Shefalee Vasudev's ‘Stories We Wear': A doctor gives new life to burn victims

The question of repair—of faces, bodies, even love—is never only medical. It belongs to culture itself. The emboldened narrative in contemporary life—how we look is who we are—is not confined to the urban rich; it is a cultural grip. Rashmika’s sounds like a peculiar story because she worked in a matrimonial agency, but in the age of surveillance, of people stalking those they follow on social media sometimes only to judge looks, there is a hyper-obsession with the curated appearance. Instagram filters, AI-generated images, elaborate make-up routines and an arsenal of selfies—the LinkedIn headshot, the BeReal capture, the 0.5 selfie—each with its own coded moods and lighting set-ups. The boom in Botox and cosmetic procedures belongs to this Age of the Pretty Photograph. The business of crafting appearance is central to identity-making today. Against this backdrop, facial scarring or bodily disfigurement threatens not just health or mobility but the entire constructed universe of contemporary living.

But the reality for a patient with facial scars is violently conflicted. They may hesitate to even enter the Passport Seva Kendra, where the most unvarnished image—unfiltered, unsmiling—serves as proof of identity. It is a mandated unmasking. By government rules, even a red eye can stall a passport renewal or a new application; retouching, shadows or head tilts are disallowed. It is the natural flaws—moles, quirks, asymmetries—that identify us as a country's citizens. How does a person with a scalded, scarred face renew a passport?

That thought is only one aspect of realism as identity. Much of it is secured by the continuous portrait we push out—at beaches, weddings, festivals, gyms, kitchens. Through them, strangers get an entry into our lives. For a burn survivor, that stream of images defining them is not merely interrupted. It is wiped away.

Disfigurement and disability arising out of accidents—burns or other reasons—make lives invisible, says Dr Nooreyezdan. The other side of his work life away from the vanity projects of those who can afford to cut and nip for better looks, he says, is medical aid for patients challenged by war and natural disasters from Kashmir to Afghanistan.

Considered among the ‘best’ plastic surgeons in India, he acquired his first medical degree at PGI Chandigarh before going to London for specialisation and advanced surgical training. His first and foremost identity, he says, comes from his faith, as a Baha’i. He is a man of faultless clinical skill and judgement. Even those who find it hard to convert to his lament seek him for astute, hardnosed medical decisions.

My recognition of Dr Nooreyezdan’s work was seeded when he once reached out about Mumtaz, a nineteen-year-old acid attack victim from Afghanistan who had to undergo multiple surgeries. She had been assaulted in her home because of a family enmity. The attacker had thrown acid on three women members in the house through an open window, but Mumtaz’s injuries were serious. Her treatment at Apollo Hospital, where she had arrived with a family member and a translator from a human rights group, was punctuated by her suicide attempts. She was distraught over her disfigurement, the bodily ruin and pain it brought.

Dr Shahin wanted to help Mumtaz connect with Akshay Kumar, the Bollywood actor, because he was the only person, she had told him, who could motivate her out of her misery. A fangirl, she would do anything to meet her Bollywood heartthrob; she had seen all his films back in her country. She promised Dr Nooreyezdan that she would not attempt to kill herself if he introduced her to Kumar. He had called me to use my ‘fancy’ media connections to ask Kumar for his time. I tried, and it worked. That part of the story must wait its turn.

When I interviewed him for this essay, Dr Nooreyezdan told me that prognosis for patients with burn injuries is uncertain and tricky. Especially when burns occur near the private parts. Even as little as 3 per cent burns in the rectal area can pose a serious, life-threatening risk. Bacterial infections, sepsis, unpredictable complications from surgeries or grafts, organ damage—a case could go anywhere. ‘Sometimes patients with 90 per cent burns recover. At other times, those with 10 per cent burns lose lives,’ he said. Unlike cancer, where the course of disease can be understood and treatment charted with precise medical therapies, a burn patient’s recovery is a story by itself. ‘We do our best. But god decides,’ he said.

Excerpted with permission from Westland Books.