By Dr. P.K. Gupta, Dehradun – with a nod to our shared misadventures across the Atlantic

If psychiatry is the art of untangling the human mind, then Dr. Sumit Khatri is its most energetic curator – a whirlwind of empathy, quick wit, and unflappable humor who turns crises into camaraderie. Born in the early 1980s in Ahmedabad, Gujarat, Sumit grew up in a bustling middle-class family where the air was thick with the scent of street-side chaat and the rhythm of Garba beats during Navratri. His father, a schoolteacher, instilled in him the value of curiosity, while his mother, a homemaker with a knack for storytelling, taught him that every problem has a punchline if you look hard enough. Young Sumit was the kid who’d turn a rained-out cricket match into an impromptu philosophy debate with neighborhood uncles, already showing the spark that would light up consulting rooms years later.

By his teens, Sumit’s path to medicine was clear. He aced his NEET with a focus that belied his playful exterior, enrolling at B.J. Medical College in Ahmedabad – the same hallowed halls that produced legends like Dr. Mrugesh Vaishnav. “Beta, medicine nahi, zindagi seekhna hai,” his father would say, and Sumit took it to heart. His MBBS years were a blur of late-night study sessions in the college library, where he’d balance textbooks on his knee while cracking jokes about Freud’s cigar obsessions to keep his batchmates sane. Graduating in the mid-2000s, he dove straight into his MD in Psychiatry at the Institute of Mental Health and Hospital in Ahmedabad. It was here that Sumit honed his signature style: blending evidence-based therapy with cultural sensitivity, always remembering that in Gujarat, a patient’s worries often come wrapped in family expectations and festive sweets.

Post-MD, Dr. Khatri set up his practice in Ahmedabad, starting small in a clinic off Ashram Road. But his energy was anything but modest. He quickly became known for his de-addiction programs, tailored counseling for adolescents navigating exam pressures, and workshops on mindfulness that incorporated yoga and bhajans. “Depression doesn’t care about your LinkedIn profile,” he’d quip during sessions, “but a good thepla and a plan? That’s unbeatable.” By the early 2010s, his reputation had spread; he was consulting at major hospitals like Apollo and Civil, and even guest-lecturing at medical colleges on “Psychiatry in the Digital Age” – a talk that invariably ended with memes about social media anxiety.

It was around this time that our paths crossed in a way neither of us could have scripted. In May 2012, as a young, rising psychiatrist in Dr. Mrugesh Vaishnav’s orbit, Sumit joined a delegation to the American Psychiatric Association’s annual meeting in New York. I was there too, presenting a paper on anxiety disorders, and Mrugesh bhai – ever the connector – paired us up for the trip. “Guptaji, yeh ladka tumhare jaise hyper hai, but with more jokes,” Mrugesh bhai chuckled as we boarded the flight from Ahmedabad.

New York was electric. Days blurred into sessions on trauma therapy and neurofeedback, but evenings? Those were Sumit’s stage. He’d drag us to street-side falafel stands, declaring, “This is therapy – carbs for the soul!” One unforgettable afternoon, atop the Empire State Building (which Mrugesh bhai dubbed our “Eiffel Tower moment”), Sumit posed dramatically against the skyline: “If I jump, will it cure my fear of heights? Asking for a friend.” We howled, the city lights winking below like they were in on the joke.

The real test came on the flight home. Midway over the Atlantic, our Delta plane’s engine sputtered like a tired auto-rickshaw. No warning, just a sharp U-turn that had my stomach doing somersaults. The captain’s voice finally crackled: “Minor issue, folks. Back to New York.” Panic rippled, but Sumit? He leaned over, eyes twinkling: “Sir, if we crash, at least we’ll make headlines – ‘Indian Psychiatrists Survive Atlantic Therapy Session’!” I gripped my seat, muttering about statistics, while Mr. Vaishnav bhai calmly quoted odds. Sumit passed around peppermints, turning the cabin into an impromptu support group: “Breathe in hope, exhale khakra crumbs.”

We limped back to JFK, the plane towed to the gate like a defeated elephant. The pilot, red-faced, apologized to each of us: “Ground crew’s idiocy – wrong fuel.” Sumit shook his hand with a grin: “Captain, you’re our hero. Next time, Gujarati aviation fuel – pure thepla power!” Delta herded us into a swanky apartment hotel, kitchens stocked like we were auditioning for MasterChef. Exhausted at 4 a.m., Sumit and I crashed in the same room. “Cook?” he asked, eyeing the gleaming pots. “Nah, beta,” I replied. “I’ve got khakra from Dehradun. You?” He pulled out a tin of fafda and mathri. “Ahmedabad special. Who needs Michelin stars?”

That night, the corridor became our feast hall. Ten Indian shrinks cross-legged on the floor, trading snacks and stories. Sumit led the charge: “Remember that patient who thought he was a mango? We turned him into a smoothie!” Laughter echoed till dawn, Kishore Kumar crooning from a phone. No one cooked; we survived on nostalgia and nibbles.

The detour dragged on – no direct flights, so JFK to Atlanta (where Sumit tipped a piano-playing soldier with a “Play something Bollywood!”), then Paris (a blurry Eiffel wave from the tarmac), and finally Delhi. I missed my Dehradun connection, ending up on a 14-hour bus with Sumit dozing beside me, still cracking wise: “Guptaji, this is exposure therapy for delayed gratification.” We parted in Delhi, promising more khakra swaps.

Back in Ahmedabad, Sumit’s career rocketed. By the mid-2010s, he’d founded the Mindful Minds Clinic, a haven for holistic care blending CBT, EMDR, and Ayurvedic elements. He’s authored chapters on adolescent psychiatry in Indian journals, advocates for mental health destigmatization via TEDx talks (“Why Your Brain Needs a Diwali Break”), and mentors young docs with the same infectious zeal. Married to a fellow physician, with two kids who roll their eyes at his dad jokes, Sumit lives by his mantra: “Healing isn’t just fixing – it’s finding the funny.”

Today, in 2025, Dr. Sumit Khatri remains Ahmedabad’s go-to for anyone whose mind feels like a tangled Diwali string. At conferences, he still greets me with: “Guptaji, engine kharab? Got fafda?” And I know – that’s the real therapy. In a world that spins us around, Sumit’s the one who makes sure we land laughing.

Dr. P.K. Gupta, reflecting on colleagues who turn turbulence into triumph, Dehradun, December 2025