The guardian minister for Mumbai recently visited King Edward Memorial Hospital, lovingly and universally known as KEM. A place where people go because they are ill, worried, frightened, and hoping that someone in authority has thought about things like beds, doctors, medicines, and queues that move faster than a funeral procession.
The minister addressed a public meeting there. Everyone waited with bated breath. Would he speak about overcrowded wards, toilets that require divine intervention before use, doctors stretched so thin that even their stethoscopes look tired? Would he speak about waiting lines so long that patients recover or expire before reaching the counter?
No.
He spoke about renaming the hospital.
There was a stunned silence, broken only by a patient coughing somewhere in the background. The minister explained that renaming was important. Very important. Essential, in fact. History, culture, pride, sentiment, identity. Big words floated around the hall.
The minister did not waste time on small, boring matters like cleanliness, equipment, staffing, or whether a man with chest pain should wait six hours for an ECG. Those are tedious details. Renaming, on the other hand, is visionary. You do not need data for it. You do not need reports. You do not need to know how many patients are treated or how many die waiting.
You just need a new board.
Ministers across the country were impressed. At last, a solution that works everywhere. No more complicated presentations. No more embarrassing questions about outcomes and budgets. From now on, whenever invited to a meeting, the speech is ready.
Rename the place.
Any place. Hospital, school, bridge, library, bus stop, even the tea stall outside the office.
Problems are instantly solved. A leaking roof may continue to leak, but at least it leaks under a new name. Doctors may continue to be overworked, but they now work in a newly renamed institution. Patients may continue to suffer, but they suffer with cultural pride.
Inspired by this success, one minister decided to stop preparing speeches altogether. Why bother. He rose in Parliament one day, cleared his throat confidently, and announced, “Let us rename this place.”
There was a brief pause. He himself seemed unsure what place he meant. Parliament perhaps. The country maybe. Reality itself.
But the real tragedy was not the speech. It was the applause.
The representatives, so well trained by repetition, clapped enthusiastically. Some stood up. Others nodded gravely, as if a profound policy statement had been made. No one asked what would change after the renaming. No one asked who would benefit. No one asked whether a single problem would be solved.
Because in today’s politics, names matter more than numbers. Boards matter more than beds. Announcements matter more than action. And applause matters more than accountability.
At this rate, don’t be surprised if a minister visits a graveyard and announces plans to simply rename it, leaving ghosts and spirits confused when returning from their nocturnal jaunts..!