Early Setbacks

On Monday morning, October 1963, I entered Canada. The Immigration Officers cheerfully welcomed me, but not before an hour-long scrutiny of the contents of my trailer. I went straight to Dr. Samir Sakar’s office at the University of Toronto. He offered to take me to see a two-bedroom apartment he had located for me in Spadina Road not far from the Ontario Cancer Institute, which was at 500 Sherbourne St. We had a late lunch at his home and I parked my trailer in his driveway.

It was a modern eight-storey apartment building and we looked at a spacious, freshly-painted apartment on the sixth floor with a balcony overlooking downtown Toronto. The rent was $125 a month with a six-month lease. There was a fridge but no furniture, and I opted to pay an extra $25 per month to have the apartment furnished with a double bed, a sofa set, a book shelf, a writing table, and a dining table with four chairs. The manager seemed to be a very nice fellow and I made a deposit in cash, agreeing to occupy it as soon as it was ready.
The following morning I went to meet Dr. Arthur Axelrad at the Ontario Cancer Institute who, after introducing me to his staff and students, took me to the personnel department to sign the fellowship contract. As it turned out, I was glad that this was done as the first order of business.

That night I was very tired and felt heaviness in my knees and legs. By the next afternoon my knees were swollen and painful. I thought this was due to travel stress and came home to my room at Dr. Sarkar’s place. The next morning the swelling had in fact increased and I could get ready for my work only with a great discomfort. Dr. Axelrad and one of his doctoral students, Richard Steeves, also a MD, examined my legs. They immediately called the medical director and chief of the Institute, Dr. Mac Whitelaw, who had been a well-known medical practioner in Toronto for decades before he became the Chief at the Cancer Institute.

Dr. Whitelaw, a tall elderly man with a mature face, examined me and ordered a blood test. I rested in his office while waiting for the test results which came in an hour’s time. Drs. Axelrad and Whitelaw concluded that I had an infectious type of rheumatoid arthritis which may also affect my heart if left untreated. Dr. Whitelaw strongly advised me to get admitted to a hospital for observation for a few days until the next blood test, after which he will prescribe the proper anti-inflammatory steroid. He directed me to a small private nursing home where I could get the needed medical attention and assistance with meals. This facility was attached to The Princes Margaret Hospital and run by the person who was the chief nurse for Dr. Whitelaw while he was in clinical practice.

I had no option but to follow this advice. I still had a suitcase of clothes in the trunk of my car, so I went straight to the nursing home that same evening. There were six other patients, and the manager assured me of vegetarian meals. I called Dr. Sarkar and informed him of the strange happenings of the day

I could hardly believe, as I was lying in my bed and reflecting that night, that I am going through this health crisis three days after my arrival in this new country. I am not even moved into my own place and all my belongings are still in the trailer, which had to be returned by that weekend. Fortunately, the good news came that since I had signed my appointment letter before the diagnosis was made, the expenses for the treatment including the nursing home charges will be fully covered. How glad I was that this illness did not strike while I was travelling. Even a week earlier, it would have been disastrous since I was still unemployed and uninsured. I thanked my guardian angel.

Dr. Sarkar visited me at the nursing home that evening. He said that he would move my stuff into the apartment and return the trailer to the rental agency on time. This was a most generous offer, and there was nothing I could do but agree. I asked him what motivated him to do this, and he related his own nearly catastrophic experience when he had first come to Canada. He was going to Alberta on a night train from Montreal, the very day he landed from Calcutta. He was comfortably sleeping in the upper berth when suddenly the car was ripped open. The train had derailed! The occupants were hurled out and he landed on an ice hill. Fortunately it had snowed heavily that day so he did not land on packed ice. It was the middle of winter and a very cold night, with temperatures dipping below zero. Within minutes he saw scores of responders from the nearby town rushing with heavy blankets. He had some cracked bones and was rescued by some people unknown to him. This unanticipated timely help has always been in his mind since that day. He said that what he was doing in my situation was very little when compared to what he got from those who literally saved him from freezing to death and becoming a human popsicle.

I don’t know what motivated me, but I impulsively called the Woosters in Buffalo and told them of my ordeal. Lo and behold, they were both there at the nursing home around 3:00pm that very day. They were extremely pleasant and understanding and promised their prayers. They also left a Baha’i prayer book and very strongly suggested that I should read the “Tablet of Ahmad” which they said has a special potency. I did read the prayer that night, although it was initially difficult for me to comprehend the meaning. Surprisingly, Mr. Morley Smith from Schenectady came to visit me the very next evening. I knew him from the fireside meetings at the Woosters’ home in Buffalo. He saw the prayer book at my bedside and instantly opened it to the Tablet of Ahmad. He convinced me that even though I am not Baha’i, I should read that Tablet once in the morning and once in the evening with complete faith in God and wait patiently for results. He said that this Tablet has helped him in many difficult life situations.

Until that time in my life, my approach to prayer was something like this: You think of praying only when you need something. You prepare a laundry list of the things you want: passing the exams; healing; getting the job you applied. You go go to your favorite temple and supplicate before the idol which represents your God. I read the Tablet of Ahmad several times and found no room for a laundry list. What it conveyed was an assurance that:
“By God! Should one who is in affliction or grief read this Tablet with absolute sincerity, God will dispel his sadness, solve his difficulties and remove his afflictions.”

The tablet did not say that one should be a Baha’i. An inner voice told me that I have nothing to lose by reading this Tablet and I should give it a try.

That was a Friday, my second day in the nursing home. Over the weekend I recited the Baha’i prayers with absolute faith in their potency. The following Monday I was feeling much better. The swelling in my knees had greatly subsided and I was having less pain. The next day I could get up without any struggle and I felt completely normal. The nurse informed Dr. Whitelaw of this development. He said that my blood tests showed not a trace of any infection. He advised me to stay one more day and then check out of the nursing home. To be honest with myself I had to admit that it was the efficacy and potency of the Baha’i prayers that bailed me out of this health crisis. Again I thanked my guardian angel.

Arthur was greatly relieved when I got back to the lab on Friday. My work bench was nothing like the chemistry labs I had worked in so far. There were no shelves with chemicals, burners, and hood. I had a long eight-footed bench with shelves and sinks at the end and few stools and chairs. It took me two weeks as to figure out exactly what I was expected to achieve. The project was to isolate a protein from a leukemic virus called “gross virus” that seemed to immunize a special breed of mice called C3H mice from leukemia when the protein was administered early in their life cycle. There were methods of isolation and fractionation of the proteins from the nucleus of viruses by a process called ultra-centrifugation. The first month I focused my efforts in learning two techniques. The first one was use of the ultra-centrifuge and the second one was how to inject a fluid in the tail vein of mice. Arthur had two seasoned technicians, Gordon and Andrew, who taught me very patiently the technique of injecting in the tail vein accurately without injuring the mice. I took me a month to learn this.

My Encounter with New York Laws

One Saturday afternoon in December I received a surprise call from my dear friend Mr. Chari, the Cultural Attaché at the Indian Embassy in Washington, D.C. He said that he had just finished an official meeting in Ottawa and wished to see the frozen Niagara Falls from the Canadian side, a very popular tourist attraction. Would I be willing to take him on this sight-seeing tour on the following day? He would fly into Toronto early Sunday morning and fly back from Buffalo to D.C. that evening. His flight to D.C. was at 4:30pm and it was only a 90-minute drive from the Toronto airport to the Buffalo airport so we had ample time for sight-seeing. We had a nice reunion after almost fourteen months since I picked up my car from him after my world trip. Fortunately, contrary to the usual dull skies in the winter, it was a crisp, bright, sunny day and we enjoyed the spectacular sight of the frozen Falls from the Canadian side, which was also a first visit for me.

It was about 3:00pm and we were driving toward the Buffalo airport, which was only fifteen minutes away. Out of the blue, a police car signaled me to pull over. I obeyed instantly. The officer told me that I was driving with a New York license plate that had expired in November 1963 and that I could not drive any further. Earlier when I moved to Toronto, the motor vehicles department said that I am allowed to drive with the New York license plate for three months from the date of my arrival in Toronto. I told the policeman about this allowance and that I am currently residing in Toronto. I am giving a ride to an Indian diplomat to catch his 4:30pm flight to D.C. who came to Toronto for seeing the frozen Falls. I will be returning to Toronto and I am willing to pay the ticket for breaking the law.

The cop was a tall and burly figure who looked like a Nazi Gestapo agent and was armed to the teeth with all kinds of gadgets for defense and communication. He responded in a loud tone that I was driving in New York with an expired plate and thus breaking New York law. He further assertively stated that not being a traffic violation, the penalty will have to be decided by a Judge in the police court, to whom I will have to report the following morning. He also warned me if I attempt to move the car even one inch he will shoot the tires.

He then verified the status of Mr. Chari and his flight time. Since Mr. Chari had diplomatic credentials the officer said that he would arrange for a ride to get him to the airport on time. He radioed for a car to take Mr. Chari to the airport and for a truck to tow away my car. I will have to stay “downtown” overnight and the car will be impounded until I get and install Ontario plates. It was generous of him to alert me to take the New York auto registration and proof of my car insurance papers, which were in the glove compartment, before they towed away my car. These I will need to present to the Ontario motor vehicle office to get Ontario plates. In the next five minutes another police car pulled up and whisked Mr. Chari to the airport. He was so sorry to leave me in that state with a rude policeman.

I was taken to the main police station, fortunately with no handcuffs. The officers were readying me for the lock up when through one senior officer learned that I could be freed to stay out that night and come to court next morning provided someone will bail me out by depositing $500. This was a huge amount at a time when gasoline was 25 cents a gallon and a hamburger was 15 cents. I told him that I do not have that kind of friends in Buffalo. He inquired if I had AAA insurance, as they are required to deposit the bail amount if my policy has that clause in the agreement. Fortunately I had my AAA membership card in my wallet. I called the home number of the agent Steve in Buffalo. This was the same freelance agent who negotiated my tax return with the IRS. His wife answered saying that Steve had gone to the ski resort since it was a beautiful day. She expected him to be home in an hour or so. I informed her of my situation and requested her to relate the information to Steve when he comes back without any delay. She understood clearly. It was then around 5:00pm. I asked the officer if they could wait for another hour or two by which time the agent may call me. I said I will sit and wait in the lobby until then before they lock me up, to which he laughingly agreed.

The clock kept ticking and there was no news from Steve. When the agreed time expired they gave me a yellow bag in which to stuff all my clothes, including the underwear. They let me keep my shoes. They strip searched me, saying this was a necessary protocol, and gave me the jail uniform. As they were walking me to my cell, the inmates in the neighboring cells were cheering me and showing welcoming signs through the barred doors. It was exactly what I have seen in movies. The cell was like a tiny cargo-ship container with a single miniature bed, stuffed pillow, stool, and small table, next to which was an open toilet. Also there was a wash basin, a hand towel, tooth paste, and soap. I collapsed on the bed as the agents locked the cell door. I exclaimed, “Oh my Lord! What are you doing to me? I do not understand this deeply humiliating experience.” On my mental screen I saw a newspaper headline and a photo of me in the prison cell with the caption, “Here is a new Canadian immigrant, Dr. Pattabi Raman, a cancer researcher lying in a prison cell far far away from his home for no crime of his.” I wished I had the “Tablet of Ahmad” with me then.

Just fifteen minutes after I was put in that cell, I heard the door being unlocked and saw the officer with the yellow bag stuffed with my cloths in his hand. He asked me to please get dressed; the bail has been posted, and I am free to. As I came down to the main lobby I saw the smiling face of Steve who had rushed to the police station to take care of the bail. I could not thank him enough for his fine gesture. He also offered to drop me at Amalendu’s apartment where I thought I will stay that night. Amalendu was my bachelor friend in Dr. Bardos’ lab. I did not have Amalendu’s phone number, but I had his address. Amalendu was stunned to find me knocking at his door utterly exhausted at that time of the day. I could hardly sleep that night, even though I was not locked up in a prison cell.

The next morning I called Arthur in Toronto saying I am taking a day off from work due to an emergency, but I did not give him the reason. I appeared at the courthouse at 9:00am. I did not have to wait long as the police officer who arrested me the previous day spotted me in the line and ushered me before the Judge. He explained the case briefly. The judge looked straight into my eyes, asking me to tell my story. I do not know why, but I began with the sentence, “I am a resident of Toronto doing research in cancer at the Ontario Cancer Institute.” I want on, and ended with “This violation was a mistake made unconsciously.” The judge did not utter a word. After a few minutes of silence he said, “Dr. Raman, you can collect your car when you bring Ontario plates and show this paper to the manager of the impound lot. There is no penalty for this misconduct. I have pardoned you since you began your story with by saying you are a researcher in cancer.” I was relieved and thrilled beyond imagination. The police officer was dumbfounded and left the scene immediately without saying a word.

I took the next Greyhound bus to Toronto, a two-hour drive. The driver was kind enough to drop me at the motor vehicles office. I got the Ontario plates with no difficulty, had a quick lunch in a Chinese restaurant, took the next bus to Buffalo, and got my car released without any further hassle. Finally free, I reached home dog-tired at 8:00pm. Arthur and my fellow workers at the lab were thoroughly amused on hearing my story next morning.

My Father’s Visit to America

Toronto had a multicultural and multi-ethnic population of over a million people, consisting of descendants of early immigrants from England plus first-generation immigrants from Eastern European, Asian, and African countries. There was a sizable population of Indians and Pakistanis. There were two Indian restaurants in downtown Toronto. In early January of 1964 I went to a classical Indian music sitar concert by the well-known artist Ravi Shankar where I bumped into one Mr. V.S. Sundaram, one of my father’s closest friends in New Delhi. He was with the UN in New York and was visiting Toronto. He was happy to see me and I invited him for tea the following afternoon at my place. He complimented me by saying that the interior decoration of my apartment was tasteful when compared to what he had seen in many other Indian bachelors’ dwellings. We had a very pleasant afternoon exchanging our experiences living in North America. He noticed several books on the Baha’i Faith in my library and I briefly mentioned to him about my interest in the Faith. I was curious if he knew any Baha’is and he replied that he had many Baha’i friends working at the UN as members of the NGO.

In the month of May I got thrilling news that my father would be in Washington, D.C. for two weeks as a member of an Indian delegation led by India’s Finance Minister. This was to negotiate a sizeable financial aid grant to install modern telephone exchanges in India. My father was to be in charge of managing the finances and accounts when the aid came through. The meeting would be for ten days starting Monday, May 25th for which they would arrive in New York on Friday the 22nd and fly to Washington, D.C. the same evening. I asked Arthur for a week’s vacation which he approved gladly. I flew to New York in time to greet my father as he landed. I was so happy to see my father in North America and he relished the South Indian snack of uppuma/chutney that I brought. Knowing the situation of vegetarians after flying from India, I had cooked the dish that morning in Toronto.

The housing for the entire delegation was booked in a well-known hotel in D.C., and the official meetings would be in the hotel’s conference room. The rooms were already paid for by the Indian Government and the manager of the hotel had no objection in my rooming with my father provided I pay for the second bed. That evening we had dinner at the Hotel’s restaurant and I familiarized him with the menu, particularly for breakfast: pancakes, cream of wheat, or oatmeal. We had our lunches at the hotel and our dinners at Indian restaurants. One late evening I was much gratified to see my father going through the notes of his presentation for the next morning with the same concentration and body posture as I had seen him while preparing for his accountancy examinations in Chennai man years earlier. But this time he was in a modern five-star hotel in Washington D.C. under ideal lighting conditions rather than kerosene lamps.

I had rented a car for the week and took my father on short sight-seeing trips after his official meetings, which were held only in the mornings. It was late spring, and although the cherry blossom season was over, the flowers in the gardens were still in full blossom. We enjoyed visiting points of interest including Mt. Vernon and the Smithsonian Institution. I informed Mr. Chari at the Indian Embassy of my father’s visit to D.C., and he invited us to come to a party he was hosting in his residence. He and his family were very happy to have us.

Three days after the commencement of his official meetings, the sad news came from New Delhi that India’s Prime Minister, Jawaharlal Nehru, had died. The finance minister, who was the head of the delegation, had to return to New Delhi to be present at the funeral. But the delegation stayed and continued to do its work.

A day after his arrival Washington, my father showed me a letter he had received from his friend V.S. Sundaram, who had visited me in Toronto earlier that year. Mr. Sundaram knew of my father’s impending visit to Washington, D.C. In that letter Mr. Sundaram said that in New York he has a dear friend, a South Indian Brahmin, who also works at the UN. The friend has a twenty-two-year-old daughter who is studying for her MA degree at NYU in Manhattan. He encouraged us to arrange a meeting with the family about the possibility of a marriage alliance for me. My father expressed his wish that we should follow up on this suggestion and wanted my OK to set up this meeting before I leave for Toronto on Sunday. I was a little bit taken aback and somewhat reluctant at first, but later consented since my condition of meeting and taking to the girl face-to-face seemed possible. And I was optimistic that if this first introductory meeting went well, there would be opportunities for further meetings with the girl as New York was only a short distance from Toronto. My father was very happy and called the parents to arrange our visit. The father of the girl said that he was sort of expecting a call from Washington, as Mr. Sundaram had spoken to him about us earlier that week. We would be very welcome to have lunch with the family that Sunday in Manhattan.

My father and I said our prayers before we left the hotel, returned the rental car at the Washington airport, flew to New York, took a taxi, and arrived at the correct address on time. The parents greeted us warmly and introduced us to two other friends who were already there. The apartment was warmly decorated and some favorite South Indian classical music was playing in the background. We had South Indian coffee and chatted for a while, with my father and the girls’ parents exchanging their ancestral origins. The father said that his daughter has gone either to the library or her usual Sunday morning tennis practice with her girlfriend and is expected back home soon. But there was no sign of the girl after quite a while. The mother was getting perturbed as we could hear her agitated voice from the kitchen. Since it was getting late and time for lunch, so we started to eat, hoping that the girl will be home soon. I could not eat any food as I felt utterly humiliated. I could feel my father getting furious inside his guts. The parents and their friends apologized profusely for the girl’s rude behavior of not showing up though she knew very well the purpose of our visit. We said a mild goodbye to the parents I asked them not to be sad as it was their daughter’s choice not to show up. We took a taxi to the airport and my father did not utter a word during the ride. He hugged me as I said good bye to him. I consoled him that this unpleasant incident was the plan of God and we should not have any regrets. We flew to our respective destinations, I to Toronto and he back to the meetings in D.C. I was certain he did not have a wink of sleep that night and I felt extremely sorry for him. We never heard from either the parents or from Mr. Sundaram again.

Four days later, my father’s official work had ended successfully and he came to Toronto to visit me. He was happy to see my warmly decorated apartment nd my book collection. I told him about the Baha’i Faith and my keen interest in it. He enjoyed sight-seeing in Toronto and our trip to the Canadian side of Niagara Falls was very relaxing. He also came to my lab and we had lunch with my supervisor Arthur Axelrad. We had a good time as Dr. Samir Sarkar joined us for a typical South Indian rice pancake and coconut chutney brunch (dosa) on the Sunday before he left for three days in London on his journey back to Delhi. I was happy to give him $100 to spend in London. He wrote a picture post card from England saying that he enjoyed a day’s cricket match at the famous Lord’s ground, a Mecca for cricket fans.

My Research Work

I was making slow but systematic progress in my research project. Just for your curiosity I will describe the experimental protocol. The first step is to isolate the protein matter from the cell walls of the gross virus by separating it from its nucleus. The proteins should then be fractionated on the basis of their molecular weight using the ultra-centrifuge. One may have three or more fractions and each one of them should be tested as immunizing agents against leukemia in mice of a specially in-bred type called C3H mice.

A control group of two dozen mice at age two weeks are injected in their tail vein with a known number of gross virus particles. After two days they are sacrificed, and their spleens removed and dipped in formaldehyde solution. The spleen gets yellow and hard. Against the yellow background, one can distinctly see small concentric circles like shirt buttons, which is an indication of leukemia. The number of such buttons in a spleen can be counted using a magnifying glass. The severity of the malignancy is measured by counting the average number of such button-like growth colonies. Usually only seven or eight out of ten mice show a consistent number of these buttons.

In the experimental group, the same number of mice is injected subcutaneously with an aliquot of the viral protein under investigation when they are one week old. When they are two weeks old the same procedure is followed as in the above control group. If the pre-treatment with the protein has induced immunity, there should be no buttons, or a significant decrease in the number of the buttons in their spleens.
When the assay is done on each protein fraction isolated in the first step this gives one the protein fraction that is active as an immunizing agent. Then one can further purify this     fraction to examine the nature of the immune competent protein.

This means I will be sacrificing four dozen mice in every experiment. The sacrificing of the mice cannot be done in an anesthetic chamber but only by decapitation when they are still alive. Arthur was smart enough to observe my emotional struggle in decapitating mercilessly dozens of mice in every experiment. He jokingly attributed this struggle to my Brahmin upbringing and encouraged me to be stronger as much as possible. I was honest in telling him that I see a very, very long road between killing these mice and a cure for leukemia. In an impulse he dragged me to the next floor down of the hospital building and took me straight to a young boy in a critical condition and was gasping for breath before he was being administered oxygen. With great emotion he said “Pattabi, if Dr. Frederick Banting had not sacrificed the number of dogs he did, right in this same city few blocks from where we are now, people would be dying in large numbers due to diabetes. In medical research of this nature, the ends are more important than the means.” This was a great lesson for me and it came from a genuine person who understood my emotions.

Dr. Richards Steeves, an MD who was also working for his doctorate in tumor biology under Arthur, was empathetic to my emotional stress. We worked in the same room, elbow to elbow. Dick, as he was called then, became a very congenial comrade at our workplace, although we had different world views. He was far removed from the typical WASP mentality. It was Richard who introduced me to the comforting music world of Handel, hitherto unknown to me. He later married a nurse from France, Elyane, and they moved to Madison, Wisconsin. We keep in touch with each other, and he is still today my friend, philosopher and guide on many health issues.

The first series of experiments, in which three fractions of the extracted protein were assayed for immunological activity, gave negative results. But the crude protein extract before fractionation showed significant activity. The results were the same when I repeated the assay. This meant that the active protein we were looking for may have been denatured by the centrifugation process. This first series of experiments took almost six months to complete. It was then March 1964.

Arthur and I consulted with other researchers in the Institute who were more experienced with protein chemistry and they recommended column silica gel chromatography or electrophoresis as alternate methods to fractionate the crude protein from the virus. We settled for chromatography, and I got busy in learning the method. This meant at least another six months will be spent on this new method of fractionation and subsequent in vivo assay for the biological activity. Arthur was not concerned about the time frame as long as we get some positive results. Arthur and I agreed that we can look for other options once we know the results. I worked late nights that fall on this new procedure.