Dr. R. C. Garg, MD (Medicine), was one of those rare physicians in Saharanpur whose name alone brought a sense of calm and certainty to anxious families. A proud alumnus of Sarojini Naidu Medical College (SNMC) in Agra, he didn’t just graduate—he topped his batch in both MBBS and MD. His name still graces the honour board in the college library, a quiet bronze reminder of the brilliance he carried from those lecture halls to the small lanes of Saharanpur.

Patients didn’t call him “doctor”—they called him the High Court of Medicine. His diagnosis was the final verdict; appeals were rarely needed, and seldom successful.

One elderly patient once summed it up perfectly in the waiting area:
“Arre bhai, Dr. Garg sahib ke paas jaao toh jaise High Court mein faisla sun liya. Woh bol de ‘yeh bimari hai aur yeh dawai chalegi,’ toh bas ho gaya. Koi doosra doctor bhi kuch bole toh lagta hai appeal dismiss!”

Dr. Garg had an uncanny ability to read the course of an illness like an open book. A memorable story came from a family whose grandfather suffered from a cerebral tumour. The old man had developed facial palsy, and the family was terrified, unsure what lay ahead.

Dr. Garg sat with them calmly in his modest clinic, examining the scans and the patient’s face with gentle precision.
“Uncle ji,” he said softly, “yeh palsy dheere-dheere aage badhega. Pehle yeh taraf ki aankh poori band nahi hogi, par thodi si jhuk jaayegi. Phir yeh muh ka ek taraf thoda neeche latak jaayega. Teen-chaar hafte mein aapko lagega jaise chehra adhoora ho gaya hai. Par yeh sab tumour ke wajah se hai—aur hum isko control karne ki poori koshish karenge.”

The family listened, stunned. The grandfather, a practical man not given to drama, simply nodded. Weeks later, exactly as predicted, the palsy progressed step by step—down to the drooping mouth and the half-closed eye. When the family returned, tears in their eyes, the grandfather gripped Dr. Garg’s hand.
“Doctor sahab, aapne toh jaise kal ki baat bata di thi. Aaj sab waise hi ho gaya. Aap insaan nahi, bhagwan ke bhejey hue ho!”

Dr. Garg only smiled modestly. “Main bas kitab aur tajurba milakar dekhta hoon, uncle ji. Bhagwan sabki madad karta hai.”

In his later years, health forced him to step back. He moved to Bengaluru to stay with his son, hoping for rest amid the city’s greener, quieter corners. But the city felt foreign—the pace too fast, the air too different. Patients’ calls kept coming, old families asking, “Doctor sahab ab kahan hain? Humare liye toh aap hi sab kuch the.”

One day he told his son, “Beta, yahan rehkar dil nahi lag raha. Saharanpur mein log mujhe jaante hain, main unko jaanta hoon. Wahan lautna padega.”

He returned home, quietly resumed seeing a few patients—more out of love than necessity—and continued until the very end. When he passed away in Saharanpur, the town felt a personal loss. Clinics closed for the day in respect; long-time patients gathered outside his home, sharing stories of how one man’s word had been their anchor through countless illnesses.

Dr. R. C. Garg wasn’t just a doctor—he was the final court of appeal for thousands, a man whose verdicts healed bodies and reassured hearts. His legacy lives on in those honour boards, in fading clinic signboards, and in the grateful whispers of families who still say, “Woh faisla sunate the, aur sab theek ho jaata tha.”