The world claps when India plants its flag on the Moon. Cameras flash when leaders hail us as the next great economic power. From outside, we look unstoppable — a nation with satellites circling the earth, armies ranked among the strongest, and billionaires on magazine covers.
But walk inside our lanes, into our villages, into the dim corridors of our government schools, and another India rises to meet you. Here, children sit under roofs that may collapse any day. Here, women clutch their dupattas tight in crowded railway coaches, whispering silent prayers that they reach home unhurt. Here, mothers still walk a kilometre at night for a toilet that should have been at their doorstep. This is the India we live in. This is the India the world does not see.
The Two Faces of Progress
On paper, India has made great strides. NITI Aayog reports that around 25 crore people escaped multidimensional poverty between 2013 and 2023. Yet, for many, progress remains a buzzword — healthcare unaffordable, toilets just beyond reach, schools with ceilings that threaten to collapse.
This dichotomy is no illusion. A software engineer in Bengaluru may wire money home in seconds. His mother, back in her Karnataka village, still fetches water from a community well. India can be digital and destitute, billion-dollar startups and beggary — all at once.
The glow of billionaires’ wealth lights up global magazines, while the kerosene lamp of a rural household still flickers weakly in the night. This duality is the nation’s greatest contradiction.
Railways: The Showcase and the Struggle
Indian Railways has always been called the lifeline of the nation. Gleaming Vande Bharat Express trains symbolise speed and modernity. Government brochures proudly feature plush interiors, reclining seats, and smiling passengers.
But step into a general coach at midnight, and the picture changes. Women sit pressed against corners, their dupattas clutched tightly, eyes darting at every movement. Harassment is so routine that silence has become the coping mechanism. “We don’t complain anymore,” said a college student in Patna, “because nothing will happen except stares.”
Stations also tell a story of neglect.
Cracked platforms, broken benches, and toilets are locked or unusable. In Bihar’s Buxar, an inspection found sewage pooling near the waiting hall, while mothers held their children on their laps because benches were missing. In Patna’s Khagaul railway colony, monsoon rains turned staff quarters into ponds. Children splashed in contaminated water that brought fever and rashes.
Even railway employees — the people who keep the system moving — suffer indignities. Thousands of locomotives still lack toilets. Imagine being on a 10-hour duty shift with no sanitation, and you realise the cost of neglect is borne not only by passengers but by workers too.
The railway is both India’s pride and its pain: polished in brochures, corroded in reality.
Schools: Education or Endangerment?
Education is supposed to be the ladder of opportunity. But what happens when the ladder itself is broken?
In Kerala, 13-year-old Mithun died after climbing onto a cycle shed roof to fetch a sandal. A dangerously low-hanging live wire, only 4.28 m above the shed instead of the mandatory 4.6 m, delivered a lethal shock. The shed itself was illegal, constructed under the wires years ago.
News of his death tore through the village. His mother, working in Kuwait to build him a better life, flew back only to see her son in a coffin. Villagers stood in the rain to pay last respects, their umbrellas useless against the storm of grief. One mourner whispered, “If they had checked once, just once, this boy would be alive.”
The government announced ₹5 lakh compensation and promised a new house. But what is a cheque compared to a life?
And it wasn’t an isolated incident. A week later, another roof collapse was reported in Rajasthan, this time killing seven children in their classroom. In Kerala, too, ceilings fell in auditoriums, injuring students. These are not accidents — they are the results of unchecked neglect.
And danger comes not only from collapsing walls but from people entrusted with care. Across India, cases of sexual assault in schools surface with grim regularity. A girl was raped in her school bathroom by a staff member. In Bhopal, one of the richest cities, a child from an elite school was raped by her own bus driver and left in a coma. Parents who thought high fees meant safety realised too late that danger does not discriminate between poor government schools and polished private campuses.
One grieving father said, “We thought money bought security. It only bought silence.”
When schools become places of death and trauma, the very foundation of trust is shattered.
Sanitation and Cleanliness: The Broken Promise
The Swachh Bharat Abhiyan promised dignity. Prime ministers spoke of toilets as a priority, and statistics soon declared India “open defecation free.”
But walk into rural Rajasthan at dawn. You will see women in groups of three or four, carrying small cans of water, walking kilometres to reach fields. They walk before sunrise, not for convenience, but for safety — hoping darkness shields them from prying eyes. For them, every step is an act of vulnerability.
In many villages, toilets exist but are unusable. No water, no doors, no maintenance. A non-functional toilet is no toilet at all.
In cities, things are not much better. In Mumbai, one public toilet may serve 1,500 women. In Jaipur’s bustling old market, women often avoid drinking water throughout the day to avoid using dirty or unsafe toilets. Doctors warn of urinary infections and kidney issues.
A woman shopkeeper in Jaipur summed it up: “We sell modern clothes to the world, but we have no place to relieve ourselves with dignity.”
A nation aiming for the stars still fails to guarantee something as basic as safe, clean sanitation.
Roads and Accidents: The Silent Massacre
India’s roads are among the busiest in the world — and also among the deadliest. In 2023 alone, road crashes killed nearly 1.7 lakh people, the highest ever. Overspeeding, poor enforcement, potholes, and a lack of trauma care mean that every highway is a gamble with fate.
Behind every number is a broken family. A father never returning from his night shift. A child orphaned in a bus collision. A bride widowed within months of marriage.
And for women, bad infrastructure magnifies danger. Poorly lit streets, missing footpaths, and unsafe bus stops. Many women time their walk home by streetlights, racing against darkness. A Delhi college student said she memorises which lampposts work so she can plan her route.
Safety is not just about crime — it is about design. And India’s roads are designed to fail too many.
Women’s Safety: A National Emergency
Despite slogans like Beti Bachao, Beti Padhao, India remains one of the most dangerous places for women. Nearly 4.5 lakh crimes against women were recorded in 2022, with more than 80 rapes reported every day. Behind each statistic are untold stories of silence — for every reported case, many remain hidden.
Public transport surveys reveal a chilling picture. In Delhi, Mumbai, and Bangalore, between 50–80% of women say they’ve faced harassment on buses or trains. Some endure lewd comments, others groping in crowded coaches, still others constant staring that makes every journey feel unsafe.
Even India’s global rankings highlight the paradox. The same nation that ranks among the top five militaries and showcases space missions has been repeatedly flagged in perception surveys as the most unsafe for women travellers. Influencers write guides cautioning solo women tourists about night travel in Indian cities.
A call centre worker in Gurgaon said, “After 8 pm, I stop booking cabs. I wait till morning. The risk is not worth it.”
Safety is not a privilege — it is a right. Yet half of India’s population lives in constant negotiation with fear.
Governance Gaps: Where Accountability Breaks
Why do these tragedies repeat? Because governance in India too often stops at announcements.
- School audits are supposed to be yearly. Many are not done for decades.
- Police verification of staff in schools is mandatory on paper, optional in practice.
- Toilet construction is counted as success, but whether they work is never checked.
- Railways cut ribbons on new trains, but stations where millions travel daily remain unsafe.
In Mithun’s case, the Kerala Electricity Board had norms, and the school had responsibilities. Both failed. And a child died. Money was sanctioned for safety; it was never enforced.
An activist said it bluntly: “We don’t need new schemes. We need working ones.”
The Human Cost of Neglect
- Mithun’s mother, who came from Kuwait to bury her son, asked why his life was worth less than a routine inspection.
- Parents in Rajasthan stare at seven small coffins, their wails echoing in a village schoolyard.
- A Bhopal family watching their daughter slip into a coma, betrayed by the very system they trusted.
- A woman shopkeeper in Jaipur holds her bladder all day because she has no clean toilet.
- A young commuter in Mumbai who chooses to walk 2 extra kilometres to avoid a dark stretch near her bus stop.
These are not anonymous “cases.” They are lives broken by neglect.
What Needs to Change
- Mandatory Safety Audits in Schools: Independent engineers must certify every school annually. Unsafe rooms must be closed immediately.
- Staff Verification with Teeth: No teacher, bus driver, or janitor should be employed without full police verification and psychological screening. Non-compliance should mean closure.
- Sanitation That Works: Build toilets with maintenance contracts. Tie payments to usability, not construction. Ensure clean, safe public toilets in every urban ward.
- Safe Mobility for Women: Ensure well-lit streets, functional CCTV, and reliable buses. Publish ward-wise safety scores and fix high-risk zones.
- Transport Accountability: General coaches must have crowd monitoring, female-only options at night, and swift punishment for offenders.
- Road Safety as Public Health: Redesign hazardous junctions, expand trauma care coverage, and enforce traffic rules with technology. Reform is not charity. It is justice.
Conclusion: The Paradox Must End
A nation is more than its global footprint. A moon landing cannot erase the image of a boy electrocuted under a school wire. A billion-dollar startup cannot excuse a girl who was raped in her school bathroom. A military ranking cannot console a mother walking kilometres at night for a toilet.
India’s true strength will not be measured by GDP or satellites, but by whether its citizens can live without fear, indignity, or neglect.
A child’s desk should never become a coffin. A school bus should never be a crime scene. A woman’s walk home should never feel like a battlefield.
Only when India protects its weakest will its power abroad reflect progress within. Only then will the applause of the world be matched by the