The Indian Uncle

The Indian Uncle

In every training programme there are two types of people.

There are the sharks.

And there are the uncles.

You learn to recognise the sharks quickly. They circle quietly at first, watching for weakness, waiting for moments when your confidence dips or when the hierarchy shifts slightly in their favour. Surgical training is competitive by nature, and in competitive environments some people sense opportunity when someone else looks vulnerable. A trainee who lacks protection can become low-hanging fruit.

But then there are the uncles.

Not always literally uncles, of course. The term comes from something more cultural than biological. Anyone who has grown up around Indian families knows the phenomenon. Every older man who looks out for you, guides you, corrects you when necessary and quietly opens doors becomes an “uncle.” You may not share blood, but the role is unmistakable.

In surgical training, these figures are invaluable.

My Indian uncle was a man of very few words.

He was not flamboyant. He did not give long speeches about mentorship. He rarely offered praise in front of others. In fact, from the outside, you might not have realised anything special was happening at all.

But the relationship was clear.

When we worked together, I made sure everything was ready for him. The list was prepared. The imaging reviewed. The patients consented properly. The theatre staff knew the plan. His tea was ready exactly the way he liked it.

Some people might see that and misunderstand it as servitude. But it was not that at all. It was respect. It was also something deeper — an understanding of the apprentice model that has existed in surgery for generations.

The unwritten contract.

I look after you.
You look after me.