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I first met Dr Jimmy Nadershaw Sidhva, my teacher in radiology and neuroradiology in 1959 on the first floor of the old outpatients’ department at Sir Jamsetjee Jejeebhoy Hospital (JJH). Our batch of 15 students had been asked to assemble there for our introductory class in the subject.

We were ushered into a room where Sidhva sat, studying an x-ray film. The view box had multiple panels, each with its own light switch. He was studying a film on the central panel. We were introduced to him and he asked us to stand in a row behind him so each of us could watch. He switched off all the other panels, removed the films on them and then began to describe the film in front of him. A batch mate, in an attempt to be helpful, started switching on the lights of all the other panels as well. Sidhva turned around and transfixed him with a stare and turned off the lights.

"Why did I switch off all the other panels?” he asked. Hesitantly, we answered: "So that you can concentrate on the film in front of you;” "To prevent the glare from other lights from reducing the clarity of the film under study,” and so on. "You are right,” said Sidhva. Pointing to the reflective plastic sheets on the darkened panels, he explained, "But the real reason I switched off the lights is that even when I face away from you by looking at the side panels I can see what you are up to behind my back.” 

During the same session, veering away from the discussion on a particular x-ray film, he suddenly asked, "What do you know of extra-sensory perception?” Most of us were flummoxed. He then told us of recent research on parapsychology at Duke University in Durham, North Carolina in a department set up in 1934. (We later learnt that this was the subject of a prominent essay in Time magazine that week.) From this and other sessions with him we learnt radiology and many other interesting subjects, all infused with large dollops of humor.

Let me convey some of what I have learnt about this erudite yet puckish person. Sidhva was inspired to study medicine by his father, a respected general physician who lived and practiced on Lamington Road. Dr Nadershaw Sorabji Sidhva was born in a priestly family in Karachi. As there was no medical college in Karachi at that time, he joined the Grant Medical College (GMC) in Bombay. He was without funds and had no acquaintances in this strange city. He lived in the Old Hostel in the College. An unknown local Parsi benefactor, who met him by chance on a local train, undertook to pay his entire medical college fees provided he never failed a single examination. Nadershaw went through GMC sponsored entirely by this generous gentleman who wished to remain anonymous. His wish was honoured by Nadirshaw who never revealed his patron’s identity.

Jimmy’s upbringing inculcated in him a strong sense of religion, integrity and the importance of hard work. The manner in which his father treated his patients was inspiring, affording all patients the same care and regard irrespective of their financial status. The less fortunate were often helped monetarily so they could purchase expensive drugs. When he was thanked, he merely shrugged his shoulders and replied: "I am not doing anything extraordinary. This is part of my duty towards you.”

Jimmy shared, "I decided to become a radiologist for a rather unusual reason… I have always had a great love for the study of anatomy. I had hoped to become a part-time teacher of anatomy, but felt that as a surgeon I may not have enough time to devote to this…I thought (mistakenly so, in retrospect), that radiology would allow me enough time to indulge my dream of teaching anatomy at a good medical college.” Small wonder then that when he discussed radiology with us, it was against the background of anatomy. As he put it, pathology (the study of disease) is the study of abnormal anatomy.

After graduation Jimmy’s friend Dr Homi Dastur proceeded to England where he worked under Dr Wylie Mc- Kissock, a leading British neurosurgeon at Atkinson Morley’s Hospital in Wimbledon. When Jimmy arrived in London as a Tata scholar, Dastur was able to persuade McKissock to enable him to work with the legendary neuroradiologist Dr James Bull. 

The experience gained under Bull, his expertise and influence made Jimmy opt for neuroradiology as his subspecialty. He returned to Bombay and was appointed honorary consultant at the department of radiology at JJH. At that time, the neurosciences were not developed in Bombay and there was no section of neuroradiology. 

After leaving JJH on superannuation, Jimmy was requested to join his alma mater as honorary radiologist. He willingly accepted this invitation and served there from 1978-1992. His clinic was located in Cook’s Building which also housed the consulting rooms of Drs Farokh and the late Tehemton Udwadia.

Jimmy, along with Drs Noshir Wadia (neurologist) and Gajendra Singh (neurosurgeon), formed the triumvirate in the neurosciences at JJH and worked closely together. His friendly and helpful nature soon won the loyalty of Jimmy’s two radiology technicians, Mr Saple and Ms Shah. They were devoted to him and worked with him till he retired.

As a resident doctor working under Singh I was often present at various meetings and discussions between them at JJH. I cannot recall a single meeting where Jimmy did not elicit chuckles and guffaws while relating hilarious anecdotes. His narratives were often preceded by "Arré Gaji, ai samajhyu chhè ké (Gaji, have you heard this”)? On one occasion, when Wadia was also present, Jimmy took a piece of paper, uncapped his fountain pen and said, "Should you ever need a document with Dr Shantilal Mehta’s signature, just come to me” and produced a replica of Mehta’s autograph with a flourish. His colleagues burst out laughing at his accuracy. He could just as easily duplicate the signatures of many other teachers and senior professors!

Jimmy was a regular participant at the Saturday afternoon combined meetings of the various neurology-neurosurgery departments of the teaching hospitals in the city. His skills in neuroradiology were utilized by consultants at all these hospitals.

He was now sought after more frequently and able to help those like us who were working in public sector hospitals treating poor patients. He would negotiate markedly reduced rates for CT (computed tomography) scans for patients. He felt that being academic institutes, we would provide clinical notes and follow up findings on all our patients. This data was very helpful to start-up centers.

   Dilnavaz Gamadia in Asla Fasla Photo: Laughter In The House

He wrote chapters on radiology in various textbooks, published several research papers and is the first Indian author of a book on the subject, Cranial Computed Tomography.

In 1955, soon after his return from abroad, he was appointed consultant honorary radiologist at The B. D. Petit Parsee General Hospital (PGH). This appointment was as important to him as JJH because he has had a deep affection for members of his community. He now had an opportunity to help them.

Jimmy met Roshan (née Vimadalal), who would eventually become his wife, when she and some of her friends wanted to attend a dinner-dance to be held on the rooftop restaurant of the Ambassador Hotel at Churchgate. Not knowing any boys who could accompany them, she asked her friend Amy Dastur to request her brother Homi to bring along some of his young doctor friends to partner the girls. Homi went with some young medicos, including Jimmy. That was when Roshan and Jimmy first met. They married in December 1960. Roshan had earlier worked as an assistant librarian at the British Council Library. She also introduced some children’s programs on All India Radio. Their son Sorab was born a year after they were married, so Roshan gave up her career to become a full-time homemaker.

A son is often an astute observer of his parent. This is what Sorab noted about his Dad: "Professionally, he has been my role model. He taught me by example that we needed to personally interact with all our patients, not be mere technically sound doctors. He frequently telephoned patients some days after their radiology consultations with him to enquire about their progress despite not being their primary care-giving physician. 

"He has always been very particular to ensure that his patients were seen at their appointed time. All through his practice he maintained respect for his patients’ time with never a long wait beyond the appointment time. This was unlike many of our professional colleagues who never thought it wrong to make a patient wait for hours. I have tried to adhere to this practice all through my career, thanks to his example.

"He also steadfastly refused to give cuts (commissions) to referring clinicians, unlike so many of his colleagues. I am proudly able to say that never once have Dad or I ever given any referral incentive to our medical brethren. 

"Dad also impressed upon me the need to remain up-to-date with medical advances. At the age of 50 he took a sabbatical from his practice to live alone in London to study the newly developed CT scanning under Prof Louis Kreel. He did this purely because of a thirst to learn, as there was not a single CT scan machine in India at the time and there was no likelihood of him putting his newfound knowledge to professional use in the near future.”

Characteristically, Jimmy also used PGH as the place where he organized rehearsals of plays staged by the Parsi Medical Amateurs (PMA). He would enrol the help of the hospital superintendent who ensured that food was served to the actors by ward boys. In her article "Operation theatre at the PGH” (mid-day, March 22, 2015), Meher Marfatia provided further details. "Amused hospital telephone operators got used to speedily relaying news of rehearsal timing changes. In an ultimately quaint routine, ambulances ferried sets, props and costumes for trial fittings across town to the doctors’ clinics. This entertainment became a rage with people of every Gujarati-speaking community. M. F. Hussain, the noted artist, was in for his own surprise. He heard of the Amateurs when he visited Jimmy for an x-ray and confessed to loving Gujarati plays as he had grown up on Grant Road. So he was invited to a show. Expecting the painter to be barefoot as usual, Jimmy brandished a pair of slippers on stage. Stunned to see the artist actually shod, he quickly quipped, "See here, that’s because I am wearing Hussain’s chappals.”

Marfatia has described Jimmy’s sterling contribution in her book, Laughter In The House: 20th-Century Parsi Theatre, and in several newspaper articles. The book contains several priceless photographs showing Jimmy enacting a variety of roles.

This theater for charity tradition was introduced by Dr Jehangir Ratansha Wadia in 1917. He wrote the plays in Gujarati. Most of them were parodies of Shakespearean plays. He had roped in a versatile group of physicians and surgeons to present cheeky parodies and imaginative comedies which attracted packed houses. Among his actors were Nadershaw and his son Jimmy. (Sorab completed the circle when he too participated in these plays from 1981 until the final play in 1991, Manchoo Macbeth.)  

The actors were all doctors or medical students. Wadia played the lead roles himself (the very same roles that Jimmy played later). The female lead was always played by a male — Dr Minoo Langrana — as there were no female doctors willing to participate in the early days. 

Wadia would finish a bottle of brandy during every performance. On one occasion, when Wadia had been unwell and it was uncertain whether he would be able to act, Jimmy noticed a bottle of brandy on a table backstage. Jimmy immediately reassured his son, "Do not worry, Jehangir is here.”

After completing rehearsal for the day, Wadia and Jimmy would walk to the Excelsior Cinema for a cup of tea. They would then take the D route bus home. Wadia would exhibit his wry sense of humor here too. While alighting one stop before Jimmy’s Lamington Road stop, he would loudly request the conductor to "Please baba ko uské ghar pé péhlé malé par chhod ké jana (Please accompany the boy up to his first floor residence)!” Saying this, he would promptly make his escape, leaving a bus full of people staring at the embarrassed young medical student. Wadia was never well-to-do. But year after year he earned huge sums of money for charity through his plays. Sadly, he died penniless. Dr R. N. Cooper talked of him as "Gajwè gareeb né lakhon ni sakhavat (Poor of pocket, charitable to the world).” 

Jimmy recalls that rehearsals would begin post 9.30 p. m., after the doctors had finished their work, and would continue past midnight. Between 1970 and 1991 (while Jimmy was the star performer) Rs 80,00,000 (USD 96,479) was collected through these performances for Parsi and non-Parsi beneficiaries, cancer research, convalescent homes and free dispensaries.

Sorab met his soon-to-be-wife, Gitanjali (née Mody), when she was in charge of the make-up for Manchoo Macbeth. He jokes, "At this last play, we had this whirlwind romance, ending in marriage. Ever since, she has always been extremely cagey, not allowing any more performances, worried who I might meet next!”

Now in his nineties, Jimmy lives in Bombay with Roshan, his devoted wife of 63 years, his son Sorab and two daughters Sherna and Meher. He revels in the company of five grandchildren and a great-grandson.

Sorab’s comments on his Dad are noteworthy. "Dad never raised his voice to any of us three children. In spite of his very busy schedule, he always attended all major events at my school and, realizing my enthusiasm for the game, attended all important matches in my badminton career. (I played competitive badminton from the age of 10 until my 2nd MBBS, representing Maharashtra State many times and being ranked nationally in juniors).”

Balancing his jovial side is Jimmy’s deep interest in his religion. Insights gained from his parents led him to study Avestan and to searches through archives. The website of the PGH informs: "He has authored three books on the Zarathushtrian religion and contributed weekly religious articles for four years in the Jam-e-Jamshed” titled "Thus Spake Zarathushtra — The Gathas Revisited.”

The income from the sale of his books has been used to create a public charitable trust, the Goolbai and Nadershaw Sidhva Charity Trust, in memory of his parents. The Trust provides medical and educational assistance to deserving individuals, regardless of religion.