Legendary haematologist Prof. Kasim Abdul Salim is no more!

Prof. K.A. Salim was a towering figure in the field of medicine in Kerala, particularly known for his pioneering contributions to hematology and medical education. His passing marks the end of an era for the medical community in the region.

Key Achievements and Contributions.

• Pioneer in Hematology: Dr. Salim is widely credited with establishing and nurturing the department of Clinical Hematology at Government Medical College, Kozhikode (Calicut). He played a crucial role in making specialized blood disorder treatments accessible to the public in North Kerala.
• Academic Leadership: He served with distinction as the Principal of Government Medical College, Kozhikode. His tenure is remembered for administrative reforms and a deep commitment to maintaining high academic standards for medical students.
• Medical Education: Beyond his administrative roles, he was a revered teacher. Generations of doctors in Kerala and abroad count themselves as his students, remembering him for his clinical acumen and his ability to simplify complex hematological conditions.
• Community Impact: He was known for his empathetic approach to patient care, particularly for those suffering from chronic blood disorders like hemophilia and thalassemia. He was often involved in various social and medical forums, advocating for better healthcare infrastructure.
• Professional Recognition: Throughout his long career, he held various leadership positions within the Indian Medical Association (IMA) and other professional medical bodies, contributing significantly to the medical fraternity’s welfare and professional development.
  His legacy lives on through the thousands of medical professionals he mentored and the robust hematology services he helped build in the state.

Note by one of his favourite medical students Dr. Murali K M, MBBS student, 27th batch, Calicut Medical College.

In the forest of medical stalwarts, we adored as students, the galaxy of giants – from KPC in M1 to KAS in M6, to my mind, Salim Sir was the lion king. Not by hard power of position, but by the authority of wisdom and knowledge.

I did not agree with all his views—on milk, lipids, interferons—even as a postgraduate. But his clinical brilliance was beyond dispute. In my entire training across India, Canada, and Australia, I have not encountered anything remotely comparable. Not even close. Some of those moments unfolded before my eyes like medical folklore—almost unreal, yet undeniable.

I was a house surgeon in Sir’s ward. He had just returned from leave and, on his walk from the Pay Ward car park, stopped by Ward 6 to see a patient transferred from Ophthalmology with ‘bulging eye’ for bone marrow to exclude AML, based on a CT scan -a rare investigation in those days, which suggested chloroma of the eye. Sir took a long, careful history—as he always did. His stethoscope was still in his suitcase, so he borrowed mine. Then he did something I had never seen before or since: he auscultated the patient’s eye – the only examination. And he made the diagnosis: acute carotico-cavernous fistula. My eyes bulged almost as much as the patient’s. The ophthalmologist, understandably, was devastated. The diagnosis was confirmed by carotid angiography done by Karthikeyan sir

As a postgraduate in Sir’s ward, I once got caught in a conversation while trying to pass something by him. A long-term patient of his was lamenting about her husband, who had been seeing multiple gastroenterologists for persistent abdominal pain. Sir became interested. He began taking a meticulous history—about the husband. Fifteen minutes later, he said quietly:“I think your husband has a condition called porphyria.” The following week, the husband presented as a patient to ward 2 side room. He had acute intermittent porphyria. Proven by chemistry tests of urine.

Another PG story. A patient was transferred from Kuthiravattom with “shaking.” Neurology had seen her and then dumped her on to Medicine. The tremor was dramatic—coarse, unmistakable, visible to everyone. The diagnosis at that time was “functional”. Sir took a very long history. Then he picked up his ophthalmoscope, used it as a torch, looked at her cornea, and said: “This is a Kayser–Fleischer ring.” That was the only examination he performed. I had the mixed privilege and agony of wheeling the patient to Ophthalmology for confirmation. An arrogant ophthalmologist examined her with a four-cell torch—not a slit lamp—and wrote a one-line note: No KF ring. Undeterred, Sir proceeded with metabolic testing. The diagnosis was confirmed: Wilson’s disease.

Yet another PG moment. A patient presented to Medicine with an unrelated complaint. Sir diagnosed Parkinsonism. The patient had already seen a neurologist. CT scans had been done. Expensive investigations performed. No diagnosis made. Sir’s demonstration of findings was unequivocal. But what stayed with me was his prophetic comments: “Parkinsonism must be diagnosed from a distance. If you start examining the patient, you have half-missed the diagnosis. Once you start investigating, you have completely missed it.”

In those days—at least by my reckoning—he knew more clinical neurology than neurologists, more clinical cardiology than cardiologists, more clinical rheumatology than rheumatologists. He was not merely a brilliant physician, nor just a towering intellect. He was something much rarer: a phenomenon.

Sir, it was one of the greatest honours of my life to have known you, and one of my proudest laurels to have been taught and guided by you. I could go on and on.

The lion will not roar again. But his echo will never fade. Rest in peace Sir. A true legend. I can’t hold my tears. 🙏

The legend, Dr. Kasim Salim, my beloved uncle, is no more.

He inspired more than twenty members of our own family—and thousands of students now spread across the world—to embrace the noble profession of medicine. To us, he was not just a doctor; he was an institution, an era, a benchmark few could ever match.

He was the embodiment of medical knowledge beyond imagination. I have seen great professors in my life—but never anyone so deeply committed to acquiring knowledge, who enjoyed learning with such childlike enthusiasm until his very last days.

During my college vacations, when we stayed with Mama and Mami, we were showered with love, affection, delicious food, and thoughtful gifts every time we visited. Ever since Mami passed away in 2021, he was never quite the same; a part of him had gone with her.

Those vacations also gave me a glimpse into the discipline that defined him. I would often see him immersed for hours in journals like The New England Journal of Medicine and The BMJ. Every vacation, it was the same sight—him eagerly waiting for the journals to arrive, like a child awaiting a treasured gift.

When journals became digital, the ritual remained—only the format changed. He would wake up early to read them the moment they were released, finishing every article before sitting down for breakfast. It was the same excitement with which we once rushed to watch the first show of a movie. Such was his passion for learning.

After long hospital hours, we would see long queues of patients—many of them poor—waiting at his home. He would spend unhurried time with each one. History-taking was his mastery. By the time a patient left his room, he knew not only their illness but the names, stories, and struggles of their entire family. They left not just treated, but understood. Rich or poor, famous or unknown—he treated them all with equal kindness and compassion .

His clinical acumen was extraordinary. His examination skills and diagnostic precision earned him immense respect within the medical fraternity and the wider community. His memory was phenomenal—he narrated cases and events with exact dates and details that left us in awe.

He loved teaching. His students adored him, often mesmerized by his wisdom and brilliance. At dinner, he would recount fascinating patient stories and discuss case records from the Massachusetts General Hospital series in The New England Journal of Medicine, which he was particularly fond of.

During our visits while I joined MBBS , he would call us into his clinic room to demonstrate rare findings and asking us to palpate spleens and livers etc. Perhaps that was the moment, unknowingly, when he planted in me the seed that later grew into my pursuit of Gastroenterology.

He was far ahead of his time. That often led to disagreements and even controversies. I, too, disagreed with him on certain matters—only to realize years later that there was truth in what he said.

When I began my DM in Gastroenterology at Calicut in 2003, he warned me against the unnecessary prescription of PPIs—at a time when they were considered entirely safe. A decade later, when I presented on PPI side effects at a Gastroenterology conference, I remembered his words. The FDA warning came in 2010, with further concerns reported later. He had foreseen what many of us had not.

He was deeply critical of unnecessary prescriptions and excessive medicalization. In his later years, he became profoundly immersed in the science of microbiota and gut health. We had many long conversations and debates about it. He cautioned against casually manipulating the complex and largely unexplored ecosystem within us.

In 2011, he encouraged me to attempt a fecal microbiota transplant in a young lady with Crohn’s disease who had frequent relapses. At the time, I was skeptical. Yet she was able to wean off steroids and maintain remission on minimal medication. Looking back, it may well have been the FIRST fecal transplant performed in India—though undocumented. He urged me repeatedly to publish it. Perhaps this is my way of documenting it now.

In so many ways, he was ahead of his time. As medicine continues to evolve—and as we learn and unlearn the mysteries of the human body—I believe many of his principles will gain even greater relevance.

To me, he will always remain one of the last towering legends of Medicine.

His life was a lesson.
His practice was compassion.
His curiosity was eternal.

May his legacy continue through every life he touched.
This rare photo of uncle smiling was taken by me in 2014 on the occasion of my cousins wedding.

Dr. Harish Kareem
Consultant Gastroenterologist.