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By:

Bhalchandra Chorghade

11 August 2025 at 1:54:18 pm

Healing Beyond the Clinic

Dr Kirti Samudra “If you want to change the world, go home and love your family.” This thought by Mother Teresa finds reflection in the life of Panvel-based diabetologist Dr Kirti Samudra, who has spent decades caring not only for her family but also thousands of patients who see her as their guide. As we mark International Women’s Day, stories like hers remind us that women of substance often shape society quietly through compassion, resilience and dedication. Doctor, mother, homemaker,...

Healing Beyond the Clinic

Dr Kirti Samudra “If you want to change the world, go home and love your family.” This thought by Mother Teresa finds reflection in the life of Panvel-based diabetologist Dr Kirti Samudra, who has spent decades caring not only for her family but also thousands of patients who see her as their guide. As we mark International Women’s Day, stories like hers remind us that women of substance often shape society quietly through compassion, resilience and dedication. Doctor, mother, homemaker, mentor and philanthropist — Dr Samudra has balanced many roles with commitment. While she manages a busy medical practice, her deeper calling has always been service. For her, medicine is not merely a profession but a responsibility towards the people who depend on her guidance. Nagpur to Panvel Born and raised in Nagpur, Dr Samudra completed her medical education there before moving to Mumbai in search of better opportunities. The early years were challenging. With determination, she and her husband Girish Samudra, an entrepreneur involved in underwater pipeline projects, chose to build their life in Panvel. At a time when the town was still developing and healthcare awareness was limited, she decided to make it both her workplace and home. What began with modest resources gradually grew into a trusted medical practice built on long-standing relationships with patients. Fighting Diabetes Recognising the growing threat of diabetes, Dr Samudra dedicated her career to treating and educating patients about the disease. Over the years, she has registered nearly 30,000 patients from Panvel and nearby areas. Yet she believes treatment alone is not enough. “Diabetes is a lifelong disease. Medicines are important, but patient education is equally critical. If people understand the condition, they can manage it better and prevent complications,” she says. For more than 27 years, she has organised an Annual Patients’ Education Programme, offering diagnostic tests at concessional rates and sessions on lifestyle management. Family, Practice With her husband frequently travelling for business, much of the responsibility of raising their two children fell on Dr Samudra. Instead of expanding her practice aggressively, she kept it close to home and adjusted her OPD timings around her children’s schedules. “It was not easy,” she recalls, “but I wanted to fulfil my responsibilities as a mother while continuing to serve my patients.” Beyond Medicine Today, Dr Samudra also devotes time to social initiatives through the Bharat Vikas Parishad, where she serves as Regional Head. Her projects include  Plastic Mukta Vasundhara , which promotes reduced use of single-use plastic, and  Sainik Ho Tumchyasathi , an initiative that sends Diwali  faral  (snack hamper) to Indian soldiers posted at the borders. Last year alone, 15,000 boxes were sent to troops. Despite decades of service, she measures success not in wealth but in goodwill. “I may not have earned huge money,” she says, “but I have earned immense love and respect from my patients. That is something I will always be grateful for.”

Fired. Dead. Forgotten.

The mysterious demise of Roman Starovoit follows a grim pattern of sudden deaths, selective memory, and political deniability in Putin’s Russia.

In most countries, a change of ministers might result in a quiet press release. In Russia, it can lead to a corpse. Roman Starovoit, dismissed as transport minister, was found dead just hours later in his car on the outskirts of Moscow, a bullet wound to his head and a pistol registered in his name beside him. Authorities swiftly labelled the incident a suicide. A criminal probe has been announced. But in Russia, such investigations often end where the Kremlin’s interest begins.


At 52, Starovoit was no stranger to high-stakes governance. Before his brief stint as transport minister, he had served as governor of Kursk, a border region thrust into the limelight by the war in Ukraine. There, he oversaw the hurried construction of defence structures. But when Ukrainian forces mounted a daring cross-border raid - Russia’s largest territorial incursion since the Second World War - his defences crumbled. Hundreds of Russian soldiers were captured, conscripts scattered and Kursk’s vulnerability was laid bare.


The humiliation had long tailwinds. Allegations of corruption in the region’s defence contracts began to swirl earlier this year. Alexei Smirnov, Starovoit’s former deputy and successor in Kursk, is now under investigation for embezzlement. Reports suggest that Smirnov has implicated his former boss in the same misappropriation, casting a long shadow over Starovoit’s abrupt firing and, perhaps, his tragic end.


Starovoit’s ousting coincided with severe disruptions in Russia’s transport networks with nearly 500 flights being cancelled and delays spilling into thousands.


The abruptness of his dismissal, paired with the speed of his death, invites comparison with a well-worn and sinister pattern under Putin’s rule. From defenestrations to poisonings, Russia has developed a macabre lexicon of political mortality. Businessmen and bureaucrats alike have suffered mysterious ends after falling out of favour. Pavel Antov, a sausage magnate turned politician who criticised the war in Ukraine, ‘fell’ from a hotel window in India in 2022. RavilMaganov, head of Lukoil, allegedly ‘fell’ from a Moscow hospital window after his firm questioned the Ukraine invasion. And let us not forget Anatoly Gerashchenko, an aviation scientist who plunged down multiple staircases inside his institute.


Even more notorious was the death of Yevgeny Prigozhin, head of the Wagner mercenary group, whose rebellion last year shook the Kremlin. After a brief rapprochement with Putin, Prigozhin’s private jet exploded in mid-air. Officially, it was a mechanical failure. Unofficially, the timing and the target spoke volumes.


In each case, there is always the narrative of a suicide, a heart attack, an unfortunate accident.


Starovoit’s own demise, though less high-profile than Prigozhin’s, may be no less emblematic. He was a technocrat, not a rebel, yet he died like many who come under suspicion in Putin’s vertically integrated system. The suicide raises questions about the pressures exerted by Russia’s authoritarian bureaucracy on those who fall from grace.


That pressure is compounded by the stakes of the war. As Russia’s invasion of Ukraine drags on, domestic strain mounts. Sanctions have battered logistics and transport infrastructure. Airlines are cannibalising planes for parts. Railways are choking under debt and inflation. The Kremlin needs scapegoats, but not too public, lest the population begin to connect the dots between systemic failure and political decision-making.


This is where men like Starovoit fit in: high enough to take blame, low enough not to cause disruption. Their deaths serve multiple functions – as catharsis for public anger, closure for internal investigations and a deterrent to others. Whether Starovoit pulled the trigger himself may be secondary. In Putin’s Russia, suicide is sometimes the only exit permitted.


The Russian state under Putin runs on fear as much as oil and gas. The machinery of governance is ruthless, and the fates of its fallen are reminders of what happens when trust (however defined) is lost. As for the truth, it will remain locked behind tinted car windows and sanitised press releases, another life expunged from the official memory.

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