Over two decades, Dr Itinderpal Singh Bali has trained more than 30,000 people in first aid and emergency response, quietly building a network of prepared citizens across India’s most volatile regions.
Early Years in Baramulla
Bali grew up in Baramulla, Kashmir, where his family struggled to make ends meet. His father worked long hours, and winters tested the household’s resources. At school, other children mocked his reserved nature. He found refuge in books about doctors and healers.
When he was twelve, a flood swept through his village. He carried an elderly relative across dangerous waters, his legs shaking from cold and fear. That experience planted an idea. He wanted to help people during emergencies, not just treat them afterwards.
He studied dentistry, spending years in crowded hostels and skipping meals to afford his education. He qualified as a dentist at 25 and returned to Kashmir to open a practice. The timing was difficult. Civil unrest meant frequent curfews. Patients stayed away. His clinic struggled. Bills piled up.
One morning, while he was treating a patient during a power outage, an explosion nearby shattered his windows. Shrapnel sprayed the building. He kept working, hands steady despite the fear. These early years taught him that survival required more than professional skill. It demanded resilience.
The 2005 Uri Earthquake
On October 8, 2005, as a 7.6 magnitude earthquake struck Kashmir, the town of Uri collapsed. Buildings crumbled. People were trapped beneath rubble.
Drawn by the cries for help, Dr Bali ran toward the destruction while others fled away. He pulled a child from the collapsed concrete, then bandaged wounds with whatever fabric he could find. He performed CPR on an unconscious man, pressing rhythmically on his chest until colour returned to his face. The man survived.
Ambulances took hours to arrive. People died waiting for help that came too late. This troubled him deeply. He realised that trained bystanders could save lives in the critical minutes before professional responders arrived on the scene.
His clinic had suffered damage. The savings were gone. His wife urged him to consider safer opportunities elsewhere. But he refused. He began teaching neighbours basic emergency procedures. He showed them how to splint broken bones with sticks, treat burns, and stop bleeding.
In 2007, he completed professional training through RedR India, an organisation that prepares humanitarian workers. This gave structure to his informal teaching. He began conducting regular sessions in Cardio Pulmonary Resuscitation (CPR) at schools and community centres. The message was simple: 30 chest compressions, then two rescue breaths.
Working Through Conflict
Kashmir’s unrest constantly tested him. During the 2014 Uri attacks, Dr Bali ran through the smoke to reach wounded soldiers. He used a belt as a tourniquet to stop arterial bleeding, talking calmly to a panicking young man until medics arrived.
When COVID-19 forced him to close down his clinic in 2020, he shifted to teaching mask hygiene and sanitation protocols. He rode his bicycle into areas others avoided. A volunteer trained by him died in flooding that year. While attending his funeral, Dr Bali wondered whether his work mattered. Then letters arrived from other trainees describing lives they had saved.
In 2015, Nepal’s earthquake brought him to Kathmandu with United Sikhs, a humanitarian group. He treated 500 patients in makeshift camps, sleeping on concrete floors. Back home, more floods came. He travelled by kayak to isolated villages, teaching water rescue techniques in pouring rain.
Upon his return from Nepal, Malaria struck. For weeks, he lay in bed, too weak to work. He used the time to plan future training sessions, sketching lesson outlines on paper.
Recognition followed. The Indian Red Cross named him a National Master Trainer in 2017. Jammu and Kashmir gave him a Republic Day honour in 2024. Military units invited him to train soldiers. Yet he continued to feel the weight of working alone in remote border areas. His children drew pictures of him labelled “Aid Papa.” His wife mended torn jackets from fieldwork. He kept journals, writing occasional verses about hearts restarting like spring after winter.
Training a Network
Dr Bali’s teaching style relies on personal stories rather than textbooks. He describes real emergencies he has witnessed. Students practice on dummies, learning chest compressions, choking intervention, and shock recognition. He has trained over 30,000 people. Groups include Kashmir police task forces, army units, and Haryana Red Cross volunteers. In Kashmir, his sessions are free. Outside the state, small fees help fund his work.
Funding remains difficult. Venues are sometimes unavailable. He trades services or finds workarounds. His wife packs training kits. Their son became CPR certified at age ten. Their daughter now leads safety drills at her school. A truck driver once called him in tears. He had pulled a car crash victim from a burning vehicle and kept the person breathing using techniques from Dr Bali’s class. The victim lived.
During his 15 days in Nepal, Dr Bali’s team treated earthquake injuries in camps under the open sky. They worked by flashlight at night. When he returned to Kashmir, COVID-19 restrictions forced him to adapt again, conducting small outdoor training sessions. More than the accolades, he values the stories of survival. Each account of a successful rescue matters to him personally.
Continuing Work
Dr Bali still practices dentistry to support his family. Emergency training remains his deeper commitment. He balances both roles carefully. Years ago, he self-published a book of poetry. It sold poorly, but he uses verses in his talks to connect with audiences. The physical demands of fieldwork affect his ageing body. His wife worries during his nighttime calls to crisis zones. He tells her that saving one life justifies the risk.
He wants first aid training mandated in schools nationwide. He envisions trained response teams in every village council. His approach stays practical. Accidents happen without warning. Preparation matters. From the 2005 earthquake to the present, his path has been clear. A quiet boy from mountain villages built an army of prepared citizens through persistent work in dangerous places. He carries memories of people he could not save. Those losses drive him forward.
He writes in his journal that difficulties create capable people. His goal remains simple: every Indian should know basic emergency response. Fear fades when knowledge replaces it. His legacy exists in linked lives, in trained hands that have stopped bleeding and restarted hearts. A dentist by training, he has found his purpose in the aftermath of disaster.
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