Kamal Ghorui
When I first heard the news, my reaction was muted. Of course, I felt gratitude. Pride, even. But I did not yet grasp the scale of it. However, I did not understand, emotionally, what this moment would become. That specific understanding arrived later, and it arrived through people.
In the days that followed the Padmi Shri Award announcement, my phone and email inbox became something else entirely. People found my WhatsApp number in ways I still do not fully understand. They called, they messaged, they left voicemails, they emailed. If I could not answer, they called my wife, my son, my brother or my mom. They were screaming and yelling with joy on the phone with my wife. Yet, some just stayed silent on the line, trying to compose themselves. Others cried… for me. I am deeply touched and am still trying to unpack that emotion. I may have received close to 800 phone calls and messages in a matter of days.
Above the congratulations, what moved me most was the effort and the intention – friends and family thought, I need to reach him. One of my friends tracked down my mother in Baroda, called her, was teary eyed and cried with her out of shared joy. I have never felt so connected to other people’s happiness. It felt communal in a way that I had not anticipated, almost overwhelming, but in the best sense. Only then did it truly land: this was bigger than I thought.
I have spent most of my life doing what many professionals do: showing up, focusing on the work, trying to do it well, and then doing it again the next day. Medicine trains you that way.
There is not much room for spectacle. There is only the patient in front of you, the decision you must make, and the consequences that follow. What these last few days have taught me is something simple: When you dedicate yourself sincerely to an area, when you serve others well over a long enough arc, the meaning accumulates, even if you do not notice it happening. Recognition may come early, or it may come late. Sometimes it does not come at all in obvious ways. But fulfillment arrives earlier than recognition does. And when the fulfillment is real, others can feel it, even if you never speak about it.
There is always a woman behind any success is yet again true. The patience, dedication, support and selflessness of my wife on this journey has been incredible. The unconditional love and friendship of my son outweighs everything else. My brothers constant presence throughout my life has been truly amazing. Another deep joy of this moment is that my mother is here to see it. That fact alone outweighs everything else. To share this with my friends and family and to see their pride, their tears, their smiles, has been grounding in a way no title ever could be.
I feel an immense sense of gratitude toward my mentors, colleagues, friends, patients and students, those who taught me, challenged me, and trusted me long before any formal acknowledgment arrived. And I feel grateful to India. I have lived much of my professional life in Kansas City, working in American healthcare, trying to move the needle, patient by patient, system by system. To be an Indian doing that work in America has always felt like a bridge I was walking across. The leadership in India recognizing this journey feels like a validation of my work and of my dual identity, of standing with one foot rooted in where I come from, and the other in where I serve.
The Award brings clarity. It brings conviction. It brings a renewed sense of purpose. There is a misconception that honors are endings. My personal opinion is that honors are beginnings.
They are like commas, not periods. This moment is a beginning, one with sharper focus, deeper responsibility, and greater resolve. There is still so much to learn. So much to improve. So much work that remains to be done. If there is one lesson that I am carrying forward, it is this: A life built around service does not always announce itself. But it leaves traces, in people, in institutions, in conversations you never hear about. And sometimes, unexpectedly, those traces find their way back to you. Through a ringing phone. Through tears on the other end of the line. Through the pride of family and friends.
That, more than anything else, is the honor.
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