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By:

Rajendra Joshi

3 December 2024 at 3:50:26 am

Procurement first, infrastructure later

Procurement at multiples of market price; equipment before infrastructure; no accountability Kolhapur: Maharashtra’s Medical Education and Public Health Departments have been on an aggressive drive to expand public healthcare infrastructure. Daily announcements of new centres, advanced equipment and expanded services have reassured citizens long denied dependable public healthcare. Procurement of medical equipment, medicines and surgical supplies is reportedly being undertaken at rates two to...

Procurement first, infrastructure later

Procurement at multiples of market price; equipment before infrastructure; no accountability Kolhapur: Maharashtra’s Medical Education and Public Health Departments have been on an aggressive drive to expand public healthcare infrastructure. Daily announcements of new centres, advanced equipment and expanded services have reassured citizens long denied dependable public healthcare. Procurement of medical equipment, medicines and surgical supplies is reportedly being undertaken at rates two to ten times higher than prevailing market prices. Basic economics dictates that bulk government procurement ought to secure better rates than private buyers, not worse. During the Covid-19 pandemic, equipment and consumables were procured at five to ten times the market rate, with government audit reports formally flagging these irregularities. Yet accountability has remained elusive. The pattern is illustrated vividly in Kolhapur. The Dean of Rajarshi Shahu Government Medical College announced that a PET scan machine worth Rs 35 crore would soon be installed at Chhatrapati Pramilaraje (CPR) Government Hospital for cancer diagnosis. But a comparable machine is available in the market for around Rs 6.5 crore. A senior cancer surgeon at a major cancer hospital in western Maharashtra, where a similar machine was recently installed, remarked that the gap between what his hospital paid and what the government is reportedly paying was enough to make one ‘feel dizzy’. The label of a ‘turnkey project’ does not adequately explain a price differential of this magnitude. High Costs CPR Hospital recently had a state-of-the-art IVF centre approved at a sanctioned cost of Rs 7.20 crore. Senior fertility specialists across Maharashtra note that even a modern IVF centre with advanced reproductive technology equipment typically costs between Rs 2.5 crore and Rs 3 crore. The state’s outlay is reportedly approaching Rs 15 crore. Equipment arrived in June 2025 and lay idle for months owing to indecision about the site. Similarly, digital X-ray machines approved for CPR Hospital and a government hospital in Nanded; available in the market for roughly Rs 1.5 crore; were reportedly procured at Rs 9.98 crore per unit. Doctors in CPR’s radiology department, apprehensive about being drawn into potential inquiries, reportedly resisted accepting the equipment. One departmental head was transferred amid disagreements over signing off on the proposal. What’s Wrong These cases point to a deeper structural failure: Maharashtra has perfected what might be called the ‘equipment first, infrastructure later’ model. In any public hospital, the administrative sequence ought to be: identify space, create infrastructure, sanction specialist posts, and only then procure equipment. Compounding the procurement paradox is a parallel policy decision. On 20 December 2025, the state government decided to introduce radiology diagnostic services through a Public-Private Partnership model (PPP). Following this, an order issued on 6 February 2026 authorised private operators to provide PET scan, MRI and CT scan services at six government medical college hospitals: in Pune, Kolhapur, Miraj, Sangli, Mumbai and Baramati. CPR already has a 126-slice CT scan machine and a 3 Tesla MRI scanner, with another CT scan proposed. If the PPP arrangement proceeds, the hospital could simultaneously run one PET scan machine, two MRI scanners and three CT scan machines. Medical experts warn this could lead to unnecessary diagnostic testing simply to keep machines occupied, thus exposing patients to excess radiation while government-owned equipment gathers dust. A similar pattern was seen during the pandemic, when the Medical Education Department spent hundreds of crores on RT-PCR machines, only to award swab-testing contracts to a private company. Many of those machines remain unused today.

The Soul of Bharat on the Big Screen

Mumbai: April 4, 2025, my heart feels heavier than it ever has. The news hit me like a monsoon storm—Manoj Kumar, the towering legend of Bollywood, the man who painted patriotism across our screens, is no more. At 87, he slipped away at Mumbai’s Kokilaben Dhirubhai Ambani Hospital, leaving behind a reel of memories that flicker in my mind like a projector that won’t stop spinning. As a movie fan who grew up with his films, I’m not just mourning an actor—I’m grieving the loss of a piece of my soul, a piece of India itself. They called him "Bharat Kumar," and oh, how he earned that name.


I remember the first time I saw ‘Upkar’ (1967). I was a kid, sprawled on the living room floor, eyes glued to our old TV. Manoj ji played Bharat, the farmer who gave everything—his dreams, his love—for his country’s soil. That song, “Mere Desh Ki Dharti,” wasn’t just a tune; it was a heartbeat, pulsing with pride and sacrifice. I’d hum it walking to school, feeling like I, too, could be that noble, that selfless. He won a National Film Award for that one, and rightly so—it wasn’t acting; it was living.

Then there was ‘Shaheed’ (1965), where he brought Bhagat Singh back to life. I’d sit there, popcorn forgotten, as he roared defiance against the British, his eyes blazing with a fire that could’ve lit up the darkest colonial night. It wasn’t just a film—it was a revolution on celluloid, a call to remember the blood that bought our freedom. Manoj ji didn’t just play the martyr; he became him, and every time I watch it, I feel that lump in my throat, that sting in my eyes. It’s no wonder it snagged three National Awards—his passion was a gift to us all.


Oh, and ‘Purab Aur Paschim’ (1970)—how do I even begin? He directed and starred as Bharat again, this time wrestling with the clash of East and West, showing us the beauty of our roots while the world tried to pull us away. I’d laugh at Saira Banu’s antics, then choke up when Manoj ji stood tall, singing “Hai Preet Jahan Ki Reet Sada.” It was a blockbuster, sure, but it was more—it was a love letter to India, penned in his signature hand-over-face style. That move, mocked by some, was his shield, his quiet strength, and I adored it.

And who could forget ‘Roti Kapda Aur Makaan’ (1974)? He directed and starred as Bharat—again, because who else could?—tackling poverty, injustice, and the gut-wrenching struggle for the basics of life. I’d watch, fists clenched, as he fought for the everyman, his voice cracking with raw emotion. It wasn’t just a movie; it was a mirror to our society, a cry for change. Seven Filmfare Awards across his career, they say, but this one felt like it carried them all—his heart bled through every frame.


Then there’s ‘Kranti’ (1981), the epic that had me on the edge of my seat. Manoj ji as the freedom fighter, leading Dilip Kumar and Hema Malini through a storm of rebellion—it was grand, it was gritty, it was everything Bollywood could be. “Zindagi Ki Na Toote Ladi” still echoes in my ears, a reminder of the battles he fought on screen, battles that felt so real I’d dream of joining the fight. He didn’t just direct that film; he sculpted a monument to resilience, and I’d cheer like a fool every time he outsmarted the British.


As I sit here, flipping through these memories, I can’t help but feel cheated. Manoj Kumar wasn’t just an actor or director—he was family. Born Harikrishan Goswami in 1937, he carried the Partition’s scars from Abbottabad to Delhi, turning pain into purpose. He gave us over 50 films in a career spanning four decades, snagging the Padma Shri in 1992 and the Dadasaheb Phalke Award in 2015—honors that felt too small for a man who gave India its cinematic soul. His last role in ‘Jai Hind’ (1999) might’ve flopped, but it didn’t dim his light in my eyes.


I’d read how he met Bhagat Singh’s mother before ‘Shaheed’, seeking her blessing—can you imagine the weight of that? Or how PM Lal Bahadur Shastri urged him to make ‘Upkar’ after the 1965 war, handing him “Jai Jawan Jai Kisan” like a sacred torch? That’s who he was—a man who didn’t just entertain but carried a nation’s dreams.


Manoj ji, you weren’t just “Bharat Kumar” to me—you were the uncle who taught me pride, the friend who shared my anger, the poet who sang my hopes. Your films weren’t movies; they were my childhood, my rebellion, my tears. I’ll miss you like I miss the India you dreamed of—flawed, fierce, and forever ours. Rest in peace, sir. Om Shanti.

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