Courage, Thy Name is Himmatbhai
By Omguru
In today’s world, where hospitals and doctors are omnipresent, humans still live in fear—fear of falling ill, fear of pain. Yet, some individuals rise above this fear and become a source of inspiration. I have always seen myself as a medium chosen by the divine, striving to motivate others through my life experiences. I often tell devotees—if I can do it, so can you. Whatever I have achieved has been as a mere instrument of the higher power.
I wish to share a true, deeply moving incident from my memory—an event that speaks volumes of courage and clarity of thought. It is the story of my grandfather, Himmatlal Vadilal Shah—a man who truly lived up to his name, “Himmat,” meaning courage.
A Family Rooted in Unity
Back in pre-1990 Gujarat, joint families were the norm. Disputes may have existed, but separation was rare. Families stood together—through joy and sorrow. It was in such a setting that, in 1983, a life-altering moment arrived.
My grandfather consulted the renowned cardiologist, Dr. Satubhai Trivedi, in Ahmedabad. The diagnosis was grave.
“Your heart is on the verge of failure, Himmatbhai. If you wish to live another ten years and can afford it, go to Bombay and undergo an open-heart surgery under Dr. Nimesh Shah at Bombay Hospital,” said Dr. Trivedi, candid and direct in his manner.
Startled, yet composed, my grandfather asked, “Doctor, what exactly is open-heart surgery?”
“It means your heart will be removed and replaced with a synthetic plastic heart. The procedure is new—successful in countries like the U.S., but in India, expertise is limited. Dr. Nimesh Shah has just returned from New England and is among the very few capable of such an operation. However, the cost could run up to ₹4–5 lakh”—an astronomical sum in 1984, equivalent to ₹50 lakh today.
The Decision That Defined a Life
True to his name, Himmatbhai didn’t flinch. He informed the family and promptly decided to consult Dr. Shah in Bombay. Dr. Trivedi ensured he got a quick appointment.
Three days later, my grandfather was in the waiting area of Bombay Hospital. Upon reviewing the reports, Dr. Nimesh Shah said:
“Himmatbhai, your condition is extremely critical. Frankly, I am surprised you’re still walking. I must be honest—there is a 99% chance you will die on the operating table. If the surgery succeeds, you might live ten more years. If not operated, your maximum lifespan is about six months.”
My father, who had accompanied him, was shaken to the core. But without hesitation, my grandfather replied, “Doctor, I am ready for surgery.”
Dr. Shah immediately had him admitted. That evening, my father pleaded, “Bhai (a term of respect he used for his father), let’s try Ayurvedic or homeopathic alternatives. How can you risk everything for just a 1% chance?”
My grandfather replied, “Ashok, if I had met with an accident instead of a heart problem, wouldn’t you rush me to an allopathic hospital? This is modern medicine’s reality. I choose to place my faith in that 1% chance and God’s will. Go back to Ahmedabad. Bring your mother here, and once she arrives, return and manage the shop. I don’t want anyone else here on surgery day. The ₹5 lakh won’t come from you sitting beside me—it will come from our business.”
His calm, logical, and courageous reasoning silenced all doubts.
Miracle in the Operating Theatre
On the day of the surgery, my father reached Bombay—but by then, my grandfather was already wheeled into the operation theatre. The surgery lasted over eight hours. Against all odds, he survived. It was one of the first successful open-heart surgeries in India, and Dr. Nimesh Shah’s first triumph in this delicate procedure.
When my grandfather regained consciousness the next day, my father asked him, “Bhai, how do you feel?”
Instead of answering, he said, “Why are you here? I told you to be in Ahmedabad.”
Even post-surgery, his sense of discipline and purpose was intact.
Just a month later, despite medical advice to rest, he resumed riding a scooter and climbed three flights of stairs to reach our fabric shop in Ahmedabad’s H.A. Market.
At the time of his surgery, I was only seven. I vividly remember visiting him at a Juhu flat where he rested after discharge. When he saw me, he was overjoyed.
He passed away in 2006, aged 86, but left behind a treasure trove of life lessons. Through countless such moments, he taught us that fear can be overcome, and that faith—backed by logic and action—is a formidable force.
He didn’t just bear the name Himmat (Courage)—he lived it.