Whom the Gods Love Die Young

By: Suhail Raoof | August 29, 2012

Life is full of strange twists and turns. When I look back at the circumstances that brought me in contact with those who influenced me most, the coincidence seems surreal. Such was the case with Om Sharma. The year was 1983. I was in medical college in Delhi, India, when a patient presented with a bilateral hilar adenopathy and reticular opacities on his chest radiograph. My registrar remarked that the patient may have sarcoidosis. As the most junior member of the medical team, I was tasked with going to the library and reading about sarcoidosis. I did as instructed, laboriously thumbing through volumes of the Index Medicus. To my surprise, the name that surfaced on this topic over 50 times was that of Dr. Om Prakash Sharma. As a young intern, 22 years old and interested in going to the United States for my higher education, it was inspiring to realize that physicians of Indian origin could do as well in the United States and publish as extensively as Om Sharma had. That was my first encounter with Om - albeit in absentia. 

I distinctly recall my first face-to-face encounter with Dr. Sharma. He was invited as visiting professor to our hospital. I found him lost in the maze of unending corridors that are typical of most hospitals. He had an aura of distinction, a graceful, dignified individual wearing a bow tie. His calm demeanor and twinkle in his eyes gave me the courage to go to him and ask, “Sir, are you Dr. Om Sharma?” He turned around, looked at me, smiled. During the conversation that ensued, he asked me about my role in the pulmonary division and what my future plans were. His genuine willingness to guide me and help me in my career, the warmth in his interactions with me (a research fellow at the lowest level of the totem pole), were evident within the first 5 minutes of my conversation with him. There was a spontaneous ring of sincerity and an aura of serenity that emanated from him. I realized that many resplendent qualities make an individual exceptional and magnanimous. He had amalgamated several of these into a rare and perfect blend. That day, with his vast knowledge and sharp clinical skills, Om Sharma won the hearts, respect, and admiration of all and sundry in our pulmonary division. That encounter was inspirational to me. I resolved to follow Om’s footsteps, to excel in the area I chose to pursue, and to try to emulate his excellence as a doctor and as a human being. That was my first face-to-face encounter with him.

Over the next 20 years, I met him occasionally at national and international meetings. He always remembered me and took a great deal of interest in my career. While the physical distance that separated us spanned the east and west coasts, he was merely a phone call away. He advised me to get involved early on with a professional society, encouraged me to continue to publish in medical journals, offering me a platform on the editorial board of Current Opinion in Pulmonary Medicine to fulfill the latter objective. I knew he was there for me; I could always call him and seek his very sage advice on diverse issues—from time management to academic advancement, from selecting an academic vs a private practice career. With his encyclopedic knowledge of sarcoidosis, he served as a consultant for my difficult-to-manage sarcoidosis cases. He would send detailed advice on how to treat patients, quoting literature and leaning on evidence-based medicine to make specific recommendations. I can think of at least 20 complicated patients with sarcoidosis, whom I have treated over the years, and who benefited from his advice and guidance. And in the process, my colleagues and I benefited from his expertise, experience, and exceptional knowledge. 

I used to wonder what it would take to become a luminary in the area of specialization-like Dr. Sharma. I got my answer while speaking to him during his visit to New York. It was his attitude, his desire, his need to excel in whatever project he took up. To exemplify this point, while he was on a sabbatical in Japan, he heard the music of the shakuhachi, a bamboo flute. He decided he wanted to learn how to play this difficult instrument; he did his homework and found a skilled musician to teach him. On several subsequent occasions, he traveled to Kyoto, exclusively to spend time with his teacher and to perfect the art—not because he had to—but because he wanted to. Not because anyone else would judge his skills in playing the instrument but because he would perform the most stringent critical introspection of his own performance. If he took on a project, he took it all the way through. He spared no effort, did a sterling job, and excelled at it. This philosophy permeated all of his actions. 

Less than 2 months ago, Om was diagnosed with small cell lung cancer with metastasis to the brain. It is unusual for a life-long nonsmoker to come down with small cell lung cancer. It was ironic that a man who helped thousands of people with lung ailments would come down with an advanced and, hence, incurable lung condition. It was unfortunate that the festschrift commemorating his life and accomplishments and planned for his 76th birthday this year will never be held in his hands. Om succumbed to his illness with his loving wife and three daughters at his bedside.  “Whom the god’s love, die young.” People may argue that 76 years of age is not young. Yet it is, if the individual was so actively contributing to society and the medical profession.

Like thousands of other friends, students, and colleagues, I feel privileged and honored to have known him and observed him closely. Today, and for a very long time, he will be remembered by those whose lives he touched. He led by example, putting in perspective the qualities that really matter in life. He doctored his patients; he rejoiced in alleviating and mitigating their sufferings. He mentored his trainees and acquaintances and genuinely rejoiced in seeing them advancing in their careers and doing well in life.

His contributions to the College in several leadership positions, including Chair of the Council of Governors, Chair of the Membership Committee, his work with The CHEST Foundation, and his involvement in pro bono activities, will long be remembered. The College gave him the highest honor—the mastership of the college in 2006, in recognition of his special qualities. 

I find Shakespeare’s lines very descriptive of the individual he was:
“His life was gentle; and the elements 
  So mix’d in him that Nature might stand up
  And say to all world, ‘This was a man!’”

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