I never imagined I would wake up every monsoon to the sound of rain and feel dread instead of comfort. It’s not that I dislike rain; I used to love it. But now, in Guwahati, a single downpour can turn the city into an open-air swimming pool. Instead of idyllic rooftop infinity pools seen in smart city advertisements, we have waters infused with frogs, creepy insects, sewage, and a sense of despair.
Each year, headlines boast about crores being spent to modernize our infrastructure. Yet, whenever it rains even a little, Guwahati floods. I, like countless others, must navigate another cycle of chaotic water and government inaction. Areas like Zoo Road, RG Baruah Road, Satgaon, and neighborhoods known as ‘sagars’—Chandmari, Anil Nagar, and Nabin Nagar-witness waterlogged streets annually. For nearly a year now, residents walk through knee-deep water just to buy vegetables or send their children to school. The roads have vanished, turning into stagnant pools, and Google Maps may as well cease rerouting. This isn’t a navigation issue; it’s a fight for survival.
What’s particularly frustrating is the predictability of it all. Rain falls, drains clog, lakes like Silsako Beel overflow, and homes turn into aquariums. A neighbor once joked about starting a fresh fish business from his flooded porch after netting a couple of squirming visitors that swam in overnight. It was a painful joke because it rang true. We’ve caught fish at our doorsteps, shared kitchens with frogs, and dealt with unsightly insects invading our bathrooms. These uninvited guests don’t pay rent; they now coexist with us.
The tragedy runs deeper than mere inconvenience. These floods are not natural disasters; they are man-made, resulting from shortsighted planning, unregulated urban expansion, encroachment on natural water bodies, and political promises that evaporate faster than the water itself. Every year, government officials conduct surveys and hold meetings, showcasing plans for drain cleaning and embankment improvements. Yet, nothing changes.
I sometimes consider what it means to live in a “smart city.” The state government frequently promotes Guwahati as one. However, as I step outside, sidestepping puddles that conceal open manholes, I ponder: is this what a smart city looks like? Are smart features merely superficial-LED lights and footbridges-while the very infrastructure of our city is left to deteriorate?
There is an ironic twist to having a smartphone that tracks rain while our homes succumb to flooding. We’ve learned to adapt in ways that would impress survival experts: raising furniture on bricks, storing dry clothes in plastic bags, and keeping emergency candles elevated. This is not how we should have to live.
The government refers to it as artificial flooding, but there is nothing artificial about our suffering. It is real, tangible, and persistent. The more funds are allocated to ineffective projects, the more we drown-not just physically, but emotionally, mentally, and economically.
Sometimes I wonder if we would be better off taking swimming lessons rather than paying taxes. It seems that navigating life in this smart city doesn’t stem from policies but from sheer determination to stay afloat.
Original Source: https://www.indiatodayne.in/opinion/story/living-in-a-smart-city-that-cant-stay-dry-1219285-2025-05-26?utm_source=rssfeed
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Publish Date: 2025-05-26 12:41:00
