Whenever I think of inclusive infrastructure, I think of this story which I got from a blind friend during an interview:
What does three blind men talk when they mosey down the footpath on a lazy afternoon?
Well, if they’re from the same organization or industry, it’d be about familiar office politics, of course. Since most of them steer clear of politics themselves, it’d be about what happened between colleague A and B.
It must’ve been something about work, or the charity activity that they do together, that the three blind men were discussing while walking down the footpath of Queen’s Road in Bangalore, which in the eighties and nineties wasn’t as congested as it is today.
So absorbed were they in the conversation that they failed to notice the open manhole. Usually, one of them would sway the white stick wide enough to catch the tip of the manhole’s cement edge. Two of them managed to stray left and avoid a tumble, but it proved dangerous for one. He fell thirty feet down the hole and thrashed helplessly in pain and fear.
Municipal officials brought ladders to bring him out of the manhole that lead directly to the underground stormwater drain. The man escaped with some scratches, sparking mumbles among onlookers that he was lucky not to have broken some bones.
Newspaper reports reveal that Bengaluru city records at least 630 road accidents and 650 fatalities. I don’t have the breakup, but I’m fairly certain that none of the pedestrian accidents involve the blind, who commute long distances to work and home.
Every major city in India is receiving millions of rupees under the smart city project to splurge on roadworks, digitizing traffic signals and building giant elevated traffic corridors. None of these plans seem inclusive to ensure footpaths are straight enough for the blind to walk unhindered or elderly people to step up and down without hurting their arthritic knees.
Moreover, Indian roads are notoriously chaotic with illegal parking, people standing in clusters in all unexpected places and street vendors spreading their wares on paths meant for pedestrians. Traversing these spaces used to be fun when I could see, but I can’t say the same now because I constantly have to walk with the fear that I’d end up hurting myself or, like that blind man, tumbling face down into an open manhole, which isn’t pleasant in many ways.
The obstinate bureaucracy refuses to address these issues despite requests coming from many people. Of course, the challenge about sorting out chaos is you don’t know where to begin and I’m sure they’re as helpless as the common citizens despite holding the leavers to power and the purse strings to public fund.
The problem also is that we talk about an issue when it’s hot enough to occupy the headlines. Right from the rape of a young woman who we symbolized (for our convenience) as Nirbhaya to the recent death of 150 people who plunged hundreds of feet below into the river when the suspension bridge snapped, we find tons of remorse and solutions from experts, but everyone, including people in power, move in search of the next disaster -probably feeling bored about the one in hand.
Infrastructure can be inclusive when authorities meet activists’ half-way down and accommodate at least the most necessary of the accessibility features. The Bangalore Metro Rail Corporation Limited (BMRCL) put some thought process into making the metro train stations accessible, but are all stations consistently accessible? Did they keep it up with every phase of expansion? Did the inclusive process survive with every change in the administration?
These questions are relevant because the focus on inclusion is subjective. One department head won’t be equally interested in inclusivity as the next one, though it still puzzles me why the authorities aren’t making training mandatory for bureaucrats in all departments to make sure their focus on inclusion is the same. Why should an important aspect of building public infrastructure with taxpayer’s money be left to the whims and fancies of a single official?
People with disabilities are also easily satisfied with the low (or no) quality service that we get from our government. Most of us are legitimate taxpayers, the kind of people who turn up at the election booth to fulfil our democratic duty. Each of us have at least five members in our families who’re concerned about us (and vote for anyone who shows interest in inclusive infrastructure and other disable-friendly programmes).
Yet, here we are, still thumping our chests about the disability law the government has passed. If we understand one thing about our system, it’s that mere existence of laws is no guarantee of your rights. This country has plenty of laws, starting from protecting forests to recognizing education as a fundamental right, but most such laws are gathering dust in forgotten files at government offices.
Some of the NGOs and activists fight fearlessly, but we need to sound as one strong, insistent, and high-decibel voice that people in power can’t ignore. If things are to be better, we must monitor infrastructure around us and report it to our local government. If the guy in power isn’t listening, go to his opponent and educate him on the issue and ensure he has enough ammo to blast the incumbent out of power. The next time you visit the office, you find a familiar face who at least can’t feign ignorance.
And yes, it’s life-time work. It’s high time some of us sign up for the heavy lifting.