Another bridge has collapsed. Another condolence message. Another round of ex-gratia announcements. This time, it’s Vadodara in Gujarat— CM Bhupendra Rajnikant Patel’s state.
The Vadodara tragedy has once again exposed a dark irony — in a country that claims to have weeded out corruption, why do our public structures keep falling apart?
Yes, the finger must be pointed at those in power — for failed oversight, weak regulation, and the lip service to safety. But the responsibility doesn’t stop there. From contractors to engineers, local officials to the citizens who choose silence — it’s time everyone started asking: Who signed off on these death traps? Who got paid to look the other way?
Time and again, bridges—some newly built, others recently renovated—are crumbling across the country, taking lives and exposing a deeply unsettling truth: India’s infrastructure is failing its people. And yet, the government insists that it’s running a clean, corruption-free administration.
But if the system is really so clean, how are these disasters still happening?
Over the past few years, we’ve witnessed a shocking number of such incidents. Morbi was one of the worst. The images are etched in the nation’s memory: people falling into the river, families torn apart. Then came Bihar, Mizoram, Maharashtra—and now Gujarat. Each time, authorities react with expressions of sorrow and promises of action. But when the dust settles, it’s business as usual. No real accountability, no lasting change.
This pattern forces us to ask a simple yet critical question: Is corruption truly gone, or has it just changed shape?
Because corruption isn’t always about someone taking a bribe in a dark corner. Sometimes, it’s about cutting corners in construction, awarding contracts without scrutiny, or ignoring red flags flagged by local engineers and residents. Sometimes, it’s about protecting the wrong people and punishing no one.
Let’s not forget that these bridges are lifelines for millions—commuters, farmers, students. They represent more than concrete and steel. They represent trust. And every time one collapses, that trust crumbles too.
The Prime Minister’s tweet on the Vadodara tragedy was quick. As always, ex-gratia compensation was announced—₹2 lakh for the families of the dead, ₹50,000 for the injured. But is that enough? What about ensuring such tragedies don’t happen in the first place?
If the Modi government is truly committed to transparency and accountability, it must ask itself:
- Who approved these faulty designs?
- Who signed off on the safety reports?
- Why are the same contractors still getting projects?
This is not just about one bridge. It’s about a pattern. A dangerous one. And if a government that prides itself on good governance and bold reforms can’t fix this, who will?
For now, the people of Vadodara mourn. Families grieve. And the rest of India watches, hoping they won’t be next.
It’s time to stop hiding behind press notes and start fixing the rot. Because a corruption-free India isn’t just a slogan. It should be a lived reality—on roads, in villages, and yes, across every bridge we cross.
Also, if we want to live in a truly corruption-free nation, we cannot let bridges collapse while our outrage lasts just 24 hours. This isn’t just about governance. It’s about a moral collapse — and it’s collective.
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