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
