Funerals speak volumes about the deceased. When the mortal remains of Dr S Jayachandran, 71, the ‘₹5 doctor’ of North Chennai, were placed at his home last week, hundreds and hundreds of everyday people poured in — including fisherfolk, rickshaw pullers, daily-wagers and conservancy workers. The doctor touched countless lives during his four decades of practice in Kasimedu and Old Washermanpet. He charged next to nothing for consultation, but that’s not the only reason he was loved deeply by the people of North Chennai. K Vinoth, founder, Ocean Awareness, was close to Jayachandran, and speaks of him in a voice choked with tears.
Appa saved my life some 25 years ago, when I had malaria. He came to the rescue of my daughter, when she fell seriously ill when she was six days old. He had clinics at three different places over his 25 years of practice in Kasimedu, and later started practicing from his home on Venkatachalam Street in Old Washermanpet. Initially, he charged ₹2 for consultation, which went up to ₹5. Those who could afford it, paid ₹20.
He had a soft corner for fisherfolk; I don’t know why. He often said we were always working hard. I’m a fisherman’s son and he treated me like his own. He is the brain behind Ocean Awareness; it is he who suggested that we clean up our beaches, set up baywatch towers, and hold marathons in North Chennai. He was constantly thinking of ways to uplift our people; he told youngsters to speak kindly, and not raise our voices even when angry.
He dreamt of building a school for children of fisherfolk. “ Edhachum pannanum da (We should do something for them),” he said. I’m sure we will build the school he envisioned.
He was diabetic, but happily ate chocolates if his young patients offered him. “They will be disappointed if I don’t eat it; there’s so much love in that one chocolate,” he would say.
Whether or not he ate at weddings of the rich, he made it a point to eat at weddings of the less privileged. We were at one such wedding and I asked if there were no vegetables with rasam rice. He got very upset with me; he asked me to be respectful of our guest’s humble efforts.
He spoke with so much familiarity with everyone. He’s rapped my head with his examination torch when I told him I skipped my medicines.
He kept working all his life; he has conducted over 4,000 free medical camps across India. He never took care of his health, though. If I pointed this out to him, he told me that he should die suddenly one day, when he was practicing. His words came true.
Rag pickers, conservancy workers thronged his clinic. I remember he once asked a patient to get a scan done. “Here, take this ₹800. The scan centre will charge more, but tell him I sent you,” he told the patient.
As the man walked out, appa called after him. “Wait,” he said, “Take an auto; here’s some money for your ride.”
