“Cockamamie Clamor and Bureaucratic Valor.”
I had originally titled this chronicle the “Nonsense Nation” series.
But—as expected—a few terribly righteous voices found it “objectionable,” self-loathing, pessimistic, and a few even to the point of labelling it “anti-national.”
So, just to infuse some sense into this otherwise nonsensical understanding of our reality, I have rebranded it as the:
‘No Nonsense Series’
Because here in India, everything we do ultimately makes sense.
Exhibit A: Medical Representatives or nuisance to clinical sanity?
The central government, in its infinite wisdom, has banned the entry of medical representatives inside the premises of government hospitals.
And yet…
Goons disguised as Netas continue to roam the same hospitals with godlike impunity.
No ID checks. No OPD slips. No queues.
Just walk in, bark orders, and if needed—slap a doctor or two for not standing up fast enough.
Makes sense, doesn’t it?
After all, what harm can a neta do, besides bruising egos and breaking jaws? Who else will teach these uneducated doctors how to stand properly without slipping his hands in the pockets when a Neta is barking. Who will teach them to keep their mouths shut when the Neta has already made up his mind. Thankfully such teaching sessions are being organised pan India, Goa is not an exception. Otherwise, we all would have remained uncivilised.
And, MRs? After all, what do they do? Come bearing pens, patient samples, sponsor conferences and that occasional Sweets? Oh! My God! And, Sweets? They are reserved for government officials strictly.
Exhibit B: Let’s Talk Ayushman Bharat
In one of my more foolishly weak moments, when I gave in to the pressure created by the CMO office because they had a target to achieve, I applied to get my hospital empaneled with Ayushman Bharat—that shining beacon of pro-poor health coverage, hailed across WhatsApp University as the greatest thing since boiled rice.
The idea was noble.
The paperwork was not.
This great scheme—dreamt up by political parties looking to score electoral brownie points—was handed over to bureaucrats who’d never set foot on the ground, but sat comfortably in AC rooms drafting rules for private practitioners.
And guess what? No one thought it necessary to consult private doctors, the very people expected to deliver the care.
Still, it made sense.
What followed was a Kafkaesque journey of:
- Endless file-pushing,
- Irrational inspections,
- Missing documents that were never requested,
- Vastu consultations for ICU alignment, and
- Of course, mandatory sweet distribution rounds.
Sample queries from the Health Department:
- “Your ICU doesn’t face east. Vastu issues.”
- “You have a Delhi registration. You’re not a truck driver who can cross state lines. Health is a state subject. How dare you treat diseases that belong to Uttar Pradesh?”
- “Your NABH certificate is original, but we need a notarized photocopy of the photocopy.”
Eventually, I received an email saying my hospital code will be generated soon—right after the final round of sweets, of course.
There was one more unofficial requirement, officially deliberated.
Buy a biometric machine—from an empanelled vendor.
I did.
Fast Forward Ten Days
Yesterday, our first Ayushman Bharat beneficiary walked in.
We were excited.
We had the machine. We had the team. We had the code.
Except… the biometric machine didn’t work.
We called the office.
“Oh sir, software update hua hai. The machine you bought last week is now outdated. Please purchase the new compatible version.”
Shocked, I muttered, “What nonsense…”
“That you should be asking the government,” they replied with a laugh.
Once again—it made perfect sense.
Final Words
So dear reader, don’t waste your time on my cockamamie clamour.
If it all sounds absurd, it’s only because you’re using logic.
A property that I am severely deficient in.
In the No Nonsense Nation, everything adds up.
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