By Atul Rawat
There was a time when Dehradun was known for tree-lined roads, bakeries with mouthwatering cakes and pastries, and a pace of life slow enough for people to hear themselves think. It was a city of retirees, schools, and quiet afternoons. DJs were occasional, and “rush hour” was something one associated only with the metros.
Today, Dehradun appears to be competing for a national award in perpetual construction. With our roads, the sequence is sacred – Build Road. Dig road. Repair road. Dig again for pipe. Dig again for cable. Wait for rain. Repeat.
Meanwhile, traffic jams have become a civic institution, and the soundtrack of urban life consists of honking vehicles, construction drills, and wedding DJs attempting to penetrate the very soul of the citizen.
Somewhere between the cement mixers and the dug-up road, I wonder – whatever happened to my civic rights? The right to clean air, usable roads, peaceful neighbourhood, functioning footpaths, and public spaces that do not double as parking lots.
More importantly, who is actually fighting for these rights? The authorities? The citizens? The resident welfare associations? Or merely the brave keyboard warriors of WhatsApp groups who stand guard over civilisation – multiple forwarded messages at a time?
When one speaks of civic rights, one is not talking about grand constitutional debates. It is just to make my city life bearable—the right to breathe reasonably clean air, to sleep without being serenaded by a wedding DJ at midnight, to walk on a footpath that actually belongs to pedestrians, to drive on roads that are not permanently under excavation, and to live in a neighbourhood that does not resemble construction sites with occasional residential buildings attached.
These expectations form the invisible social contract between a city and the people who call it home.
I pay tax when I earn, and, I also pay tax when I spend. Yet, when a garbage dump appears outside my house, a wedding DJ discovers new decibel records, or an illegally parked vehicle blocks my gate, I begin to wonder whether anyone cares for my civic rights.
Like every responsible modern citizen, I join the neighbourhood WhatsApp group and begin typing furiously, convinced that the Aladdin’s Genie monitors local grievances and will promptly fix everything.
The list of civic emergencies is endless – barking dogs, monkeys, potholes, loud generators, stray cattle, reckless drivers, and the mysterious ability of construction projects to multiply overnight.
Every issue receives:
- 251 angry messages
- 75 folded-hands emojis
- One citizen declares – “Something should be done.”
Nothing is done.
But the discussion continues with admirable consistency. Complaining, after all, is the best medicine for my rising blood pressure and annoyance.
The irony, of course, is that many of us can violate every traffic rule, park on footpaths, throw wrappers from car windows, and then solemnly lament the decline of civic standards.
I once heard a gentleman block half the road outside a bakery and then declare:
“Yaar, this city has become unlivable.”
Well, Sir, you ARE the traffic.
As for footpaths, they have evolved beyond their original purpose. They now serve as parking zones, momo extensions, temporary hardware stores, and convenient storage facilities for construction material. Pedestrians are encouraged to use the road with utter disregard to their personal safety. They need a medal every time.
Crossing Rajpur Road during peak traffic no longer requires a traffic signal. It requires timing, courage, fitness, and occasional divine intervention.
Citizens believe – “The government does nothing.” Authorities believe – “Citizens cooperate with nothing.” And the twain shall never meet.
Well, cities do not decline overnight.
They decline gradually through everyday compromise, silence, and the comforting belief that “someone else will fix it.”
Then, who actually bleeds for the civic rights?
Not the person posting angry messages from behind a smartphone screen.
Not the citizen who demands order while creating disorder.
Not the authority that measures success by projects completed rather than lives improved.
The people who truly bleed for the civic rights are those who refuse to surrender to indifference. They insist that roads should remain roads, footpaths should remain footpaths, public spaces should remain public, and rules should apply even when nobody is watching.
Their numbers may be small.
But every livable city in the world was built by citizens who believed that “good enough” was not good enough.
The decline of a city may begin with indifference, but its recovery begins when enough people refuse to say – “Chalta hai.”
(Pssssst – what about the blaring sirens of the mighty – I shudder.)
