Why footpaths in this country are not paved with the best of intentions

In a landmark decision, the Supreme Court has recognized the right to access footpaths as fundamental. Despite this ruling, many Indian cities feature deficient or repurposed pavements, putting pedestrians at risk while crossing heavy traffic. Fur...

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Why good intentions rarely pave this country's footpaths

The Supreme Court recently declared the right to walk on demarcated footpaths a fundamental right. Justice PV Narsimha wrote, 'The absence of footpaths to walk on, and even when they exist, their subjugation to motor transport, has been a civilisational problem.' The funda is solid, no doubt. But we Indians are sceptical of the gap that exists between normative ideal and ground reality. One hopes we can walk the talk.

I've been hit twice from behind, once by a motorcycle and another time by an autorickshaw. Both times, the pavement was absent. I'd like to extend the right to pavements to the right to cross the road. When I first went to England, I was surprised to find that there exists something called the pedestrian's right-of-way. Indian pavements, where they exist, become urinals, or they're turned into a parking lot. During peak traffic hours, 2-wheelers use them as a road to get ahead of traffic snarls. Our pavements are great at multi-tasking.

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I live in Dehradun. It has narrow roads. Most pavements are at the same level as the street, offering no protection. Recently, at the beginning of monsoon, the municipality thoughtfully installed a series of rumble strips on potholed roads, missing the point that concave crater-like potholes already, inadvertently, serve the role of convex rumble strips. SUVs are built to absorb the impact of potholes, but they still end up swerving on to the pavement because they want to avoid the bump.

When crossing a road, many thoughts cross the pedestrian's mind as she waits for that tiny opening, the brief window of opportunity in which to scurry, make the Usain Boltian dash. I tend to lurk on the kerb for the longest time, waiting for the traffic to thin. In my head, I'm playing a Test match. One has to let a lot of balls go. There will be a period of play when the runs will come - that is, when one can run across.

I'm amazed by skilful street dogs that scamper across with practised ease. At times, the dog goes over, says hello to his pal, and returns to my side of the road. In that embarrassing moment, I realise that the time has come to take the plunge. It's now or never. If dogs can do it...
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There is a class element to walking in India. You stop walking the moment you buy a vehicle. It's considered declasse to walk. In cities like Delhi, walking is an activity meant for the domestic help and dogs, more specifically for domestic helps walking the dog. The sahib and memsahib will walk on a walking path in the park, but not the street.

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I like walking. One can stop and admire a tree, take in hoardings and signboards, stop for a corn-on-the-cob; gently bump into people, for Indians have this funny habit of abruptly stopping dead in their tracks to check something on the phone. One can catch snippets of overheard conversation from passers-by.

I've witnessed scenes of petty violence: a woman whacking an 'eve-teaser' with her chappal; a bunch of students beating up another student over some quarrel; a man blaming a girl over a failed attempt at picking his pocket. In a moving vehicle, life passes you by. When you're walking, you can stand still and observe life.
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The pace at which one walks reflects the pace of the city one is in. Once in Mumbai, I was walking briskly at night, in a hurry to get to my grandparents' place. A disembodied voice rose from dark: 'Araam se chalo. Ab raat ho gayi hai!' I slowed down on hearing the friendly command.

In the monsoon, our roads tend to disappear. The other day, news came of pedestrians using barricades with wheels to cross a flooded road in Gurugram. A section of the Lucknow-Kanpur Expressway sank following heavy rain. For there to be pavements, we need roads in the first place. We might come across a situation in the future when the pavement remains, but the road has vanished. That will be poetic justice for pedestrians.
(Disclaimer: The opinions expressed in this column are that of the writer. The facts and opinions expressed here do not reflect the views of www.economictimes.com.)
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