GB Pant : The Hospital that Carries Five Lakh Heartbeats

There is a famous saying in India: “Health is wealth.”

In Andaman & Nicobar Islands, however, the updated government version seems to be:

“Tourism is wealth… health can wait.”

Welcome to GB Pant Hospital, Port Blair - the grand old warrior of the islands. Established in 1963, this hospital has spent nearly 63 years carrying the healthcare burden of almost five lakh islanders. One building, one overburdened system, one exhausted backbone trying to keep an entire archipelago alive.

And honestly, if walls could speak, the walls of GB Pant Hospital would probably say:

“Bhai, mujhe bhi retirement do.”

The hospital stands today not merely as a healthcare institution, but as a living archaeological monument. Some sections look less like a modern medical facility and more like a government structure preserved from the black-and-white Doordarshan era. Paint peeling, ageing infrastructure, leaking corners, rusted frames, yet inside these tired walls, doctors continue performing miracles every single day.

And that is the irony.

The doctors here are not the problem. In fact, many super specialists at GB Pant Hospital possess immense experience and skill. Complex surgeries are conducted, emergencies are handled, lives are saved daily under circumstances that would make mainland corporate hospitals collapse into committee meetings and PowerPoint presentations.

But even the best surgeons cannot operate with “Vision 2047” speeches.

The hospital today functions like an old Ambassador car being forced to compete in Formula One. Somehow moving, somehow surviving, somehow still carrying passengers despite every mechanical part screaming for help.

Meanwhile, outside hospital walls, presentations are being made about making Andaman “the next Singapore.”

Singapore?

Bhai sahab, first make sure operation theatres don’t pause during power cuts.

Yes, power interruptions during surgeries.

In 2026.

Imagine a patient lying on an operation table while electricity decides to play hide and seek. Somewhere in an air-conditioned conference hall, someone is probably discussing “world class tourism infrastructure,” while inside the hospital, staff pray that the generator behaves today.

But priorities are different now.

The administration appears deeply inspired by resort architecture, cruise tourism, luxury development and excise expansion. Government schools are quietly shutting down while IMFL outlets seem to multiply faster than hospital beds.

Education? “Low revenue.”

Alcohol? “Tourism boost.”

Perhaps in future health advisories, dialysis patients may simply be advised to relax at a beachside resort and “experience island wellness.”

Speaking of dialysis, the dialysis unit itself tells a painful story. Kidney-related diseases are increasing, but adequate dialysis machines are still lacking. Patients wait. Families suffer. Appointments stretch endlessly. The machine availability often decides survival schedules.

But who has time to discuss dialysis when there are tourism summits to attend?

Even surgeries now come with waiting lists long enough to qualify as competitive entrance exams. Limited operation theatres mean patients receive dates after weeks or months. Illness, unfortunately, does not follow file movement speed.

And then comes the magical kingdom of procurement.

Everything nowadays proudly arrives through GeM procurement processes, theoretically transparent, digitally efficient and economically brilliant. In reality, many hospital staff quietly whisper about poor quality supplies and low-grade equipment. Medicines are questioned. Surgical materials are questioned. Durability is questioned.

The rust on certain equipment perhaps tells its own autobiography.

In many cases, doctors are allegedly forced into the uncomfortable position of asking patients to purchase surgical items externally because required equipment or quality materials are unavailable. Imagine already struggling financially, travelling from remote islands, staying in rented rooms, worrying about life-saving surgery and then being told to arrange additional surgical materials yourself.

This is not healthcare reform.

This is survival outsourcing.

And remember GB Pant Hospital is not just serving PortBlair. It is the final hope for people from Diglipur to Campbell Bay. For countless islanders, this hospital is the only shield standing between life and tragedy. When cases become critical, patients are pushed toward mainland India. Chennai, Kolkata, kerala, the holy pilgrimage route of desperate island families selling jewellery, borrowing money and paying high flight tickets.

But apparently the islands are marching toward “global development.”

One lakh crore rupees are being discussed for mega tourism and infrastructure projects linked to the Great Nicobar vision. Giant investments, mega dreams, international ambitions.

No objection to development. Development is necessary but not in the cost of local citizens and environment.

But somewhere a simple question still survives:

If even a fraction of such investment had been directed toward strengthening healthcare, upgrading hospitals, building advanced medical infrastructure, improving emergency evacuation systems, modernising operation theatres and ensuring uninterrupted medical services, would islanders still feel abandoned during medical emergencies?

Development cannot only mean attracting tourists.

Development must also mean protecting citizens.

Because what is the use of becoming “the next Singapore” if the common islander cannot access timely surgery without fear?

And where are the political parties in all this?

Silence.

The ruling party is busy cutting ribbons.

The opposition seems to have disappeared beyond the Andaman Sea, possibly entering another galaxy altogether.

At this point, finding active political accountability in the islands feels harder than finding stable mobile network during rain.

Nobody wants to ask uncomfortable questions because everyone is busy branding the islands as paradise.

But paradise for whom?

For tourists sipping mocktails beside infinity pools?

Or for the patient waiting outside an overcrowded ward with a prescription in one hand and anxiety in the other?

GB Pant Hospital survives today because of its doctors, nurses, technicians and staff who continue working despite limitations. The system survives not because it is strong but because human beings inside it are refusing to give up.

And perhaps that is the biggest tragedy.

A hospital built in 1963 should not still be carrying the healthcare destiny of five lakh people with outdated infrastructure and exhausted resources in 2026.

But in modern governance, optics often matter more than oxygen.

After all, tourism brochures don’t show overcrowded wards.

They show sunsets.