The Family Doctor – Our One-Stop Medical Department

Those who grew up between the 1940s and the late 1980s will fondly remember the era of the family doctor. In those days, one doctor looked after the health of an entire family—sometimes three generations under one roof! He knew not only your medical history but also your family history, financial history, and occasionally even your neighbour's history!

Our family doctor was one Dr. Devaji Rao of Triplicane. He had a qualified compounder who was almost as important as the doctor himself. In those days, there were very few medical shops. Whatever the doctor prescribed, the compounder would prepare and hand over.

Ready-made tablets were not as common as they are today. The favourite medicine was a mixture—a colourful liquid prescribed by the doctor and dispensed by the compounder that seemed capable of curing everything from a cough to a broken heart! Visiting the doctor without carrying an empty bottle was almost like going to a wedding without an invitation. The doctor diagnosed the illness, and the bottle received the treatment.

Dr. Devaji Rao knew every member of our family so well that, quite often, we didn't even have to see him. We would simply tell the doctor who was unwell with the symptoms, and the doctor would confidently prescribe the correct mixture. Today this would be called telemedicine. Back then, it was simply called "knowing your patients."

After Dr. Devaji Rao came Dr. Kamalakara Rao, who continued the tradition of caring for the family.

Around the same time, we also had Dr. Krishnaswamy Iyengar, the doctor attached to The Hindu newspaper office, who lived in the same street in Gopalapuram. He had one legendary prescription—M & B 693 tablets. Whatever the complaint—fever, sore throat, body pain, or perhaps even a bad mood—the answer was almost always the same tablet! We knew his style so well that, before going to consult him, we would jokingly say, "Why not start taking M & B first? That is what he is going to prescribe anyway!"

Looking back, it is interesting that many of the doctors in Madras then were from Karnataka. Equally interesting was another neighbourhood pattern—many of the best tailors were Muslims. Somehow, every profession seemed to have its own community specialists.

Slowly but surely, the friendly house visits  by the doctors disappeared. The faithful compounder vanished. The colourful mixtures gave way to neatly packed tablets and capsules. Today, we have multi-speciality hospitals, sophisticated diagnostic centres, and online consultations. They are undoubtedly more advanced, but something was lost along the way.

The old family doctor never looked at a computer screen before looking at the patient. He knew your pulse, your parents, your children—and sometimes even the reason why you had fallen sick before you told him.

Medicine has certainly progressed. But the warmth of the family doctor, the comforting presence of the compounder, and that ever-ready empty bottle now belong to a happier chapter of the past.