When people reminisce about Bangalore in the 1980s, 90s, or early 2000s, certain images come to mind: evening walks in Cubbon Park, the aroma of fresh masala dosa from MTR, the chatter in bustling local markets, and timely, predictable weather. Monsoons arrived as expected, summer heat was bearable, and the city moved at a human pace.
Today, in 2025, the picture has shifted dramatically. Mention Bangalore, and what comes to mind first are traffic jams, uninvited rains, congested roads, and potholes defining the city’s very streets. Step onto a Bangalore street after the monsoon, and you enter what feels like an obstacle course designed by chaos. Potholes gaping wide enough to swallow a scooter, waterlogged craters hiding jagged edges, and streets that seem to have their own secret geography — it’s a daily adventure, whether you like it or not.
Each pothole tells a story: of neglected promises, civic apathy, and citizens navigating a city that tests patience at every turn. Yet, in the absurdity of dodging these traps, there’s a lesson — about resilience, adaptation, and the quiet understanding that life in Bangalore often requires as much skill as a game of chess.
Life Between the Cracks
I remember one morning vividly. On my way to work, riding pillion on a friend’s scooter, we approached what looked like a harmless puddle. With a splash, the front wheel dipped into a hidden crater, nearly throwing us off balance. “Don’t worry,” my friend laughed, steadying the scooter. “Free roller coaster ride — courtesy BBMP!”
But looking around, it wasn’t just us struggling. Cyclists swerved wildly, knuckles white as they gripped handles; older pedestrians hunched forward, knees wobbling with every sudden jolt; children on scooters leaned nervously, balancing as best they could. Even those on foot weren’t spared — the footpaths and roads resembled less of a walk and more of a hopscotch course, each step a gamble between a safe landing and a twisted ankle.
Once, I saw a heavily pregnant woman in an auto rickshaw, clutching her belly as if her life depended on it, while the driver navigated each crater cautiously. The creased lines on her forehead betrayed her internal turmoil — what options did she really have? Public transport, a private car, or even walking — each equally punishing.
It’s one thing to struggle yourself; it’s another to witness others face the same peril and feel powerless. The city felt like a shared trial — a collective dance of caution, anxiety, and small victories — and all you could do was hold your breath, hoping everyone made it through safely.
A colleague who migrated from another city once joked that potholes were Bangalore’s version of massage chairs: “Why pay for luxury when the road already shakes you for free?” We laughed, but underneath the humor lay a quiet acknowledgment: the city’s roads demand more than patience; they demand empathy.
Math Where the Sums Don’t Add Up
Bangalore’s traffic congestion is among the worst in the world. In 2024, the city ranked third globally in the TomTom Traffic Index, with commuters taking an average of 34 minutes and 10 seconds to travel just 10 kilometers — a 50-second increase from the previous year. The congestion level stands at 38%, resulting in an annual loss of approximately 117 hours per commuter during rush hours.
1. Potholes and Road Conditions
The city’s roads remain in dire condition. In 2024, over 10,000 potholes were identified by the BBMP, highlighting recurring issues and poor repair quality. Despite ongoing efforts, roads continue to be hazardous for commuters, cyclists, pedestrians, and even children on their way to school.
Recent BBMP reports further highlight the scale of the problem:
- Over 7,000 potholes have been filled, with 5,000 still pending (Times of India)
- Each spell of rain creates 4,000–5,000 new potholes, worsening the problem (Times of India)
- In the fiscal year 2024–25, the BBMP filled 1.78 lakh square meters of potholes, marking a 63% increase from the previous year (Deccan Herald)
These figures make clear that while some progress is made, the pace of repair is constantly outstripped by new damage, especially during the monsoon, leaving citizens to navigate a city full of surprises at every turn.
Year | Potholes Identified | Repaired | Pending | Repair Cost (₹ Cr) |
2024 | 10,000 | 5,900 | 4,100 | 7 |
2025 | 14,800 | 7,000 | 7,800 | 12.25 |
2. Metro Construction Delays
Bangalore’s metro system, while expanding, has faced repeated delays. The much-anticipated Yellow Line, connecting RV Road to Bommasandra, took eight years to inaugurate in August 2025. Phase 3 expansion has been postponed multiple times, with the current completion target now pushed to May 2031, and costs have risen by 5%.
3. Waterlogging and Flooding
Heavy rains continue to exacerbate infrastructure challenges. In 2024, Doddabommasandra Lake overflowed for the first time in 17 years, inundating low-lying areas such as Tata Nagar near Hebbal. The BBMP identified 210 flood-prone areas, of which only 70% were addressed, leaving significant challenges unmitigated.
And it’s not just the working class that suffers. Children trudging to schools and colleges wade through knee-deep water, uniforms clinging uncomfortably, books wrapped in plastic bags as if education itself needs waterproofing. Parents delay morning commutes to drop their children off safely, while buses crawl at a snail’s pace, further stretching the city’s fragile routines. Flooding doesn’t just drown streets — it drowns hours, energy, and opportunities across every age group.
The Fragile Backbone of a Tech City
For a city celebrated as India’s Silicon Valley, Bangalore struggles with one of the most basic expectations of urban life: decent roads. The irony is painful. Global tech giants and innovative startups call this city home, yet its infrastructure often feels stuck in a different era. Each monsoon, the same headlines repeat: accidents caused by potholes, petitions filed in courts, promises made by civic authorities, and fresh layers of tar laid hurriedly, only to crumble again. It’s not just an inconvenience; it’s a question of safety, accountability, and civic pride.
The city’s growth seems measured by how high the buildings rise, how many glass towers dot the skyline, or how many luxury apartments overlook the horizon. Potholes, waterlogged streets, and crumbling roads remain invisible in this vertical race. But no matter how tall a building is, residents eventually descend to the streets — to commute, shop, or live. Until then, they are blindsided by the city’s failure to maintain the very foundations on which their lives depend.
It’s a simple lesson in construction that seems forgotten in urban planning: the stronger the foundation, the stronger the house. Why then is this principle not applied to roads? Skyscrapers may scrape the sky, but if the roads beneath crumble, the city’s growth is only an illusion — impressive in form, yet fragile in function.
When Streets Reflect Society
Potholes are not merely holes in the ground; they are cracks in governance. They represent neglected priorities, contracts awarded without proper follow-up, and a culture of patchwork solutions instead of sustainable planning. Citizens pay taxes, yet the return on investment is a road that demands a daily strategy to survive. The sight of office-goers stepping around puddles like chess pieces avoiding traps is not just comical — it’s tragic. How did we normalize this?
The city’s resilience is remarkable. We adapt, memorizing safe patches of road, sharing alerts about “killer potholes” in WhatsApp groups, and inventing humor to soften both literal and figurative blows. Yet this resilience exposes something unsettling: we’ve grown used to living with broken systems. Potholes mirror gaps in public life — acknowledged but never truly fixed, patched temporarily, only to reappear with the next rain.
Elections make the irony sharper. Politicians parade through streets in grand roadshows, ministers unveil flashy budget plans, and every campaign promises development. But while tax slabs rise every year, potholes persist, as does citizens’ disappointment. Roads are occasionally repaired for rallies or official events, only to crumble days later. Funds meant for civic improvement often appear diverted to election campaigns, high-visibility events, or other priorities, with little consent from the people who use the streets.
Every institution, company, and constituency is designed with a hierarchy for smooth functioning: responsibilities are distributed, people are appointed or elected, and citizens are expected to follow protocols. But does the other side follow protocol too? Often, citizens are bounced from one office to another, only to be told they’re in the wrong place — an endless ping-pong of authority that drives many to give up.
A personal example brings this frustration to life: the road near my home has been in terrible condition for years. Each time I try to book an auto, riders hesitate or cancel upon seeing the potholes. Rain worsens the situation, turning even a short commute into a gamble. Every election, the first promise we hear is to repair roads. And every election season, elected members come and go. Yet two constants remain: the broken road and the broken promises.
Rethinking the Ground We Stand On
Citizens are beginning to push back against this cycle. People take municipal bodies to court, create apps to report potholes, and mobilize via social media campaigns, demanding accountability.
Actionable solutions already in play include:
- BBMP’s “Fix My Street” and PACE apps allow residents to report potholes in real time with photos.
- AI cameras on municipal vehicles help detect road damage efficiently, shortening response time.
- Bangalore’s new 90-day road improvement plan emphasizes citizen-driven projects under “My Street, My Responsibility,” direct monitoring, and stricter contractor accountability.
- Lessons from Mumbai, which uses high-grade bitumen and long-term repair contracts, suggest Bangalore could improve durability and transparency.
Multiple stakeholder voices highlight challenges and hope:
- BBMP engineer: “We are using new technology and strict contractor monitoring to ensure sustainable road maintenance.”
- Civic activist: “Citizen reporting and digital accountability must be at the heart of road repairs — not just patchwork. We deserve transparency and lasting solutions.”
- Social media quip: “Nice patchwork. Next time I’ll pay taxes in installments.”
- Data analyst: “AI tools and data transparency can drastically improve repair outcomes, but only with proper execution and oversight.”
Civic Activism and Actionable Solutions
There’s a deeper reflection here. Potholes remind us that development cannot be measured only in tech parks and skyscrapers. True progress is seen in the basics: clean water, reliable electricity, functioning drainage, and safe roads. Bangalore, with its dual face of cutting-edge innovation and crumbling infrastructure, is a paradox — sprinting ahead digitally while stumbling physically.
Every institution, company, and constituency is designed with a hierarchy to ensure smooth functioning. Responsibilities are allocated, officials are elected or appointed, and citizens are expected to follow protocol. But when authority fails to honor the same rules, citizens are bounced from office to office, lost in a ping-pong of responsibility, often giving up in frustration.
Personal example: the road near my home has remained in disrepair for years. Every auto rider hesitates or cancels upon seeing its state. Rain turns even short commutes into gambles. Every election, the first promise is road repair. Every season, elected members come and go. And yet, the potholes remain — and so do the broken promises.
Civic activism is growing, but the city needs systemic accountability. Citizens are demanding more than patchwork solutions:
- Real-time reporting apps, AI-monitored repairs, and 90-day citizen-driven improvement plans are promising first steps.
- Lessons from other cities suggest that durable materials, long-term contracts, and stringent contractor monitoring could reduce recurring damage.
Progress is more than infrastructure — it is trust and transparency. The hierarchy should work both ways: when citizens follow the rules, authorities must respond efficiently, not pass responsibility onward. Roads are a literal and symbolic measure of governance. Until potholes are addressed sustainably, the cracks in democracy remain visible.
Beyond Asphalt: Bridging the Divide
Bangalore doesn’t just need its roads repaired; it needs its trust repaired. Every pothole is a symptom of a wider fracture — between promises and delivery, authority and citizens, vision and execution. True progress cannot exist on shaky foundations, physical or institutional.
As I dodge yet another crater on my evening walk, I see the struggle everywhere. Potholes may persist, but they leave us with a lesson: look closely at the ground we stand on, question what we’ve been given, and refuse to accept patchwork when we deserve solid foundations.
Filling potholes isn’t just about fixing roads — it’s about filling the gaps in democracy, governance, and everyday life. It’s about insisting hierarchies serve citizens, that accountability travels fully down the chain, and that progress is measured not only by skyscrapers but by the safety, dignity, and trust of the people who live among them.
Until that happens, each pothole reminds us: a city may reach for the skies, but if its foundations crumble, even the tallest towers shake.
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