“Call me Ajja!” – Tribute to Dr. Jayaprakash Khandige

Mangalore Today News Network

Mangaluru, Jan 26, 2021: Renowned General Practitioner and ophthalmologist Dr. Jayaprakash Khandige (74) passed away at 3.00 am on Tuesday, January 26, 2021. He was the chief consultant of Khandige Eye Clinic, an age old family medical practice started by his father at Kadri Mallikatta, Mangalore.

He was married to Kusuma Khandige. His son Dr. Krishna Prasad Khandige too has followed the family tradition and is a third generation ophthalmologist. His mortal remains were kept for public viewing at the clinic at 3.00 in the afternoon.

Born on 20th May 1946, Dr. Jayaprakash Khandige completed his MBBS in 1969 and DOMS in 1972 from Kasturba Medical College, Mangalore. He received FRCG at the All India IMA Conference at Tiruvananthapuram. Inspired by his father who practiced general medicine along with eye specialty, Dr. Jayaprakash Khandige too had been practicing General Medicine along with eye specialty for the last 50 years. He has conducted many Free Eye Testing Camps and Health Check Up Camps for Lions Club and many schools.

He was an authorized doctor for Central Government Employees, State Bank of India, Examiner for Life Insurance Corporation, Proficiency Badge Examiner for Bharath Scouts and First Aid Badge Examiner for St. John’s Ambulance Association. He was vice president of the South Kanara Cricket Association and was Company Doctor for the Shipping Corporation of India for ten years. He has also served as the Vice President of Family Doctors Association and Vice President of Indian Medical Association (IMA) Mangalore Branch during 2004-2006.

He was felicitated by Mangalore Branch of IMA along with two other veteran doctors during Doctor’s Day Celebrations held 2nd July, 2010 for his dedication to the profession, service to IMA and service to society.

 “Call me Ajja!”
MANGALORE TODAY pays tribute to this renowned doctor in this personal narrative by Satya Reddy

As a parent to two young children, I am perpetually on the lookout for ‘good’ doctors. They are my lifeline, my panic button and my comfort zone all rolled into one. Two years ago, a friend raved about a one Dr. Khandige. “You will love him Satya!” she said. So when the chance came, (Blackie, the neighbour’s dog had bit my son), I took my howling boy along to Dr. Khandige’s clinic.

The clinic was a side room of an old, rambling Mangalorean house. Efficient nurses bustled about registering patients. When it was our turn, we were ushered into Dr. Khandige’s little room. A medicine cabinet, an examination table and a desk dominated the room. Seated behind the desk was the kindest face I had ever seen. Well oiled and finely combed hair topped a square face. Big rimmed spectacles framed a pair of friendly eyes. He had on a half-sleeved cotton shirt, an old-fashioned watch with a big face and the most welcoming, comforting smile I had ever encountered.  One look and I knew I was in the right hands.

“Nothing to worry Ma!” he said, looking at my nervous face and my teary son. And he did something that comforted me no end. He checked my son’s pulse. Sure they do that in hospitals but pulse checking in the hands of an experienced, old-timer is a different ball-game altogether. It is hard to put into words how emotive that simple gesture is. A quick look into the eyes, a shot of anti-rabies and my son was skipping off the table. That was the magic of Dr. Khandige. He never did much, never gave reams of medicines but one look at him and you automatically felt better.

In a city bristling with corporate hospitals, super-specialist doctors and clinics galore, Dr. Khandige (and his generation) knew a thing or two about chatting to your patient before treating them. He seemed to know everyone by name, their personal problems, their medical ones … his sharp-as-a-tack mind had filed away everything and missed nothing! The last time my children and I saw him, he had said to my daughter, “You have seen me so many times, you can now call me Ajja!” We had laughed when he said that but today, knowing he has passed on forever, he has indeed left an Ajja-sized hole in our hearts that can never be filled.