fees. But, it was not enough. Sita realised

that she had no money for food, let alone books.

Undaunted, she borrowed books from fellow students,

using them at night while they slept, and returning them

in the morning in time for their classes. She became gaunt

and malnourished. A kindly superintendent of the college

finally confronted her and asked her what was wrong. At

the sound of the first words of concern she had heard in a

long time, Sita burst into tears.

Learning of her plight, the superintendent sent her to Tara

Bai, a famous philanthropist in Bombay who had a fund

for the aid of needy women.

36

Feeling rather self-conscious in her shabby clothes in grand

surroundings, Sita made her request to the aristocratic

lady who sat before her.

Tara Bai said, “What is your problem? How much money do

you need to survive?”

Sita replied, “Rs. 40 per month should suffice.”

Tara Bai said, “I will give it to you. But, when you start earning

will you pay the money back?”

Sita smiled and said, “Indeed I will.”

That seemingly insignificant sum of money changed Sita’s

life. For the first time in a long time, she had enough food

to eat. She worked her way through her exams over the

course of a month and a half and in June 1949, Sita Sachdev

became a doctor. And, as the recipient of aid herself, her

commitment to helping others was further reinforced.

True to her longtime dream, Sita threw herself into the service

of the less fortunate. She went straight to the refugee camps.

Her first posting was in the refugee camps of Kurukshetra

where she was paid the princely sum of Rs. 600 per month

to deliver a stream of babies every day. Saying this was a

baptism by fire is more than mere pun. She joined on the

1st of July 1949 and the experience she garnered over those

37

Sita strikes a Kathak pose (1953)

38

months laid the foundation of her career. After Kurukshetra,

Sita moved on to camps in Jol and Jammu. By 1950, she

had returned to Bombay for her post-graduate studies. She

worked in Cama Hospital and studied in Bombay University.

Back in the day, the rights of passage were so tough that

it was common for only a third of students to actually

pass their post-graduate exams. And it was made even

more difficult if you were a non-Maharashtrian studying

in Bombay. Sita was no exception to this trend and, for

the first time ever, she did not pass her exams. Ironically,

this was around the same time that she received a ringing

endorsement from her one of her professors who said,

“She is a fine doctor! One who is fit to hold her own

charge.”

Romance was never on Sita’s agenda. In fact, she had

been staunchly rebuffing her parents’ attempts to get her

married from the time she was in her teens. At last she

relented somewhat. But, as always, she would have it her

own way.

She said, “The man who marries me, gets not so much

as a pin in dowry. If he asks for something, he will get a

chappal in return.”

39

And it was her belief that there was not a man or family in

the country who would agree to her terms.

She was wrong.

Enter a young man in the army.

Major Amrit Bhateja came to meet Sita, and fell head over

heels in love with her. He would brook no opposition and

did everything in his power to ‘butter up’ her entire family.

On July 11th, 1953 Sita and Amrit were married in a simple,

private ceremony in Bombay. Their nuptials were celebrated

by a small gathering of just fifty close members of family

and, at Sita’s insistence, their feast was kept to a modest

minimum. She would always stay true to her minimalist

satvik beliefs.

After spending few years in Kirkee and a couple of years

in MHOW (where Amrit was stationed), on 24th October

1957, she landed up in Bangalore - her birthday, Diwali,

World Health Day and Armistice Day, all on the same date.

Sita then set about looking for a job, applying to St Martha’s

Hospital, an old and respected institution.

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Dr Sita and Major Amrit Bhateja

soon after they were married (1953)

41

Though she faced some amount of resistance from a

rather pro-Catholic administration, Sita won through. In

a manner of speaking. On November 17th, 1957, she

joined them on the condition that she take no salary.

So, for the next thirty-four years, she would only take

‘petrol money’ to the amount of Rs. 250 per month.

She neither asked for more, nor did the hospital offer

to increase it.

Things were fairly crude back then in the late 1950s.

Conditions were far from sterile. Anaesthesia was weak

at best, fatal at worst. IVs were made out of rubber

tubing which had to be bought and sterilised. In these

times, her experience in the refugee camps of post-

partition India came in invaluable.

Dr Sita Bhateja started the obstetrics and gynaecology

department in St Martha’s hospital, in a shed where they

started keeping beds. One morning after heavy rain, the

roof was blown off. It was then that a new block was on

the anvil. But halfway through the construction of the

block (the Nirmala Block), funds ran out. So, Sita and

Vijayam Krishnamoorthy (a close friend of the family)

put up their own property as collateral in order to raise

money to finish the blocks.

42

She began a practice at home charging Rs. 5 for each

consultation. Back in those days, the concept of charging

for a consultation hadn’t taken root. In people’s minds,

money was to be exchanged for antibiotics or for a

procedure rather than just ‘advice’. So, it was difficult

for a doctor to build a practice.

One day, Sita and a friend of hers were sitting on the

verandah of their home on D’Souza Road, sipping tea.

A gentleman cycled up to the gate and addressed them

saying, “I believe you ladies are looking for a house. I

have a few I can show you.”

Neither Sita nor Prabha (her friend) had any intention of

buying any property and it was probably a mistake that

Mr Fernandes landed up at their door. But, the universe

works in mysterious ways and this turned out to be one

of those serendipitous moments which would change

her life forever and, in turn, the lives of many others.

They looked at each other mischievously and, without

exchanging a word, decided they would go along with

this for a lark, since they weren’t doing anything better

that day. They hopped into Sita’s car and followed Mr

Fernandes around as he showed them houses.

43

None of the houses they saw had any effect on them.

Hardly surprising, since they weren’t in the market for a

house in the first place.

At last, they were brought to a house owned by a

German lady named Mrs Benedictson. She was leaving

the country and she was selling her house for the

princely sum of one lakh and twenty-thousand rupees.

Urged by Mr Fernandes, SIta and Prabha blithely made

her an offer of eighty-five thousand rupees, secure in

the knowledge that they would be turned down. Four

days later, she came to Sita’s residence and said she

could have the house.

Now Sita was in a bind. She had never intended to buy

the house and didn’t have the money for it. The joke,

it seemed, was on her. In an age when a person’s word

held value, Sita was deeply embarrassed. She told Amrit

how their little joke had gone bad.

Amrit Bhateja, was a far-sighted man. An expert in

electronics, he had just been deputed to the new

Electronics Research and Development Establishment

(the forerunner of what is now the core of the DRDO).

44

45

46

In his line of work he developed electronics for defence

applications. He had an almost uncanny way of looking

into the future and seeing how it would unfold.

Amrit was completely unperturbed by Sita’s revelation and

said that he would organise the money for the house. To

this day, Sita has no idea how he did it, but they went

ahead and bought the house.

Thus, in 1965, the foundation of the trust which was to

touch so many thousands of lives, was laid.

47

Touching lives

48

49

ithin a few months, the house had an operating

theatre. There was an out-patient facility and

a consulting space. No.8 (as it was called) had a steady

stream of patients.

When Sita had originally graduated from medical school,

her grandfather had told her that she must always work for

the poor. That focus on service was never to waver.

In 1967, Shri Jetha Nand, Col Amrit’s father, passed away and

his estate was given to charity. His wife, Dr (Mrs) Saraswati

Nand, joined them in Bangalore and began charitable work

herself. In 1968, the Dr Sita Bhateja Nursing Home Charitable

Trust was established. Sita donated 50% of her income to

the trust, a practice that would continue all her life.

Soon, they purchased the plot of land which was adjacent

to the original house - No.9. Dr (Mrs) Jetha Nand then

donated a lakh and a half rupees towards constructing a

hospital building on the property. The only condition being

that it always be used, in Shri Jetha Nand’s name, to treat

the poor and the needy.

And so, the seeds of the charitable character of the

institution, were sown.

50

Family picture - Seated 1st row

(L to R) Nani (Dr Sarasw

ati’s mother), Sri Jetha N

and,

Dr Saraswati N

and with Surinder and Santosh. 2nd row

(L to R) Anand, Amrit and Prem

Prakash (1934)

51

Staf

f pict

ure

circa

197

2-73

52

Circa 1972 - the

foundation of the new

building is laid. On the

right is the Charitable

Wing which was

completed in 1972.

53

Col Bhateja and Dr Bhateja with Mr Bhishen Das

and employees circa 1976, in front of the project office

from which the construction of the building was supervised

54

Sita and Amrit at the ground-breaking ceremony of the new hospital building

55

Dr Sita Bhateja’s induction into the Rotary Club of Bangalore,

becoming the first woman Rotarian in India

Governor of Karnataka (Mohanlal

Sukhadia) signing the visitors

book at the inauguration of the

charitable dispensary on

Col Bhateja’s farm

56

57

On completion of the building. Circa 1979

58

The building of the hospital brought its own challenges. The

city of Bangalore has been built on various lake beds. And

they found out the truth of this the hard way. When they

tried to build the foundations of the building, it was flooded

with water. It took nearly a year and a half to build the

foundations, much to the amusement of many onlookers.

Of course, they would not be deterred, and in 1976 the

hospital building was ready. Over the years, with the

dedication of Sita and the limitless zeal of Col. Amrit, it

grew with leaps and bounds.

Sita’s dedication to her work was the stuff of legend.

When her second son Arvind was due, she worked

right up to the time she went into labour. After he

was delivered she herself scrubbed in and performed a

complex procedure that very night.

Through it all, she had only one hobby which she indulged

- one which had begun when she was a little girl. All her

pocket money as a child went towards collecting stamps.

Over the years, what began as a hobby grew to a passion

bordering on obsession. The first Black Penny in her

collection caused a huge stir on her street in Bangalore,

costing an eye-watering Rs. 460 in 1976.

59

Dr Sita and Col Amrit at a function in the early 80s

60

Gradually, Sita began to exhibit her collection at various

places. In time, two Presidents of India would ask to

personally view her collection - widely considered one of the

finest collections of pre-Independence India in the world.

Over the years, Dr Sita Bhateja herself has become

something of an institution. Her pioneering work in the field

of obstetrics and gynaecology has been widely recognised

with awards such as the Rasthriya Rattan Award, in

recognition of her work in child welfare.

Today the Jetha Nand Hospital for the Poor is a facility run

out of the same premises with twenty beds, dedicated to

treating the underprivileged. The charitable trust keeps

the legacy of Sita’s father-in-law alive, every year giving

hundreds of needy patients year access to truly world class

healthcare.

Sita’s sons are her pride and joy.

Rajiv, her eldest son, did his Bachelors in IIT, Bombay and

his PhD in Structural Engineering at UC Berkeley. He is now

settled in the Bay Area of the US and works in the EDA

industry. Rajiv is married to Meera and they have three

wonderful children - Neil, Chethan and Jaydev.

61

Dr Sita with some of

her prized stamps

Dr Sita Bhateja showing her stamps

to President Pratibha Patil, Kapil Sibal,

Sachin Pilot and other dignitaries

62

The hospital has passed into the more than capable

hands of Arvind, her second son. A gifted neuro-

surgeon, under his leadership Sita Bhateja Hospital has

diversified into various specialities and has a growing,

formidable reputation in the fields of neurosurgery and

orthopaedics. His wife, Anindita, is also a doctor and Sita

dotes upon their children - Anirudh and Antara.

Vivek is the youngest and was adopted many years later,

bringing happiness to them all. He works in insurance.

Through it all, Sita has never lost sight of her roots. Today,

at the of eighty-five, she remains as devoted to her satvik

philosophy as ever. She still wears a flower in her hair, washes

her own clothes and believes deeply in service to society,

seeing patients every single day. In her life, Dr Sita Bhateja

has delivered more than one hundred thousand babies.

The little girl who played in the shadow of the prison walls

of Multan who set out to ‘do’ something with her life never

dreamt she would touch the lives of so many people.

She did.

And continues to do so.

63

The hospital as it is today

64

State-of-the-art equipment allied with world-class expertise has seen Sita Bhateja Hospital diversify into

specialities such as neurosurgery and orthopaedics

65

Surgeons at work in the new OperatingTheatre of Sita Bhateja Speciality Hospital

66

Sita’s second son, Arvind (a leading neurosurgeon), now

leads the hospital

67

One

big

hap

py fa

mily

. L to

R: M

eera

(Raj

iv’s

wife

), Vi

vek,

Ani

rudh

(Arv

ind’

s so

n), A

rvin

d, A

nind

ita (A

rvin

d’s

wife

), an

d Ch

etha

n (R

ajiv

’s so

n). S

ita is

flan

ked

by Ja

ydev

(Raj

iv’s

son)

and

Ant

ara

(Arv

ind’

s da

ught

er)

68

Sita with Rajiv (her elder son)

69

Sita with her twin grandsonsChethan and Jaydev (2006)

Sita with Meera, Neil andRajiv in Sonoma (1994)

70

Dr Sita still meets and treats patients every single day

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