Dr. Daya Kishore Hazra, born in Agra, Uttar Pradesh, India, is a distinguished Indian medical doctor specializing in nuclear medicine and endocrinology. He is the son of Dr. J.N. Hazra, a renowned homeopath who later became a guru of the Radha Soami Sect. Dr. Hazra completed his primary education at St. Peter’s College, Agra, one of India’s oldest and most prestigious ICSE schools. He graduated in medicine from Sarojini Naidu Medical College, Agra, and pursued higher studies in endocrinology and nuclear medicine in London. Returning to India in 1970, he served at his alma mater until 2000 and later became the Dean of the Indian College of Physicians. Upon retiring from Sarojini Naidu Medical College, he was honored with the title of Professor Emeritus.
Dr. Hajra: The Scientist-Doctor with a Lost Gaze
In the bustling corridors of S.N. Medical College in Agra, where the scent of antiseptic mingled with the chatter of eager students, Dr. Hajra stood out like a quiet enigma. With his fair complexion, thick-rimmed spectacles perched on his nose, and a perpetually thoughtful expression, he looked less like a doctor and more like a scientist lost in the labyrinth of his own mind. His gaze, often described as “lost,” wasn’t one of distraction but of deep contemplation, as if he were unraveling the mysteries of the human body with every blink. A topper throughout his student years at S.N. Medical College, he later returned to its hallowed halls as a professor, teaching medicine with a passion that was as infectious as it was profound.
Dr. Hajra’s appearance was striking—his wiry frame draped in a crisp white coat, his spectacles glinting under the fluorescent lights of the ward. Yet, it was his demeanor that left an indelible mark on his students and patients. Unlike his colleague, Dr. M.M. Singh, who religiously scrubbed his hands with Savlon before every examination, Dr. Hajra had a different ritual. He would sit by the patient’s bedside, his fingers gently tracing the edge of the hospital linen, as if the texture of the fabric could whisper secrets about the patient’s condition. His students would watch, mesmerized, as he spoke in a soft, measured tone, guiding them through the art of history-taking.
“Listen, beta,” he’d say, leaning forward, his eyes locking onto a nervous intern. “When you talk to a patient, don’t just ask questions. Weave a story. Use words like silsila. Ask them, ‘Yeh complaints ka silsila kab se chal raha hai?’ It’s not just about the symptoms—it’s about their life, their struggles, their fears.” His voice carried a warmth that made the sterile hospital ward feel like a classroom of life lessons.
One humid afternoon in the general medicine ward, a young student, Priya, hesitated before presenting a case. The patient, an elderly man with a persistent cough, looked weary, his eyes darting nervously. Dr. Hajra noticed her unease and beckoned her closer. “Priya, what’s stopping you?” he asked, his tone gentle but probing.
“Sir, I… I don’t know how to start. He’s not saying much,” she stammered.
Dr. Hajra adjusted his spectacles, his gaze softening. “Then don’t start with the disease. Start with him. Ask him about his village, his family. Let him trust you. The cough will speak when he’s ready.” He turned to the patient, his hand resting lightly on the bed’s edge. “Baba, yeh silsila kab se shuru hua? Aur ghar pe kaun-kaun hai aapke saath?” The old man’s face lit up, and soon, he was recounting not just his symptoms but stories of his grandchildren, his words flowing like a river unblocked.
Dr. Hajra’s colleagues often teased him about his unorthodox ways. “Hajra, you’re going to catch something one day, touching those linens without Savlon!” Dr. Singh would chide, waving a bottle of antiseptic. Dr. Hajra would only smile, his eyes crinkling behind his glasses. “The patient’s trust is my antiseptic, Singh. You should try it sometime.”
His brilliance wasn’t confined to Agra. Driven by an insatiable curiosity, Dr. Hajra journeyed to Boston in the late 1980s to study nuclear medicine, a field as cutting-edge as his intellect. At Harvard Medical School, surrounded by some of the world’s sharpest minds, he stood out not just for his phenomenal memory but for his ability to connect seemingly disparate dots. “This isotope, it’s like a detective,” he told his American classmates during a late-night study session, his accent thick but his enthusiasm universal. “It finds the disease where it hides, like a clue in a puzzle.” His classmates, initially skeptical of this soft-spoken Indian doctor, soon marveled at his ability to recall obscure case studies and complex biochemical pathways with ease. He topped his cohort, earning accolades that only deepened his humility.
Back in Agra, Dr. Hajra brought his newfound expertise to S.N. Medical College, introducing nuclear medicine techniques to a department still grappling with limited resources. “We don’t need fancy machines to think like scientists,” he’d tell his students, tapping his temple. “Your mind is the best scanner. Use it.”
One evening, as the sun dipped below the Taj Mahal’s silhouette, Dr. Hajra sat with a terminally ill patient, a young woman named Anjali. Her family stood outside, their faces etched with worry. He held her hand—not clinically, but fondly, as one might hold a friend’s. “Anjali, yeh silsila abhi thodi der ka hai,” he said softly. “But you’ve fought so bravely. Tell me, what’s one thing you wish you could do again?” She smiled faintly, whispering about dancing in the rain. He listened, his lost gaze fixed on her, as if committing her story to the vast library of his memory.
Dr. Hajra’s legacy wasn’t just in his academic triumphs or his pioneering work in nuclear medicine. It was in the countless students he inspired to see patients as stories, not just cases, and in the patients who felt seen because of his gentle touch and thoughtful words. To this day, in the wards of S.N. Medical College, interns still whisper about the scientist-doctor with the thick-rimmed spectacles, whose lost gaze held the wisdom of a thousand diagnoses and the heart of a true healer.
Dr. Hazra is widely regarded as a pioneer of nuclear medicine in India, with significant contributions to radioimmunoassays and enzyme-linked immunosorbent assays. His research includes over 100 peer-reviewed papers, with notable studies on obesity, the effects of iodized salt, and small intestine functions in diabetes mellitus. He has challenged conventional views by asserting that iodized salt may adversely affect human physiology, particularly in women. Dr. Hazra is also a frequent speaker at national and international seminars and has been recognized for his work in evidence-based endocrinology. In 2014, the Government of India honored him with the Padma Shri, the fourth-highest civilian award, for his contributions to medicine.
Dr. Hajra: The Scientist-Doctor of Dayalbagh’s Sacred Soil
In the tranquil enclave of Dayalbagh, Agra, where the Yamuna River flows gently and the Radha Soami Satsang Sabha shapes a life of discipline and service, Dr. Hajra was a figure who blended the precision of science with the compassion of a saint. Born and raised in Agra, he was a lifelong devotee of the Radha Soami faith, a spiritual tradition founded in 1861 by Param Purush Puran Dhani Soami Ji Maharaj. Dayalbagh, established as the permanent headquarters of the Satsang in 1915, was not just Dr. Hajra’s home but the heartbeat of his values—selfless service, community living, and spiritual growth through Surat Shabd Yoga. With his fair complexion, thick-rimmed spectacles, and a gaze that seemed to wander into realms of thought, Dr. Hajra embodied the intellectual curiosity of a scientist and the humility of a Satsangi, making him a revered figure in both the medical and spiritual communities of Agra.
As a topper at S.N. Medical College, Dr. Hajra’s academic brilliance was legendary. His phenomenal memory allowed him to recall intricate details of medical cases and spiritual discourses alike, a trait that resonated with the Radha Soami emphasis on mindfulness and inner focus. After excelling as a student, he returned to the college as a professor of medicine, where his teaching style captivated students. Unlike his colleague Dr. M.M. Singh, who scrubbed his hands with Savlon before every patient interaction, Dr. Hajra preferred a more tactile approach. He would sit by the patient’s bedside, his fingers gently tracing the hospital linen, as if connecting with the patient’s story through touch. “The linen holds their silsila—their journey,” he’d tell his students, his voice soft yet commanding. “Ask them, ‘Yeh bimari ka silsila kab se shuru hua?’ Let them unfold their life, not just their symptoms.”
In Dayalbagh, Dr. Hajra’s medical expertise found a deeper purpose. The community, known for its self-sustained colony with a hospital, schools, and cooperative living, valued service as a form of devotion. Dr. Hajra often volunteered at the medical camps organized by the Radha Soami Satsang Sabha, where free healthcare was provided to thousands, reflecting the faith’s commitment to seva (selfless service). One spring morning during a camp in Dayalbagh, under the shade of a mulberry tree—a symbol of the colony’s founding by Sir Anand Swarup in 1915—Dr. Hajra examined a frail farmer named Ramu. The man, hesitant, clutched his tattered shawl. Dr. Hajra sat beside him, his spectacles glinting in the sunlight. “Ramu ji, yeh silsila dard ka kab se hai? Aur apke ktvv khud hi ban jayega.” He smiled, his lost gaze softening. “Aisa samajhiye, jaise hum apke dil ke paas baith gaye hain.” Ramu relaxed, sharing not just his symptoms but stories of his fields, while Dr. Hajra listened, his presence as healing as his prescription.
His students at S.N. Medical College often accompanied him to these camps, learning not just medicine but the Radha Soami way of life—disciplined, compassionate, and community-driven. One intern, Anil, recalled a moment at a camp when Dr. Hajra noticed a young girl too shy to speak. “Anil, observe her eyes, her hands,” he said, adjusting his glasses. “They tell a silsila words cannot. She’s scared, not sick. Talk to her mother first.” Following his advice, Anil learned the girl’s symptoms stemmed from anxiety, not infection, and Dr. Hajra’s gentle intervention led to her treatment and a smile that Anil never forgot.
Dr. Hajra’s journey to Boston in the late 1980s to study nuclear medicine was a testament to his scientific curiosity, a trait that aligned with Dayalbagh’s reverence for knowledge as a path to spiritual growth. The community’s current leader, Param Guru Prof. Prem Saran Satsangi, a physicist and system scientist, embodied this blend of science and spirituality, and Dr. Hajra saw his studies as a way to serve both his profession and his faith. In Boston, at Harvard Medical School, he dazzled peers with his memory, likening isotopes to “the inner light of Surat Shabd Yoga, seeking the soul of the disease.” During a late-night discussion, he told a skeptical classmate, Sarah, “In Dayalbagh, we believe the soul and science are one. The body is a temple, and medicine is our seva to keep it pure.” Sarah, intrigued, later visited Agra, attending a Satsang at Dayalbagh and marveling at its serene community.
Back in Dayalbagh, Dr. Hajra applied his nuclear medicine expertise to enhance diagnostic capabilities at the community’s hospital, adapting advanced techniques to the resource-constrained setting. “We don’t need machines to see the soul’s silsila,” he’d tell his students, tapping his temple, “but they help us serve better.” His lectures often wove in Radha Soami teachings, urging students to see patients as part of a divine interconnectedness, a silsila of lives bound by compassion.
One evening, during a Satsang under Dayalbagh’s starlit sky, Dr. Hajra spoke to a gathering near the white marble Radha Swami Temple, completed in 2018 after 114 years of construction. Addressing a terminally ill patient, Lakshmi, he held her hand, his voice steady. “Lakshmi ji, yeh silsila of suffering is temporary, but your courage is eternal. The Supreme Father sees your heart.” His words, echoing the faith’s teachings of inner liberation through devotion, brought tears and peace to her family.
Dr. Hajra’s legacy in Dayalbagh endures through the lives he touched—patients healed by his empathy, students inspired by his wisdom, and a community strengthened by his service. His thick-rimmed spectacles and lost gaze became symbols of a man who saw beyond the physical, blending the science of medicine with the spirituality of Radha Soami, forever a part of Dayalbagh’s sacred silsila.
Currently, Dr. Hazra serves as the Head of Nuclear Medicine at the Boston Medical Centre in Agra, continuing the legacy established by his father in 1931.
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