HERE'S what I already know: Vikram, 51, is a skilled surgeon and a shocking dancer. He can play the piano beautifully and is a fiendish cyclist. He is a dare-devil and a worrier. And he works extremely hard.

This is his 28th year in the NHS, which he describes as a "phenomenal institution".

His official title is Consultant Plastic, Reconstructive and Aesthetic Surgeon, he operates three days a week and he's always wanted to be a doctor: "There's nothing I'd rather do. I'm passionate about..." He paused, face screwed up in concentration. "I can't say 'I'm passionate about healing the sick' — that sounds so trite. I just like doing something worthwhile and helping people when they need it."

Vikram's zeal for reconstructive surgery was ignited when, as a junior doctor, he helped on a remarkable case: a 12-year-old boy had chopped off his forearm in a spin dryer. Vikram was fascinated throughout the ten-hour operation.

"The surgeon made the process look so elegant. Watching the forearm being sewn back on was awesome — a real buzz."

Vikram studied medicine at Leeds University. After graduating, he worked all over the country — Bristol, Oxford, London, Leeds and Derby — and he also spent a couple of months in America and Taiwan.

He has worked at the Royal Devon and Exeter Hospital for the past 15 years, and lives in Thorverton.

Working in the West Country took some getting used to. Vikram grinned: "Devon was the complete antithesis to big cities, where patients want to know all the details about their illness and treatment.

"One of my first patients was a farmer with a tumour on his cheek. I started to ask the usual questions — how long have you had it? Is it growing? Does it bleed? when he suddenly interrupted: 'Listen 'ere. Folks round these parts don't like people askin' nosey questions. Can you sort it out or what?'"

And just when Vikram thought he'd found his feet in Devon, he received a letter. But it was not addressed to Mr Devaraj — it was addressed to the "Darky Doctor" (Vikram is Indian).

'Dr Darky' was bemused, but took it in his stride. "I thought, well, I am dark and I am a doctor. I suppose I'm quite unusual in this part of the country."

And as his wife, Karen, wisely pointed out: "If you lived in Birmingham, they wouldn't know which "Darky Doctor" it was for and you'd never have received the letter!"

Medicine is in Vikram's blood. His mother was a paediatrician. his father a medical microbiologist. His grandfather was a general surgeon and his "biggest inspiration". His sister is a GP in Exmouth.

In 1984 he met an extremely efficient nurse, called Karen, while working at Brook Hospital in Greenwich. They dated (initially in secret, to avoid gossip). Each insists the other proposed. Eventually, they said "I do".

Their 22-year marriage is strong but not blissful. Their relationship can be stormy and strained — often, people struggle to see their compatibility.

Karen is organised, tidy and law-abiding. Vikram is chaotic, messy and a law unto himself.

She's always early. He's always late.

Their wedding was no exception. In keeping with tradition, bride Karen deliberately arrived 20 minutes late. In keeping with his own tradition, Vikram was 35 minutes late. Their photographer, who had covered 500 weddings, said this was the first time the bride was left waiting for the groom.

Many guests, aware of their fiery relationship, assumed they'd called the wedding off at the last minute.

I asked Vikram directly: Why did Karen marry you? He deadpanned: "She couldn't get out of it."

Why does your marriage work? "Karen tells me what to do and I do it."

Why do you think Karen loves you? "No idea. You'll have to ask her."

"I knew life with Vikram would be exciting and unpredictable," Karen said.

As she contemplates their two decades together, it's hard to tell if she's smiling or grimacing.

Vikram may be an accomplished surgeon but, quite frankly, he'd find it hard to function without his wife.

"I don't know how the dishwasher works and I've never turned on the washing machine," he said. "Karen takes care of all that… sorting out the paperwork and bills and MoTs."

The couple have a daughter, Rebecca (me), 21, and a 19-year-old son, Alex, who hopes to study medicine.

Vikram's own life began in Chennai, south India. When he was five his family came to England so that his parents could get more medical training. Vikram can still recall the unforgiving chill of his first English winter — "metallic-grey skies, thick snow and bare trees", such a contrast to India's heat and humidity.

His mother, Vimala, who lives in Exeter, wears "spectacularly colourful" saris and cooks mouth-watering curries, biryanis and sweets.

"She's one of the finest," he smiled, proudly. "Her food is full of harmonious flavours which melt together and tantalise the palate."

Let's move on — Vikram is practically salivating.

Vikram believes that his greatest strengths are his tenacity, work ethic, wit and loyalty.

I think he's also supremely generous, and has a fantastic sense of humour and adventure.

What about his flaws? "That's difficult," he muses. (He's being serious. When I asked him to describe himself in one word, he instantly replied: "Icon.")

However, weaknesses do expose themselves regularly. After a few pensive minutes, Vikram said: "I'm a perfectionist and a worrier. I fret a lot about my patients, not because I'm insecure, but because I care."

He can also be a self-centred, inconsiderate, grumpy git.

But, to be fair, his moods blow over quickly and he never takes them into work, where he's 100 per cent focused on his patients.

Generally, they love him (I may be biased, but I'm not exaggerating — he's going to be so embarrassed that I've included this bit).

Every week he receives thank you cards from grateful, reflective, and euphoric people he has treated.

Once in a while a patient helps him.

Vikram will always remember one man from Ilfracombe who became a friend and an inspiration: "Iain Fowler was an unbelievably talented musician who, sadly, died from skin cancer, aged 21.

"Iain taught me how the human spirit is capable of infinite patience and acceptance.

"He wasn't resentful or angry or maudlin about his limited life on earth — he had a wonderful passivity.

"I remember eating a Cornish pasty with Iain and his mum and dad, shortly before he died.

"We went back to their house and Iain showed me his keyboards and guitars — it was so poignant.

"Iain was one of the most beautiful people I've ever met."

Iain, his friends and family set up a charity to inform and warn people about skin cancer.

At the Devon County Show, Iain's "Make Me Smile" charity has a tent where doctors and nurses, including Vikram, carry out free mole checks.

Vikram is also involved with another medical charity, Interface Uganda, and has operated in Africa five times since 2001.

He enjoys being out of his comfort zone and loves a challenge. In the summer, he takes part in Force's 100-mile Cycle Challenge; in the autumn, he braves the Royal Marine's 10km Commando Challenge — always in fancy dress. It's debatable whether he pulled off the ballet dancer or vampire look, but he positively shone as an Oompa Loompa.

To commemorate the big five-0 last year he climbed Mount Kilimanjaro.

Vikram's other hobbies span from dangerous and thrill-seeking: skydiving, skiing, shooting (game and clays) and driving fast cars; to old-fashioned and relaxing: tai chi, reading (he's currently captivated by Stieg Larsson's The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo), and listening to Radio 4. Rather endearingly, he still uses cassette tapes to record The Archers and Desert Island Discs so that he can listen at leisure.

When a sentimental song comes on the radio he repeatedly sweetly (and somewhat morbidly) says: "I'd like this played at my funeral." His current "funeral favourites" are Young at Heart, Born to Run and When You Were Young.

On that note, our conversation reaches a natural end.

Vikram jumps up, visibly relieved that our odd, unorthodox interview is over.

I'll admit it: I'm a Daddy's girl. He's made me beam with pride (when we operated in Africa together — but that's another story) and cry floods of tears (necessary disciplining in The Teenage Years).

He makes me laugh every single day.

Vikram Devaraj: a wacky, witty, warm-hearted man – with an insatiable appetite for saving lives and living life to the max.