Commentary

Article

Spare Me the Bouquets: The Growing Crisis of Being a Doctor in India

Doctors in India face escalating burnout and violence, risking their well-being while navigating a broken health care system. This Doctor's Day, reform is urgently needed.

wilted flowers

Владимир Лис/AdobeStock

COMMENTARY

Every year, July 1st rolls in with flowers, gratitude posts, and ceremonious speeches to honor doctors. But behind the white coats, what remains unseen is a profession quietly unraveling, not due to incompetence or lack of dedication, but because of a system that is systematically breaking its own healers.


Today, more doctors in India are leaving the profession, migrating abroad, or falling into burnout and despair than ever before. The reason is not just the emotional weight of caring for others, it is a combination of unchecked violence, bureaucratic suffocation, VIP entitlement, and misdirected scrutiny, all while quackery flourishes unchecked in broad daylight.

We Are Not Machines. We Are Breaking.

Doctors in India are expected to function as tireless machines, available 24/7, emotionally resilient, endlessly adaptable, and morally flawless. The cost of this myth is quietly reflected in rising rates of burnout, depression, substance misuse, and suicide among medical professionals.


In 2022 alone, more than a dozen reported suicides occurred among resident doctors across the country. Many more go unreported or are quietly erased under euphemisms like “sudden illness” or “family reasons.” Doctors are expected to meet every reasonable or unreasonable demand of patients and their caregivers, while striving to deliver the best possible care within the limits of available infrastructure. Any attempt to set boundaries or refuse an unjust request is often met not with understanding, but with camera phones brandished to capture demeaning videos, or worse—the threat of physical violence.

Healing Under Threat: The Shadow of Violence

Physical assaults on doctors have become so frequent that they are no longer shocking. Emergency wards become war zones, especially in public hospitals, where 1 death can trigger a violent mob response. Doctors have been beaten, groped, and even murdered, not for negligence, but for being caught in the crossfire of failed expectations and systemic collapse.


And yet, when such incidents occur, the response is often muted with no action against the perpetrators. Legal protections are weak with minimal and transient public outrage. The government issues statements of condemnation, but the hospitals remain understaffed, unprotected, and overburdened. On numerous occasions, patients are brought in a terminal condition or with severe trauma and comorbidities, their prognosis already poor upon arrival. Despite clearly communicating the extent of their critical state and the high risk of mortality, the inevitable outcome is often unjustly blamed on the attending doctor, who is then subjected to threats, physical assault, and public humiliation.

Paperwork Is Winning, Not the Patient

Practicing medicine in India today means being buried under forms, documentation, mandatory uploads, and compliance logs that often do not add clinical value. For every hour spent treating a patient, another hour is spent proving it was done. The clinical voice of doctors is increasingly undermined by clerical checklists.


Meanwhile, VIP patients walk in demanding priority and bypassing queues, protocols, and ethical guidelines. Medical decisions are often influenced, even dictated, by the status of the patient or their political connections. The autonomy of the doctor is eroded by the entitlement of those who treat hospitals like hotels.

Licensed, But Locked Down

Perhaps the most painful irony of the Indian health care system is this: those who are ethically licensed and properly trained are often hounded with scrutiny, while unqualified quacks operate with impunity.


Doctors today live under the constant threat of suspension, legal notices, media shaming, and social media trials, often for following standard protocols. Investigations are launched over misunderstandings. Complex cases are judged by laypersons. Clinical discretion is second-guessed by bureaucrats. It is as if we are guilty until proven innocent.
At the same time, self-proclaimed “healers,” Instagram influencer therapists, and uncertified practitioners thrive, unchecked. In rural and urban slums alike, quacks offer steroids, antibiotics, and injections without prescription, and yet, regulatory bodies remain silent. The scrutiny is not merely misdirected, it is weaponized, wielded to deflect attention from systemic failures while turning doctors into convenient scapegoats.

The Emotional Cost No One Counts

As a psychiatrist, I see not only the burnout of my peers but the deep discouragement creeping in. Many doctors now see their profession as transactional, not out of greed, but as a coping mechanism. When your best efforts are met with lawsuits, violence, and suspicion, emotional detachment becomes survival.


Medical students who once entered the field with passion now plan early exits. Others dream of migrating, not for wealth, but for dignity. Those who stay, numb themselves.

What Doctors Really Need on Doctors’ Day

We do not need roses or tweets of appreciation. We need structural reform in these ways:

  • Legal protections against violence, with accountability and speedy redressal.
  • Streamlined documentation systems that do not treat doctors like data clerks.
  • Freedom from political and VIP interference in clinical decisions.
  • Clear regulatory action against quacks and uncertified “healers.”
  • Access to confidential mental health support, especially for young doctors and those in trauma-prone specialties.
  • Respect for medical autonomy not just in words, but in policy.

If We Burn Out, Who Will Be Left to Heal You?

The medical profession was once considered noble. Today, it feels more like a battlefield, where every decision could trigger a mob, a memo, or a media trial. This Doctors’ Day, spare us the token gratitude. Instead, help us reclaim our dignity, safety, and sanity. Not because we wear a white coat; but because underneath it, we are human.

Dr Kaur is a consultant psychiatrist in Punjab, India.

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