Fruit salad and helmets
It was summer of 1992. The weathermen had announced the arrival of monsoon, a few days ago; though it had not rained even once. Weather was hot and humid – just the way mosquitoes, houseflies, fungi, and a variety of bacteria & viruses love it. People, especially children, were suffering from infections. The city administration was daily issuing half/full page newspaper advertisements cautioning people against disease outbreak, and guiding them to maintain personal hygiene, stay hydrated and avoid consuming street food, especially cut fruits. Several billboards and posters were also put up across the city.
My office was located on Indraprastha Marg, one of the busiest streets in the city, just opposite an imposing building housing the Delhi Police headquarter (DPHQ).
Around 100 meters away from DPHQ, there was a major bus stop (ITO). Several fruit chat vendors would sell cut fruits & vegetables like watermelon, pineapple, cucumber, coconut, etc. There were also few vendors who would sell helmets for 2-wheeler riders. These helmets were mostly made from cardboard and thermocol, and were completely unfit for their purpose.
I did not witness any police action against these vendors. In fact, often some policemen were also seen buying fruit salad and helmets from these vendors. On being confronted, these policemen would simply escape, saying, “if you have a problem, file a complaint at the police station, and an action will be taken”.
Sometimes municipal raiding parties would come and scare these vendors away. But this was for unauthorized use of pavements; and not for selling bacteria infested fruits or non-standard helmets.
Thirty-three years and thousands of CCTV installations later, I do not think that things in the capital city have changed in any significant manner.
A train journey, not to remember
Last month, it was a rainy morning. I was waiting at Bareilly Junction, for my train to Delhi. The train (Rajdhani Express) was running over half an hour late. For the past 40 minutes, the female announcer at the station was announcing that the train no. xxxxx is arriving at Platform No 2. The live train location tracking apps were showing that the train had stopped just 2km before the railway station, and waiting there for some other train to pass.
While waiting at the platform, wet from a leaking roof, I saw a disheveled man quarreling with a group of passengers. The man appeared hassled and angry. The passengers were apparently poor laborers travelling to their hometown. Since I had nothing to do, and there was no place to sit at the platform where I could read something, I decided to intervene in the quarrel in a typical UP style.
I discovered that the hassled man was a railway contractor. He had recently won a contract to keep the Bareilly Junction railway station clean. He explained in detail how difficult (and expensive) it is to get a railway contract.
The reason for his anguish this morning was that two of the passengers had relieved themselves on the foot-over bridge, instead of the Sulabh Shauchalaya (private toilet) on the station premises. The contractor was fighting with these poor laborers for adding to his work and making him liable for fine, if the inspecting officer finds the excreta on the FoB. I somehow managed to pacify him and offered him a cup of tea and a samosa. What I discovered from my discussion was disturbing, though not unsurprising.
The privately managed toilet at the station was charging Rs20 per person for latrine, much higher than the specified rate. Poor people who travel on train floors, even for long distance journeys (taking 36-60hrs), and have little cash on them, can hardly afford to pay Rs20 for use of the toilet. They (including women) invariably relieve themselves in the open. The contractor says it is impossible to keep the station clean at all times, as per the terms of the contract.
By the time his story was over, my train came, I boarded on it. I had booked my lunch online to be delivered at the next station (Moradabad Jn). The train halts for less than 5 minutes at Moradabad.
As soon as the train entered the station, the delivery boys started jumping at the train, even before it came to a complete halt. Jostling with the passengers who had to get down at Moradabad, the delivery reached me and handed over my lunch box. However, before I could properly hold my food, the boy insisted that I acknowledge the receipt of food at IRCTC website and also give a 5/5 rating for the quality of food. We had just 2 minute to complete the task. IRCTC website would not open. I had no clue about what food has been delivered to me in the box. Nonetheless, I tried my best, but unsuccessfully. The train started moving and the boy had to jump off. Barely 5 minutes had passed, and I got a call from his boss. He insisted “please give me 5/5 rating”, otherwise IRCTC will not release my payment (Rs374). After struggling for 15 minutes, I somehow managed to complete the task. I acknowledged the receipt of food on time, and gave the food 5/5 rating, even though it was not even 2/5.
Since I have been giving 10/10 rating to the authorized service stations where I get my cars services; to the guy who comes for regular RO and AC servicing at my house; and all my bank relationship managers, regardless of their service standards, I did not even think once before giving this caterer 5/5.
Tackling potholes and meet scary musclemen
Last weekend, I traveled to Mohali (Punjab) from Gurgaon, to meet my daughter at her college. All colleges in Punjab were closed for a week due to floods and heavy rain alerts. We took the newly built UER-2 (link road between NH48 and NH44), to reach NH44. Drove on NH44 till Shambhu Border near Ambala, and then took NH 205A to Mohali. On our way to Mohali, we covered a distance of 270 kms and crossed 5 toll gates, paying a total toll tax appx Rs500.
At each toll plaza wait time exceeded one minute. Each toll plaza has deployed ominous looking bouncers; in case you think of complaining about wait time or seek toll waiver as per the NHAI rules.
The worst part however is that most of the expressway was in bad shape. There were potholes at many places. There were diversions to the poorly maintained service lane (apparently for many weeks) as the main carriageway is under repair. There were tractors overloaded with chaff, ominously covering almost two highway lanes. There were e-rickshaw; three wheeled tempos; overloaded motorbikes with riders not wearing helmets; large goods carriers and trailers consistently driving in fast lane and overtaking lanes, blocking cars; and roadways buses driving crazily. On the entire stretch we did not see even one policeman. Driving through NH44 was definitely a forgettable experience. Moreover, there is no chance that things will improve anytime soon.
“As I dodged potholes on NH44, I was reminded of a recent groundbreaking judgment of the Kerala High Court (Re. Shaji J. Kodankadath v. Union of India), establishing a crucial precedent in public infrastructure law. The court ruled that the National Highways Authority of India (NHAI) cannot collect toll fees from road users when highways fail to meet prescribed maintenance standards. This landmark decision suspended toll collection at the Paliyekkara Toll Plaza on NH-544 for four weeks, citing severe traffic congestion, poor road conditions, and NHAI's failure to provide adequate infrastructure services. The judgement has been subsequently confirmed by the Supreme Court of India also.
The judgment ought to represent a paradigm shift in the relationship between infrastructure development authorities and public rights. It must establish beyond any doubt that toll collection must be contingent upon service delivery standards.
NHAI has, however, not taken any action in pursuance of this judgement. No instruction, advice, order, and/or request has been apparently issued to the toll collector to suspend toll collection where the road conditions do not conform to the prescribed standards.
If the government agencies treat the Supreme Court instructions with such contempt, what should be expected of scrupulous elements of the society.
These are just three short stories. But collectively they make for a big picture which depicts the biggest malice in our system.
….to continue tomorrow
