A Surgeon
with a Vision
By Mohammad Ashraf Chaudhry,
Pittsburg, CA
That academic
excellence could so artistically and favorably blend
with modesty and propriety becomes a discernible
reality when you meet this young Muslim surgeon,
Adnan Din. He hails from a family that like most
immigrants toiled and struggled, but unlike them
held on to a dream that it is knowledge, and not
dollars, that ultimately take you to a better life,
to a better world, a world beyond all horizons.
Imtiaz and Salahuddin, Adnan’s parents, live
in Woodland, California that has nothing to do with
woods. Surrounded by vast stretches of cornfields
this small town includes among its inhabitants these
parents who are uniquely blessed in more than one
way. Their children, three sons and one daughter,
got hooked on like drugs to the idea that they in
America are not going to pave its streets wearing
a burning Nessus’-shirt, (the kind Hercules
wore that shot-up on him nothing else but a sense
of dull and incurable misery, notwithstanding his
potential and stupendous strength).
In America most immigrants let their indigenous
and latent qualities get smothered under the onus
of the day-to-day survival fatigue. These four kids
of Imtiaz and Salahuddin, on the contrary chose
to enter into a kind of inter-family fierce but
healthy rivalry, each one of them vying to outshine
the other in academics. The results, after 17 years
of this fruitful competition has been, as anybody
can see, rich as well as awe-inspiring.
The eldest son, Arfan Din became a physician, has
served in the US navy, and is a budding and like
Dr. Gupta of CNN, a very versatile doctor. Imran
Din, the second son, is an MBA/MS in Management
Information System and is a rising star in his own
field. Saira Din, the daughter, is on the threshold
to graduation from Law School with Honors, besides
being a certified social worker. These kids were
not born with a silver spoon in their mouth. Their
struggle and accomplishments have now become the
stories of success, and can act as precedents for
those for whom sky is the limit.
Of all the children of Imtiaz and Salahuddin, the
one whom I watched carefully in his accomplishments
has been Adnan. And I had many reasons behind this
keenness. Adnan was born the year I got married,
1971. His mother, Imtiaz, was my wife’s elder
sister. His grandfather was my father’s friend.
And a strange coincidence, both his grandfathers,
maternal as well as paternal, had identical names,
Taj ud Dins, and one being my father-in-law. And
above all this was the first impression Adnan had
indelibly left on me in London. The first time I
met him was in London in 1977. He was a small, chubby
kid who often made my stay with the family miserable
because he would mistake my cajoling as a sort of
intrusion. I was in England for my higher studies
and Salahuddin and Imtiaz had been there for many
a year. My first impression about Adnan was that
he was fiercely independent, and he a ctually proved
himself to be so. The family migrated to the States
in 1984, and so did we.
Adnan’s real talent and his latent potential
came to the fore at UC Davis where he conducted
his undergraduate studies. What I had termed in
him as, “fiercely independent” was actually
his streak for research. Such was the quality of
his research and its outcome at Davis, that he was
declared the best under-graduate of the year, and
was offered admission to the UC Davis Medical School,
a rare feat in academics. Four years later, when
I attended his graduation ceremony held at the UC
Davis medical school, I was wonder-struck when the
Dean of the school read a long list of his accomplishments
and declared him the best medical graduate in the
field of surgery. The little chubby boy who burnt
the eggs on the stove in London, and insisted on
doing so again, and who once called me a “monkey”
when I tried to be a little chummy with him, now
stood before me as the best surgeon gradua te of
the year. Wordsworth was right when he said, “A
child is the father of man”, and Socrates
was terribly wrong when he declared that freaky
children like Adnan are little terrorists, who gobble
parents’ food, and terrorize elders. Who knows,
they are tomorrow’s surgeons too.
Adnan after having received his medical degree from
the University of California, Davis, went to UC
Irvine, for his surgical training and residency.
Surgical training, which often is more than the
double of the ordinary physician’s training,
is in itself beset with new challenges and new risks.
To me a surgeon is like an F-16 pilot, faced with
the risk of being grounded any time. Adnan survived
these ordeals amicably and with honor. The Santa
Cruz Sentinel newspaper of August 28, 2003 was pleased
to publish that Santa Cruz Medical Clinic was pleased
to announce that Adnan Din was going to be a part
of their Department of Surgery. Adnan used the scalp
for one year at Santa Cruz, and restless as he has
always been to reach new heights, he did not waste
any time when the opportunity came to enroll himself
for Fellowship in Plastic Surgery at St. Luis.
Adan is an adorable person. He is well rounded,
and not wooden as far as his overall character is
concerned. His subtle humor, and sly smile, and
balanced reserved-ness are what I like most in him.
The crowning feature of his demeanor is that he
is absolutely self-effacing. Modesty even in the
wake of sterling accomplishments is his peculiar
characteristic. Abraham Lincoln once rightly said,
“What kills a skunk is the publicity it gives
itself”. Pedantry and showmanship are miles
away from him. Often in discussions on world politics
I have found him well informed as well as insightful
and clinical.
Last year in Pakistan when I met his grand-father,
Ch. Taj-ud-din, an old man in his 90’s, and
waiting for his day to say good-bye to this mundane
world, I mentioned to him the accomplishments of
his grand-children, especially of Adnan, in the
United States of America, I saw a quiver in the
listless pupils of his eyes and a little moisture
in them as if telling me to tell Adnan and all that
he, too, was proud of them; only if he could hold
Adnan’s face in his old hands to feel that
it was one of his owns.
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