Haryana doctors strike over alleged police assault, disrupting OPD services

On a March morning in Haryana, the outpatient departments at Civil Hospitals in Rohtak and Jhajjar sat nearly empty. Doctors had stopped work. The strike was called by the Haryana Civil Medical Services Association in response to what they described as a police assault on one of their colleagues—a doctor who had been on duty at a Community Health Centre in Gharaunda, a town in Karnal district. Emergency and casualty services continued, but the routine work of diagnosis and follow-up care simply halted.

The disruption rippled outward immediately. Ajay arrived at the Jhajjar hospital expecting a follow-up consultation. He had not heard about the strike. He left without being seen, knowing he would have to return the following week. Ram Mehar, who had been dealing with joint pain in his leg and knee for days, found no doctors available in the outpatient ward. Lalit brought his daughter, who had been ill for three days, only to learn that OPD slips—the paperwork that initiates treatment—were not being issued. He faced a choice: pay for private care or go home. Rajender, a resident of Dadri Toa village, had scheduled hernia surgery for that day. The operation was postponed. He would have to wait for another date, another appointment, another trip to the hospital.

At the Jhajjar Civil Hospital, Dr. Akriti, the district president of the medical association, confirmed that all 42 doctors engaged in outpatient services had participated in the strike. She made clear this was not a temporary action. "If an FIR is not registered against the police personnel who allegedly assaulted a doctor in Karnal, we will not hesitate to shut down emergency services as well," she said. The threat was direct: expand the strike to include casualty and emergency care—the services that cannot be postponed, the ones that keep a hospital functioning as a safety net.

The hospital administration offered a different account. Dr. Gurjeet Sidhu, the Senior Medical Officer in Jhajjar, said additional doctors had been deployed to the OPD to minimize inconvenience to patients. In Rohtak, a hospital official reported that 1,656 patients had visited that day, and that OPD slips had been issued to all of them. The official also noted that 37 doctors at the Rohtak Civil Hospital had participated in the strike, but that additional staff had been brought in to maintain continuity. Dr. Vishvajit, the district president of the medical association in Rohtak, countered this narrative, insisting the strike had been successful and that all doctors at the hospital had participated.

The disagreement over numbers and impact reflects a deeper tension. The doctors were making a statement about their safety and their standing. A colleague had allegedly been assaulted by police while performing his duties. From their perspective, the institution—the hospital, the state—had a responsibility to protect them and to hold the police accountable. The strike was a lever, a way to force attention and action. The patients caught in the middle had no role in this dispute, yet they bore its cost: delayed diagnoses, cancelled appointments, surgeries moved to unknown future dates, and the difficult decision of whether to seek care elsewhere or wait.

What remained unclear was whether the police would face charges, whether the hospital administration would formally support the doctors' demand, or how long the doctors would maintain their action. The threat to expand the strike to emergency services hung in the air—a line that, if crossed, would transform a disruption into a genuine crisis. For now, the outpatient departments remained quiet, and patients continued to arrive, unaware that the care they expected was not available.