Uncle Sailo: A doctor with a difference

My earliest memories of Uncle Sailo (“Apa” as I would call him using the Mizo word for father) was in the year 1988 when I met him for the first time. It is clear as day. Nothing changed about him in the three decades that followed.

His passing came as a huge shock not only to the family, the medical fraternity, his staff, his huge circle of friends but to me personally as well. To the world, he was a doctor but to me, he was a father figure, a confidante, my physician and an incredible human being who has now left behind a void that can never be replaced. For Uncle Sailo was a man who went beyond the call of duty to connect and forge long-lasting bonds.

His foresight was exemplary. From a clinic to a hospital – his perseverance was unbreakable. Through tough and trying times, he kept at it and I learnt a lot from him over the past 15 years. He was indeed a doctor with a difference.

An avid learner of many disciplines apart from medicine, he was truly passionate about farming (plantations in particular) and towards the latter stage of his life, he fell in love with designing and building. One of his dreams was a wellness centre and I hope that one day this dream comes true. Being in construction myself, we often had night-long discussions on the wrongs and rights of his drawings. I often agreed, but sometimes I’d simply smile.

One thing I truly regret was not to have travelled with him despite his many invitations. We will one day Apa, on the other side.

I spent many happy hours with his warm and welcoming family. Through the numerous birthdays and the famous gatherings at New Year’s Eve, many a song has been sung and many a scrumptious meal devoured. When I think of it now, everyday meals at his home were absolutely delicious. They still are.

Over the years, my relationship with him grew beyond that of his son’s friend. I became a son. A family man to the core, he taught us everything – the emphasis being on the power of prayer. Not a dinner went by without one.

We would sometimes pick up our guitars and sing late into the night:

Where have all the flowers gone? 
Long-time passing. 
Where have all the flowers gone? 
Long time ago. 
Where have all the flowers gone? 
The girls have picked them everyone. 
Oh, when will you ever learn? 
Oh, when will you ever learn?