Dr. Jay Kumar Character Analysis

“The morphine shouldn’t interfere with what you gave her. But we'll need antibiotics to fight the infection.” Dr. Kumar's cautious eyes explored my hands, my face, my hair. I noticed threads of silver in his dark curls, a freckle above his upper lip. “Do you really think, Mrs. Shastri, that you can cure a woman's…problems…with herbs?”

“When a woman has no other options, yes.”

“This woman would have had options.”

“She didn't think so.”

“How was that possible? She's English. She has all the options in the world. A hospital for whites, for one.”

“And if the baby's father is Indian?”

“As I've repeatedly stated in my letters, I'm most interested in learning about the herbal therapies with which you've had so much experience. Perhaps a belated apology is not entirely out of order—I refer to the cotton root bark. It's worrisome that the hill people of the Himalayas rely solely on folk remedies when they could come to Lady Bradley for medical treatment. Yesterday I saw a little Gaddi boy along the Mall with severe dermatitis, which his mother told me she'd been treating with tulsi powder. Obviously, it wasn't helping. She refused to try the antiseptic ointment I suggested, even after I volunteered to bring it for her the next day. Perhaps you have an herbal recommendation that might prove useful? Your thoughts on the matter would be most welcome…

I look forward to your next letter and your suggestions for bridging the gap between old world and new world medicine.”

Dr. Kumar introduced me as his herbal consultant and asked his patient questions in a mix of Hindi and the local dialect. He shared his diagnosis of her case with me, and when I didn't understand the medical terminology, he explained it in layman's terms. I had questions of my own, which he translated. We did this through five more appointments. In four out of five cases, I was able to recommend an herbal substitute for Western medicine.

Jay Kumar was offering me a chance to heal, to work with people who wanted what I had to offer. Who believed my knowledge was sacred. It was a chance to do the work my saas taught me. She lived in me, still. I could make her proud once more. Be proud of myself again.

But…my house! I had dreamed it, worked hard for it, built it. I'd love knowing that all the decisions were mine. Moving meant I would have to leave it behind.

Yet, what had the house brought me but debt, anxiety, sleepless nights? Did I need it to announce my arrival in the world of the successful, as I once had? Success was ephemeral—and fluid—as I had found out the hard way. It came. It went. It changed you from the outside, but not from the inside. Inside, I was still the same girl who dreamed of a destiny greater than she was allowed. Did I really need the house to prove I had skill, talent, ambition, intelligence? What if—

“The morphine shouldn’t interfere with what you gave her. But we'll need antibiotics to fight the infection.” Dr. Kumar's cautious eyes explored my hands, my face, my hair. I noticed threads of silver in his dark curls, a freckle above his upper lip. “Do you really think, Mrs. Shastri, that you can cure a woman's…problems…with herbs?”

“When a woman has no other options, yes.”

“This woman would have had options.”

“She didn't think so.”

“How was that possible? She's English. She has all the options in the world. A hospital for whites, for one.”

“And if the baby's father is Indian?”

“As I've repeatedly stated in my letters, I'm most interested in learning about the herbal therapies with which you've had so much experience. Perhaps a belated apology is not entirely out of order—I refer to the cotton root bark. It's worrisome that the hill people of the Himalayas rely solely on folk remedies when they could come to Lady Bradley for medical treatment. Yesterday I saw a little Gaddi boy along the Mall with severe dermatitis, which his mother told me she'd been treating with tulsi powder. Obviously, it wasn't helping. She refused to try the antiseptic ointment I suggested, even after I volunteered to bring it for her the next day. Perhaps you have an herbal recommendation that might prove useful? Your thoughts on the matter would be most welcome…

I look forward to your next letter and your suggestions for bridging the gap between old world and new world medicine.”

Dr. Kumar introduced me as his herbal consultant and asked his patient questions in a mix of Hindi and the local dialect. He shared his diagnosis of her case with me, and when I didn't understand the medical terminology, he explained it in layman's terms. I had questions of my own, which he translated. We did this through five more appointments. In four out of five cases, I was able to recommend an herbal substitute for Western medicine.

Jay Kumar was offering me a chance to heal, to work with people who wanted what I had to offer. Who believed my knowledge was sacred. It was a chance to do the work my saas taught me. She lived in me, still. I could make her proud once more. Be proud of myself again.

But…my house! I had dreamed it, worked hard for it, built it. I'd love knowing that all the decisions were mine. Moving meant I would have to leave it behind.

Yet, what had the house brought me but debt, anxiety, sleepless nights? Did I need it to announce my arrival in the world of the successful, as I once had? Success was ephemeral—and fluid—as I had found out the hard way. It came. It went. It changed you from the outside, but not from the inside. Inside, I was still the same girl who dreamed of a destiny greater than she was allowed. Did I really need the house to prove I had skill, talent, ambition, intelligence? What if—