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No liability, all optics: India's infrastructure mess

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On 9 July, the Gambhira bridge near Vadodara, Gujarat, collapsed into the Mahisagar river, killing at least 18 people and leaving several others missing. In a matter of seconds, what was once a vital conduit for daily life became a symbol of systemic neglect. Vehicles were crushed, lives lost, families shattered.

The incident, tragic as it was, didn’t arrive unannounced. The cracks were literal and metaphorical — foretold by corroding pillars, ignored citizen complaints, and a conspicuous absence of political urgency.

It is not just a story of a bridge collapse; it is a recurring narrative of India’s current infrastructure crisis, a tragic motif in a country where the measure of development is kilometres of highway and glossy inauguration ceremonies rather than safety or long-term viability.

With programmes like Bharatmala, Smart Cities and Gati Shakti, the government has been touting investment and construction as signs of national progress. In the rush to build, India has ignored what it means to maintain, regulate and protect. A nationwide pattern of bridge collapses, caved highways and crumbling public buildings reveals a structural malaise exacerbated by political complacency, regulatory failure and the unchecked rise of crony capitalism.

In June 2024, just days before its scheduled inauguration, dramatic visuals surfaced from Nagpur — Union minister Nitin Gadkari’s constituency — showing a newly-constructed flyover sinking under its weight. The Rs 535- crore Pardi flyover, part of the Nagpur-Mumbai Super Communication Expressway, was hailed as a model of modern engineering under the Bharatmala Pariyojana. Instead, it became a national embarrassment and a viral meme, with citizens circulating videos captioned: ‘speed of construction meets speed of collapse’. 

In Madhya Pradesh, parts of the Rs 1,600-crore Indore–Harda highway cracked and caved in shortly after construction. In Odisha’s Sambalpur district, a Rs 60-crore flyover developed major structural damage weeks before its official opening.

Vadodara bridge collapse: Death toll rises to 15

A viral video circulated in July showed a man tearing up layers of asphalt with his bare hands on a newly laid road in Bihar. In Rajasthan’s Barmer district, a road was washed away by mild rain before its inaugural run. As lawyer Nikhil Mehra commented in the aftermath of the Sambalpur collapse, “Nothing else explains this level of corruption and incompetence through the length and breadth of the country.”

In June, a pedestrian bridge in Pune collapsed, killing four and injuring more than 50 people. This, despite prior warnings about rusting and corrosion. In May, a portion of NH-66 in Malappuram, Kerala, caved in mid-construction due to inadequate slope stabilisation and poor geotechnical planning. Similar failures have been recorded across Jharkhand, Bihar and West Bengal. These are not the failures of engineers alone. They are failures of institutions.

The collapse of Gambhira bridge was preceded by years of complaints about its structural distress. Built in 1985, the bridge had long exhibited tilted pillars, rusted railings and disconcerting vibrations. Official inspections, including one in 2021, acknowledged the need for urgent repairs.

A parallel bridge was approved but remained unfinished. Despite known risks, traffic was allowed to continue. When the bridge finally gave way, it was more than structural collapse, it was the collapse of political will, bureaucratic coordination and moral responsibility.

Gujarat, the home state of India’s prime minister, has reported 17 major structural collapses in the past five years. In 2022, the collapse of the Morbi suspension bridge killed 141 people, many of them women and children. A private firm with no qualified engineering background had been awarded the contract. The bridge had been reopened without safety clearance. The scandal triggered temporary outrage, but little, if any, reform.

In 2025 alone, Gujarat witnessed three major infrastructure failures. These tragedies are no longer anomalies: they are symptoms of a governance model where ribbon-cutting trumps inspection and inquiries substitute for accountability.

You're building huge highways, but people are dying from lack of facilities: SC to Centre

India has over 1.7 lakh bridges under the Indian Bridge Management System (IBMS). Of these, more than 5,000 have been classified as structurally distressed, according to Gadkari's ministry of road transport and highways. Yet, only a fraction undergo regular inspection.

Rural and semi-urban bridges receive even less attention. Maintenance budgets are often slashed or diverted, and the system of assigning contracts remains opaque and vulnerable to manipulation. A 2024 report by the Comptroller and Auditor General (CAG) noted that ‘many bridges in the country are operating beyond their design life without any load testing or strengthening’, calling the situation a ‘ticking time bomb’.

One name that recurs in infrastructure headlines today is Bimal Patel, the architect and planner behind multiple high-profile urban projects, including Central Vista in Delhi and Sabarmati Riverfront. While not directly linked to structural failures like Gambhira, Patel embodies a larger trend of centralised, personality-driven urban development where large contracts are concentrated among a few elite firms with political proximity. The ecosystem incentivises speed, scale and spectacle over safety and sustainability.

This environment enables a crony-capitalist model of infrastructure, where political patronage and contractor collusion override public safety. Contracts are awarded without robust technical vetting. Substandard materials are used to cut costs. Accountability mechanisms are weak or nonexistent.

When failures occur, low-level engineers are suspended, while the private firms and government officers responsible for oversight escape unscathed. In the Morbi case, despite national outrage, most of the top officials and company executives avoided any serious penalty.

India’s infrastructure failure is also a legal and institutional vacuum. There is no national law mandating periodic bridge inspections or safety certifications. While the Indian Roads Congress issues guidelines, enforcement is left to state departments, often crippled by staff shortages, political interference and corruption.

Compare this with countries like Japan, where infrastructure is inspected every two years by law, and non-compliance can attract severe penalties. The US maintains a public database of bridge safety. India does neither.

Infrastructure expert Dr Rumi Aijaz of ORF (Observer Research Foundation) says, “As India’s cities strain under the pressures of rapid urbanisation, meaningful governance reform, rooted in data, accountability and community engagement, is critical to improving the quality of life.”

In Kerala, often praised for its social development model, the NH-66 collapse laid bare the state’s own vulnerabilities. Despite high literacy and administrative capacity, infrastructure here is increasingly compromised by politicised tenders, underfunding and environmental mismanagement. In a region known for heavy monsoons and fragile topography, failure to follow slope stabilisation norms is not just negligence; it is culpable inaction.

Technological solutions exist. Smart sensors, AI-driven stress detection and satellite-based monitoring can vastly improve oversight. A 2023 NITI Aayog working paper called for embedding real-time health monitoring systems in bridges and highways, emphasising that ‘data without institutional backing is meaningless’.

Technology cannot replace political intent. Without institutional reform and public transparency, data remains unused and warnings go unheeded. Public infrastructure needs more than structural audits; it needs democratic accountability.

An equal commitment to maintenance must temper India’s obsession with expansion. Between 2014 and 2024, the length of national highways increased by over 60 per cent, according to NHAI (National Highway Authority of India) data. Yet, the budget for maintenance has grown at a much slower pace. Maintenance is not glamorous, and its neglect rarely makes headlines until disaster strikes. But every potholed road, every cracked beam, is a prelude to catastrophe.

Amal Chandra is an author, policy analyst, and columnist. He tweets @ens_socialis

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