"A child's education," they say, "begins at home." It's a rather benevolent adage, but my father is a living testimony to its perspicacity. My father and I didn't talk about sports or medicine when I was a child. We would talk about art, culture, economy and countries, about traveling to Paris or London. I was never bored–I loved it. It seeped into my mind. To this day, it all affects the way I see the world, it affects what projects I go into and it affects how I approach them.
To say this donnish father figure had a potent influence on me would be a woeful understatement. When he worked as a surgeon at a small hospital that he quickly grew into a huge hospital serving both the natives and the oil companies in West Africa or initially as a liver transplant surgeon at Cedars in Los Angeles and then retraining as an anesthesiologist and starting his own group of 25 physicians.
Illuminating on my extraordinary life journey begins in earnest when I left the oil rich basin at
the age 11 to attend an elite boarding school in southern Canada. The separation from my family was traumatic but I quickly got over it. My father told me "You don't know what a sacrifice it is for me to send you away–you are my only child." This was in 1983. The school looked like it hadn't changed much since 1889. Initially I was homesick, I was culturally sick–I felt like I was completely disconnected from everything I knew. There were no cell phones and mail to and from West Africa moved at about the speed it did during the American Civil War. I was the only Hindu there–or for a 100 mile radius and became friends with the only Jewish kid.
It sounds onerous, especially for an adolescent. But this taught me independence, self-reliance and the ability to move effortlessly between different worlds. It helped me not to let my entire identity be tied up with my father's position, wealth or power–these things can just come and go–and my life became non-reliant on the things that had traditionally made it easier. In fact, I had six very happy years at Ridley and I am now planning to send my only child to the school as well.
We came to the USA through Canada in the early 1990s. My father was part of the liver transplant team at Cedars in Beverly Hills. He wanted a career change and retrained in cardiac anesthesia and set up his own group serving wealthy patients from around the world who wanted world class medical treatment. As the chief of anesthesia he tackled the hardest cases in clinical medicine including open "sticky" hearts and neuro cases that required a delicate balance of art and science. 
Today, as he relaxes at his home in Beverly Hills with my physician Mother, he still finds the time for all his passions and interests–so diverse in their nature. Funding motion pictures, putting construction deals in various parts of the world, spearheading clean tech ventures in Los Angeles, tackling the hardest cases in clinical medicine–now in Hollywood and giving back by teaching at the USC school of medicine. At a young 74 years, I see him engage with reality at its most divine, innovative and edifying. What is a pretty safe bet, however, is the intense pride I feel for my father–scholar, aesthete, physician, entrepreneur, grandfather and an impeccable father figure–is reciprocated with zeal. Happy Birthday Dad, I love you lots!
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