A POTHOLED SYSTEM AND ENDANGERED LIVES: LALIT GARG

A POTHOLED SYSTEM AND ENDANGERED LIVES: LALIT GARG

11-FEB-ENG 42

RAJIV NAYAN AGRAWAL

ARA----------------------------Lives lost in a system riddled with potholes has become a paradox of today's India, one that shakes the heart. The grief of a young engineer's death in Noida after falling into a pothole had barely subsided when a young man riding a bike in Delhi was killed by an open pit. The similarity between both incidents is that the potholes were dug by the administration in the name of development or repair, and neither site had any barricades, warning signs, or lighting. It's as if the system dug the pothole first and then walked away, unconcerned, believing that whatever happens next is the citizen's fate. This is the kind of thinking that hollows out any society from within.

The question isn't why the potholes were dug; the question is who gave the administration the authority to push people to their deaths by digging potholes? Has development come to mean that every citizen must risk their lives while walking on the roads? Has the life of the common man become so cheap amidst the glitz and grand promises of cities that their death is merely a news item, debated for two days, and then everything returns to normal? This normalization is the biggest danger, because when deaths become normalized, the system's sensitivity is dead.

Whether it's a pothole dug by the Delhi Jal Board or a Noida agency, the process of fixing responsibility remains the same every time. Officers are suspended, investigation committees are formed, reports are announced within 24 or 48 hours, and after some time, those same files gather dust. Suspension and investigation are no longer solutions, but merely a formal ritual. The question is: do suspensions bring back dead sons, do investigation committees reunite broken families? As long as accountability remains confined to paper, lives falling into potholes will continue to fall prey to the system. The most worrying aspect of this entire picture is that in big cities, such incidents are at least discussed, and the media does raise questions. However, in smaller cities, towns, and villages, these same potholes are taking lives daily and don't even make the news. There, no cameras reach, no representatives, no investigative committees. Deaths there remain merely a personal tragedy for families. Is the value of a citizen determined by the size of the city? Are citizens of metropolitan areas more valuable, while those of smaller cities are less expensive? This inequality is not just about resources, but also about sensibilities.

On the one hand, we talk about a developed India, a strong India, and becoming the world's third-largest economy, while on the other, the open potholes on our roads hold us in stark contrast. The pace of development may be rapid, but if that pace is not accompanied by safety, responsibility, and human compassion, it will only lead to destruction. It's ironic that we talk about smart cities, but forget to discuss smart barricading, smart warnings, and smart responsibility. Even in this age of technology, our system fails to remember to install a simple warning board.

In reality, the problem isn't just negligence, but a mindset that treats citizens as mere statistics. In files, they're a case number, on the road, they're an obstacle, and after an accident, they're a statistic. Until the life of a citizen becomes the most important value in the eyes of administration and governance, every new pothole will pose the potential for a new death. The question is whether moral accountability for these potholes will ever be established at a higher level. Will it ever occur that someone in a high position will be asked, "Because your department's negligence resulted in the loss of a life, you have no moral right to remain in office?"

Lofty declarations about the end of corrupt governance are heard during every election. Posters change, slogans change, but the potholes on the ground remain. If corruption were limited to bribery, it might be easier to identify. But this callous corruption, which includes ignoring rules, neglecting safety standards, and failing to complete work on time, is far more dangerous. It doesn't involve money, but it costs lives. Today, as we envision a new India in the Amrit Kaal and the centenary year, the question becomes even more acute: can a country with open potholes become great? Does a country deserve to be called developed if citizens, when walking the streets at night, pray that a pothole doesn't take their life? Development isn't measured solely by bridges, roads, and buildings, but by how safe the common man feels. If there's no assurance of safety, all achievements are hollow.

A system riddled with potholes isn't just a problem with roads; it's a symbol of the moral decline of our governance system. It reveals the growing disconnect between power and citizens. As long as every pothole is considered a mere technical flaw and every death dismissed as misfortune, this cycle will remain unstoppable. What's needed is for every pothole to become a question, every death a warning, and every negligence a crime.

When will those potholes be filled, when will the cracks in the system be closed, and when will a country racing towards development find the confidence that it is in safe hands? These are the questions on every citizen's mind today. Perhaps that day we will truly be able to say that our country is on the path to greatness. Right now, it seems we are not great, but troubled. And this trouble isn't just about the potholes, but about the emotions that are falling into them.