Dr Rekha jad
Why are our concrete bridges crumbling, bringing us to our knees?
Why do our roads so quickly erode, sprouting cracks and potholes at every stretch?
Why are our drains perpetually clogged—or worse, absent altogether?
Year after year, the monsoons arrive—forecasted with near-perfect precision. Yet, year after year, we see the same story replayed: Mumbai submerged, Gurugram deluged, cities inundated. This year, when the skies opened, the adage “when it rains, it pours” proved devastatingly true. Cloudbursts and unprecedented rains left a trail of destruction too severe to endure.
With our advanced, technology-driven systems, we ought to have been prepared. Instead, we witnessed failure—failure of planning, of execution, and of accountability. Technology alone cannot compensate for mismanagement, negligence, and unscrupulous practices.
Ironically, history offers us lessons in foresight. The Harappan and Mohenjodaro civilizations perfected drainage thousands of years ago. Kalhana’s Rajatarangini tells an even more striking tale from 10th-century Kashmir.
Sopore, then called Suyyapur, owes its very existence to an engineer named Suya during King Avantivarman’s reign. The Jhelum River at the time was shallow, choked with silt and boulders, overflowing its banks and flooding the surrounding land. Suya devised an ingenious plan: he asked the king for coins and threw them into the river. People leapt in to retrieve them, and in the process, began pulling out the boulders and silt as well. Slowly, the riverbed deepened, the waters flowed freely, and the marshy wasteland was transformed into fertile land. Sopore flourished, and in recognition of his brilliance, the town was named Suyyapur in his honor—later colloquialised into Sopore.
That was the power of vision, ingenuity, and leadership more than a thousand years ago. And today?
Why does taxpayers’ money endlessly pour into rebuilding collapsed bridges, patching broken roads, and unclogging drains? Has civil engineering regressed to the point where only opulent malls and luxury hotels boast strength and permanence, while the common man trudges through fragile roads and crumbling infrastructure?
It is a dismal sight in the 21st century: commuters stranded for hours along a 20-kilometre stretch of Delhi–NCR flyovers, or forced to wade—sometimes swim—through waterlogged streets in so-called “luxury” neighbourhoods. And if this is the fate of the privileged, one shudders at the silent suffering of those in shanties and hovels, who bear the brunt of civic neglect without recourse or relief.
The question remains—are we truly progressing, or have we built a civilization of glittering facades standing on sinking foundations?
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