Hosur health centre's early closure forces dog bite victim to costly private care

Pankaj C Mutalik was twenty-six years old, working in a private company, living near Ganapathi Nagar in Hosur. On a Saturday evening around 7:20 pm, a stray dog bit his hand. His friends did what seemed logical—they rushed him to the Urban Health and Wellness Centre at Ganapathi Nagar, the government facility meant to serve his neighborhood. When they arrived, the doors were locked. The centre was supposed to be open until 8 pm. It was 7:40 pm.

Mutalik had no choice but to find a private hospital nearby. The treatment—which included the Anti-Rabies Vaccine, essential after any dog bite—cost him 750 rupees. It was money he could not afford to lose. "This money would have lasted me three days," he told the newspaper. "If the centre was open, I could've saved it for my family instead. Every rupee is important to me."

His friend S Raja, who had accompanied him to the health centre, was blunt about the frustration. The area already had a stray dog problem. Now, on top of that, the government healthcare facility—the one resource meant to be reliable and free—had failed them through what appeared to be simple staff negligence. Raja called for the municipal corporation to intensify animal birth control measures across all wards and, more pointedly, to ensure that health staff actually remained at their posts during the hours they were supposed to work.

The Hosur City Municipal Corporation operates eight Urban and Health Wellness Centres across the city. All of them are scheduled to operate from 8 am to noon and again from 4 pm to 8 pm. When a reporter from the newspaper visited the Ganapathi Nagar centre, it was already closed, well before the official closing time. The medical officer, Dr. Mukil Prem, had left around 7:40 pm due to what was described as an emergency. But he had not registered his departure in the biometric system before leaving—a procedural failure that would trigger a half-day pay cut as consequence.

Dr. KM Ajitha, the Krishnagiri District Health Officer, acknowledged the incident and the penalty. She also noted that the corporation had carried out animal birth control activities across all forty-five wards in recent weeks and had conducted anti-rabies drives. The measures were in place. The infrastructure existed. What failed was the simple act of a staff member being present when he was supposed to be.

For Mutalik, the outcome was clear: he paid out of pocket for care that should have been free and accessible. For the health system, the incident exposed a gap between policy and practice—between the hours a centre is supposed to operate and the hours it actually does, between the people who depend on these services and the staff who are meant to provide them. The stray dog problem in Hosur remains. So does the question of whether the public health system can be trusted to be there when it matters.