Twelve children in Delhi will be able to boast that they were born in Police Control Room (PCR) vans this year. That’s a few years later, when they are capable of understanding how births take place and how a moving vehicle is an unusual place in to start one’s life. 

The manner in which Pooja and Asima gave birth can only be imagined as painful, uncomfortable, and nerve-wracking, though that is probably true of all births. What sets them apart is that all these emotions and physical distress were experienced in the back of a PCR van — delivering their babies inside the vehicle which had come to their rescue. 

They are two of the 12 women who gave birth in a police car this year in Delhi, while there were 57 others who made it in time to a hospital, riding a PCR van.

But what about ambulance service? Why not call them? That’s because the Centralised Accident and Trauma Services’ (CATS) contractual employees have been on strike for months. This saw less than 100 CATS vehicles plying on the roads, when there should have been 265. Their demand was permanent jobs, payment of dues and benefits. 

In the second week of September, the strike was called off after 75 days, but when Pooja went into labour on October 14, there still wasn’t any ambulance to come and help her. According to the family, they had called for the ambulance twice but no one answered and the emergency number 100 was their only hope. It took the PCR around 10-15 minutes to reach Pooja’s home in Najafgarh. 

But let’s start from the beginning of that day.

The 27-year-old, now the mother of three, woke up early to go and see a doctor at the Rao Tula Ram Memorial Hospital in Jaffarpur, on the outskirts of West Delhi. Heavily pregnant, she travelled by motorcycle with her father driving and mother in tow. “I reached the hospital at 7 am and got in the queue to get my registration done. The number was 133”, Pooja says. By the time it was her turn to be seen by the doctor, it was already 1.30 pm. “He only touched my belly to check how I was doing and told me to come back in three days.” 

The family left. Pooja’s uncle had come to the hospital to visit them, and there was no space on the bike. Pooja got on a bus to go back home. “It was 3.30 pm by then so I told my mother I’ll go home and have my lunch. But 10 minutes later, my pain began,” Pooja tells us as her mother Vineeta and aunt Shashi join us in her one-room flat which acts as a kitchen, living room and bedroom.  

Jaiveer and Pooja with their children.

Jaiveer, Pooja’s husband, is put to the task to make tea as the women speak about that harrowing day. “I rushed to my daughter’s home along with Shashi,” Vineeta says. When the vehicle came, Pooja was made to lie down in the back.

But the 10-kilometre ride proved to be far too long.

Pooja’s mother says the birth took place near Mitraon Gaon, “I took care of my daughter while Shashi took the baby into her arms.” The PCR personnel noted the time of birth and informed the hospital about their impending arrival. “They didn’t stop the car, the police personnel instead made announcements over the microphone system that a woman has given birth and needs to be immediately taken to the hospital.”

Thankfully, people on the road cleared the way, the three women recall. Once they reached, the first priority of the doctors was to cut the umbilical cord, after which Shashi went to the ward with Pooja and her newborn son. Vineeta stayed behind to clean the van, as asked by the personnel.  But she has no qualms about it. “She’s my child, of course I would have to clean up.” 

While that day is put behind her, Pooja wants the system to change in government hospitals — where a woman nine months pregnant does not have to wait hours on end to meet the doctor. Where the check-up is not simply touching the belly for signs of impending labour. 

“Even after giving birth when I was admitted at the hospital, I got a fever but they first refused to give me a blanket,” Pooja says. Vineeta adds that someone even said they should have brought a blanket along. Pooja points out: “The blanket we had brought was ruined during the childbirth and had to be thrown…These hospitals don’t listen to us poor people.” 

For Pooja and Jaiveer, life is lived on basics. Jaiveer makes Rs 12,000 a month working for a private company hired to look after cargo at IGI T3 Airport. Their flat, where they’ve lived for five years, has a communal water supply and washroom. Pooja says, “We got married in 2013, but I have been living in this area since I was a child. Everyone knows each other so I don’t feel like moving.” What makes it harder is that Jaiveer works night shifts, so having family and people she knows around  is a security measure. 

“He started working here three years ago. Before that too he worked in the same line but for a different company,” Pooja says while her husband, a man of few words, sits and looks on. When their second daughter Ananya was born — Pooja had to get the help of a PCR van at night then too — Jaiveer had to take leave and was thus terminated. 

Their children study in private schools. The flat is rented at Rs 1,300 a month and their electricity bill is about Rs 500-700 per month. A refill gas cylinder has to be ordered  every two months. Pooja goes to fetch “drinking water” — or what they call “sweet water” — early in the morning on alternate days. She applied for a ration card about five years ago but has yet to receive the facility. 

For this family, being able to afford private facilities is out of the question. She isn’t aware of any other government benefits she is eligible for. 

(from left) Pooja, her mother Vineeta, and aunt Shashi.

We went to meet the doctors of Rao Tula Ram Memorial Hospital, which sees about 400-500 patients in the antenatal and postnatal outpatient department every day. They handle 20-30 deliveries on average daily. Some days admittedly see far fewer, such as 10, as was the case on the day we met them — a public holiday. 

Dr Anand Kumar Sinha is a senior resident doctor. He’s conducted four deliveries today and will probably handle 5-6 more by evening. “No one will have complaints, we work very hard,” Sinha, who is in his second term of work at the hospital, tells us. 

When asked about Pooja’s predicament, he says it’s possible that since it was her third child, the delivery happened sooner than expected, thus giving them no time to reach the hospital. He agrees that the lack of ambulances is an issue. 

Junior resident doctor Pradeep agrees. “It has been almost six months since the strike began. Even to reach the hospital they take over half an hour.” This is far too long in a critical situation. Ambulances are required to be parked at the hospital to shift patients in need of specialised care. 

When patients are referred to Deen Dayal Upadhyay (DDU) Hospital or Safdarjung Hospital, Sinha says, “it takes over half an hour to reach…there needs to be a centre closer to us.”

Operations that need to be conducted after 4 pm are also referred to DDU. So, when a patient does not get a CAT ambulance, they have to hire a private one, which is more like a taxi and lacking the complete facilities of an ambulance. Travelling a 21-kilometre stretch in a private ambulance would cost a patient Rs 1,000-1,500. If it’s a vehicle with all the life support facilities, it would presumably cost double, or more.

For women coming to such hospitals, having the requisite money to avail such vital facilities is scarce. “This is the first thing that should be changed and looked into. They are poor people and mostly come on bikes,” says Pradeep. “When a woman is fully dilated, how can she come on bike? When they call an ambulance, they say it will take an hour to reach them. Their only other option is to call the PCR.”

Asima, who gave birth to her second child in the PCR van this year, was being taken to the hospital by metro when she was stopped. 

We meet Asima’s mother, Shabana, and her extended family at their home in Sonia Gandhi camp, Naraina. Asima has already returned to her marital home in Bareilly, so Shabana tells us what happened. 

Shabana (extreme right) and her family.

She had asked her daughter to come and stay with her for a few months before she gave birth. “Asima came when she was around 5-6 months pregnant. I took a home on rent then because there were too many people here for us to accommodate another.” Shabana’s mother owns the couple of rooms they live in, each one cramped with family members. 

Shabana took her two younger children — 15-year-old Khushboo and 10-year-old Heena — and Asima and moved to Tigri Kalan. On the evening of September 7, Shabana got a call from her eldest. “It was 7 pm and I was almost home when  Asima called to say she was in a lot of pain.” 

She rushed to her daughter’s side and decided to take an auto to the Tigri Kalan metro station, thinking she could take her to Lady Harding Medical College in central Delhi. The CRPF personnel stationed there didn’t let them through, seeing Asima’s condition. They instead called the ambulance and the PCR at the same time, hoping one would come soon.  “The entire time the police personnel were so nice to us… the lady personnel hugged my daughter and sat with her and kept assuring her that everything would be fine,” says Shabana. 

The PCR van showed up and they were off. “The policeman asked if we want to go to a government or private hospital. I said government, so they kept driving…” But Asima had her child moments away from a private hospital — Sonia Hospital — in Nangloi.

Everyone rushed to their aid and were well taken care of Shabana says, adding how helpful the PCR personnel were to them. “By the time she had the child it was 9 pm. We reached the hospital and the policemen stayed till the doctors had cleaned the baby, changed the sheets for my daughter, done all the paperwork. They went out of their way to help us and also give us company…no one was there from our family.”

DCP PCR Sharad Sinha says his team “assists people in distress”. When a woman is in labour, he says, they cannot do much. “It is a very specialised job which no PCR or policeman will be able to do. What we do is more of a humanitarian support, providing immediate support to the lady. The families are always taken into the van so that convenience to the maximum is provided.”

Asima, her husband and their newborn child Ahil.

He said the most important factor is that they don’t lose time. “Labour pain is such that there is always a chance of things going wrong. So, the critical thing is to not lose time…”

For Shabana, her responsibility is done, with 22-year-old Asima going back to Bareilly about two months after the birth of the child they named Ahil. Shabana has been looking after her children with the meagre amount she earns from working at people’s homes, which she had to take up when her husband passed away eight years ago. “My children were all very young then. The youngest only two…”

While she manages to raise them, she could not educate her eldest Asima, who studied only till Class 5. Shabana’s younger two are now in government schools. Shabana works in two homes from 8 am to 8 pm, earning Rs 7,000 per month.

For women like Shabana, Asima, Vineeta and Pooja, things do not come easy on a regular basis. For Asima and Pooja it proved to be so even in an emergency situation. 

Long queues at the hospital, the unanswered phones of the ambulance helpline, trying to take a metro while in labour to save money…this is still the fate of many in the capital city of the India.