Engineering a Life

by Krishan K. Bedi

  The freezer’s compressor had simply conked out, so there was nothing to do but let the ice cream flow. Disappointed and tired, we returned home and slept until it was time to get up and start the routine for the next day—getting the kids ready and going to work. While I attended to my responsibilities at Providence Hospital, Raj found someone to fix the freezer compressor. It took three to four days to repair. Needing to order a new supply of ice cream was an additional setback. We had not foreseen such a disaster.

  Even if we hadn’t suffered a setback, our business still might have struggled. The mall was fifteen years old at the time, and there was not as much traffic as before. Later, I learned this mall was in decline because a newer mall built elsewhere in Cincinnati was attracting more business. In the meantime, the economy was down, and people were not spending as much money on non-essentials like ice cream. All these factors contributed to a bleak outlook for our store. Not long after this incident, we sold the store to another couple. We could not afford to put any more money into a store which made no profit.

  It was a sad day in our household when my parents chose to return to India after their eleven-month visit. I tried to persuade them to stay with us indefinitely, but my mother missed her daughters and other grandchildren and her friends from the village. My father missed having control over his properties, and he’d had news that my brother was not managing the cloth shop well.

  As they boarded the plane, I almost cried, thinking how I was living comfortably while they must go back and live with my brother in terrible circumstances. He did not give them any respect, and along with the hot weather, no air conditioning, and no heater during the winter. I could not bear to think of it. But it was their wish, and they missed seeing their daughters as well as being in their own culture.

  My sister Krishna told me later that when my parents reached New Delhi, she and her husband, Krishan, received them at the airport. Not only was my mother walking easily, but she was also wearing dark glasses and a nice sari. Even though the weather was warm, she wore her topcoat to show it off. She had also lost a little weight and looked entirely different and happy. As my sister told me, she could not even recognize her own mother.

  Chapter 20

  In October 1982, when Rajan was five years old, I had no idea my life would change, but it did, at first gradually, and then all at once. At the time, I had recently discovered, through a round of testing at the Cleveland Clinic Foundation, that Rajan’s growth hormone levels were abnormally low, and he would need to be put on a waiting list for a trial of growth hormone therapy. With Rajan in my thoughts, I received a phone call from Satish. He had seen an ad from a large industrial group known as the Goels.

  “The Goels are looking for an administrator for a new hospital to be built in New Delhi,” Satish said. “The requirements are an Indian national in a Western country experienced in hospital administration and willing to move to India to be head of this state-of-the-art, five-hundred-bed facility to be built in the suburbs of New Delhi.”

  I laughed. “Satish, we are well-established here,” I said. “We have no thoughts of moving back to India. My kids are at a prestigious private school, and I have a good, secure job here.”

  “I know, I know,” Satish said. “Why don’t you just apply and see what happens. Who knows? You may be qualified.”

  Later, I discussed this job opportunity with Raj. She laughed also. “We are all set here. We don’t need to move.”

  Those were my thoughts exactly, and we just laughed at how ridiculous it would be to move when we were comfortable as we were. However, that evening as I lay in bed, the thought crept into my mind—What if I did get the job offer? Wouldn’t it be great if I applied, just out of curiosity, and they wanted me to be the administrator? The words “newly built,” and “state-of-the-art” floated in my head. By the next morning, as I got ready for work, I had decided to apply just to see if anything happened. Not that I wanted to move—I really didn’t. But now that the idea settled into my mind, I wanted to see if I would be offered the job. It would boost my ego.

  On a whim, I decided to mail a letter to New Delhi inquiring about the position. To my surprise, I received a phone call three weeks later from the Hospital Corporation of America (HCA), a profit-making organization which owned and operated many healthcare facilities in the US. They were known for buying failing, nonprofit health care facilities and turning them into profitable entities.

  During the phone conversation, the HCA representative told me the Goels liked my qualifications and wanted HCA to interview me. When could I come to Nashville?

  Taken aback and pleasantly surprised, I set a date. Later, I shared the news with Raj, and while she seemed happy that they had chosen to interview me, she wondered why I was going through this if we were not going to move to India.

  “Hey, I haven’t gotten the job yet,” I said, “so moving doesn’t come into the picture. Let’s see what happens.”

  In a way, the phone call from HCA made me feel good, indicating that I was qualified for the position after all. The next month was a whirl of activity. After my interview in Nashville, HCA wanted me to fly to New York City to meet Z.M. Goel, the head of the hospital project. With Mr. Gilreath’s permission, I took two days off to go there. Z.M. Goel talked to me briefly about my experiences at Providence Hospital. I explained everything to him fluidly, also speaking about finances and how we were able to increase revenue in several departments. After the interview, he shook my hand vigorously, saying they would be in touch.

  After I returned to Cincinnati, Arun Mangal called me to set up a time for Z.M. Goel and himself to come to Providence Hospital to spend the whole day with me. When I spoke to Mr. Gilreath about it, he was excited that people from India were interested in me and wanted to see Providence Hospital. He asked the food service department to serve a fabulous lunch for the Goel team. I informed Mr. Mangal that my boss would like to set up a luncheon while they were visiting, and as the next few days passed, excitement spread like wildfire through the hospital as everyone learned that people from India were coming to see the facility and were interested in hiring Kris Bedi as the administrator of a new hospital in New Delhi.

  The day of their visit, Mr. Mangal talked to me one-on-one in my office. Then, the entire day, as I went from department to department, he followed me, observing, wanting to know exactly what I was doing in order to make sure I really was the assistant administrator of this facility and that everything I had told them about my professional background was true. Z.M. Goel arrived later that morning. Mr. Gilreath and I treated him and Mr. Mangal to a nice lunch, and I gave them a tour of Providence Hospital, especially going through the SPD department. All the supervisors and managers greeted Mr. Gilreath and me with big hugs, and they showed positive attitudes while performing their activities. All the departments were clean and well-organized, and the Goel team observed the quiet and the automation on the patient floors as well as the interactions between patients and nurses. The Goel team was impressed, and at the end of the day, they wanted to meet Raj as well.

  I called Raj ahead of time to let her know we would be coming at around 4:00 p.m. When we arrived, she set before us an elaborate tea and snacks with formal china. Z.M. Goel spoke with her for several moments before presenting her with a beautiful, expensive sari brought from India.

  After drinking tea and eating snacks, Z.M. Goel and Mr. Mangal stood to leave. “Once we get back to India, we will let you know our decision,” Z.M. Goel said. After they left, Raj and I breathed a huge sigh of relief.

  In January 1983, Raj and I stepped off the plane after traveling in executive class to the New Delhi airport. The Goel brothers had personally invited Raj and me to India to further discuss my role in the hospital project. Looking back, it was a daring decision to leave three young children behind while we traveled so far away. Mr. Gilreath gave us confidence that he would take care of the kids in any emergency situation. While we were gone, he visited the child
ren every day after work and also checked on the sitter to see if she needed any help.

  Mr. Mangal met us in the terminal, and the three of us stepped forward into the uncertainty of New Delhi with its endless maze of streets. I kept telling myself we weren’t going to move there, and Raj seconded this thought. We had many comforts in the States, and to move to this big city in the northern center of India would be a great risk.

  The Goels owned a helicopter, and the next day, Mr. Mangal invited me to join him for a helicopter ride. “Take a look over there!” Mr. Mangal yelled over the thundering roar of the helicopter engine. We had flown eighty miles to Goelnagar to see the city named after the Goel family. “This is a great bird’s eye view of Goel Mills. See, right down there!” Mr. Mangal exclaimed. “Late Mr. Ashoka Goel established the Goel group in 1933 here in Goelnagar, along with his brother, Gobind Lal Goel.”

  Ashoka was the father of five of the Goels. He had passed away, and the hospital would be built in his name. Ashoka, an entrepreneur, had started the Goel Industries which his sons kept going. Gobind Lal Goel was the father of two of the brothers, and he was also the chairman of the group.

  I could tell the Goels were proud of their family history. As I sat in the helicopter’s front passenger seat, I felt amazed and excited to be with these businessmen high up in the air.

  “We take our businesses seriously,” another Goel brother said. “Whether it is a mill or a rubber factory, we uphold the highest level of quality and service. It will be the same with our new hospital. Perhaps even more so.”

  I nodded thoughtfully. I was on board with that statement. My sole mission at Providence Hospital was to improve the quality of service and operations in each of my departments. It helped that the Goels and I held the same vision in that regard. In fact, what I was beginning to like about the Goels was their visionary attitude for every project they started. It was clear that this helicopter ride was meant to impress me, but I was most impressed with the way they did business.

  During the next two weeks, I met new people everywhere I went. In the meantime, the seven cousin-brothers interviewed me individually at their own convenience. In India, a cousin-brother refers to a male cousin from the same generation as you. Gobind Lal Goel interviewed me as well. I never knew exactly when I would be interviewed, only that when they called, I needed to be ready. Gobind Lal cautioned me, saying “Right now you are ‘Mr. Bedi’ and you are walking by my side. If you do not manage the hospital efficiently, then you will walk behind me and no more ‘Mr. Bedi.’”

  All this time, Satish reveled in the fact that his brother-in-law was being interviewed for such a prestigious position and would be well-connected to the Delhi high-level politicians, such as chief ministers, if I landed the job offer. Also, an intense discussion ensued among my relatives in New Delhi about my flying in a helicopter. They were in awe that I was being given so much respect, and, indeed, I felt gratified. The Goels wanted to impress me as well as persuade me to move to India permanently. I could not help mulling over the fact that in this position I would be the director, the one in charge of the facility.

  When Raj and I visited my parents, they were surprised to see us, since they had come back from the States a few months earlier. I told them only briefly about my visit, not elaborating on details, because we had no intention of moving back to India at the time. Deep down, my parents felt happy, thinking it would be great if this job matured for me.

  At one point, I visited the construction site of the new hospital and met with the project director and several architects, including one named Abhay Chawla. One evening, Chawla invited Raj and me to his residence for an entertaining cocktail and dinner party. First the hostess, and then a guest, asked Raj if she wanted a cocktail. Both women were surprised when Raj declined the offer of alcoholic beverages, saying that she did not drink. Many women at the party were drinking hard liquor, and they were amazed that Raj had lived in the US for so many years and did not drink. We also saw one woman smoking at the party. Normally, in our experience, Indian women did not smoke or drink. However, the impression of American women was that they all smoked and drank. Smoking and drinking in India was a status symbol, signifying they had adapted to Westernized culture and were doing well.

  Quite a few important people were invited to this party to meet me and to impress me so I would accept the position if it were offered. It seemed the longer I stayed in India, the more discussions I held with my relatives; and the more these people tried to impress me, the more difficult my decision was becoming.

  Raj and I had planned to spend two weeks in India, but after that time passed, the Goels wanted me to see more people. So Raj returned home while I stayed in India. On the last day of my visit, Mr. Mangal offered me the job, indicating the salary would be 5,000 rupees per month—$500 in US currency compared to my current salary of $4000. I would also be provided with a furnished house, servants, a chauffeur driven car, and a chokidar or gatekeeper, to watch over our house. In the advertisement, the salary range had been 5,000 to 8,000 rupees. I mentioned this, but Mr. Mangal was firm. They could not increase the salary at that point. However, he could work it out so that my wife was added to the payroll without needing to do any work.

  With all those perks, it seemed an attractive offer. I told Mr. Mangal that I would discuss it with my wife and let him know my decision.

  Once I returned to the US, everyone’s eyes were on me as they wondered, What is Mr. Bedi going to do? I told Mr. Gilreath about the entire visit and how this was the hardest decision of my life. “I don’t know what I’m going to do, Mr. Gilreath,” I said at the end of our conversation. “In my heart, I feel my place is here, beside you. I love my job here, and if I decide to move, it will be a very difficult decision.”

  Mr. Gilreath acknowledged my statement, and I could tell he felt the same way. Looking at me directly, he said, “Kris, this decision is totally up to you. I want you to do whatever you feel is best for you and your family. Do not think about me.”

  Now that I was back in the States, I started receiving phone calls from Mr. Arun Mangal, as well as D.P. Bakhsi, an accountant and the liaison for Z.M. Goel. “What is your decision?” they wanted to know.

  After thinking about it and discussing the matter with Raj, four things came to my mind. First, it would be great to take my education and experience in the healthcare field and use it to provide and improve patient care to the poor, setting an example of excellent quality of patient care. Second, I would be contributing to my birth country by making an impact on the healthcare profession. Third, I would be near my parents to provide comfort and take care of them with their health care if needed. Finally, I would be the top man, number one, the person in charge of the design, to staff, to develop policies and procedures, and to open this hospital from scratch.

  At the same time, my cousin Ved Bedi had said, “Krishan, you should think twice before moving back to India. It’s not going to be easy. Things are not the same here. Like they say, the grass looks greener on the other side.”

  Since Ved had lived in the US, earned his master’s degree, and worked there for a couple of years before moving back to India to settle with his parents, he could tell me that the adjustment was not easy.

  On the other hand, Satish responded differently. “Bedi Saheb, it would be great if you moved. Once the hospital is built, this will be a great position. Every important person in New Delhi will be approaching you, wanting to have good relations with you because it is difficult to be admitted to a good hospital or get a medical consultation when you need it.”

  At that time, there were no private hospitals in New Delhi, and there was a great need for good facilities throughout India.

  Another issue on my mind was Rajan and his health. I spoke to Dr. Redmond about it, and he seemed to think it might be good for Rajan to move to India. One, he should be drinking goat milk, and two, a more vegetarian diet might be better for him because of his less than normally functioning k
idneys. I also questioned whether or not growth hormone would be available in India, since Rajan was going to start that treatment soon. He was much smaller than other kids his age, and we hoped this treatment would help him to catch up. Dr. Redmond inquired about the growth hormone medication and found that it was available in England and could be shipped to us.

  So Raj and I discussed all these factors, especially those concerning Rajan’s health, but in the end, Raj was not in favor of moving back. “Why are we moving?” she would ask.

  My answer was, “To help the poor and to provide good healthcare.”

  In the back of my mind, I thought Raj also might be happy since she would be close to her parents and siblings. However, she seemed reluctant. Since Subhash was twelve years old and well settled at the school, I shared my thoughts of moving to India with him.

  “Why?” he asked, a sad look on his face. I did not have a good answer, simply stating it was a new job.

  At the end of April, I decided to accept the position. I would join them by mid-November after finishing my projects at Providence Hospital and resigning, as well as selling my house, the apartment buildings, the rental house, and our two cars. For several weeks, the environment at the hospital was subdued with everyone processing the news that Mr. Bedi would be leaving them. Most of them hoped Mr. Gilreath would convince me to stay. Even though I had decided to leave, I worked as hard as ever and assured Mr. Gilreath I would continue doing my best for Providence.

  Mr. Gilreath nodded. “I have no doubt, Kris. I have full confidence in you. After all these years I have known you, you have done so much for Providence.”

  In a way, our relationship remained the same, and over the following months, we continued working together as normal. However, deep down in his heart, Mr. Gilreath did not want me to leave.