Can anything save Indians from miserable urban lives?

You may argue that people want better urban lives, but there is nothing more useless than a ‘want.’ In fact, I would argue that the political class too ‘wants’ better urban planning. Everybody ‘wants’ to live amid beauty. An intent is not as important as where it lies in the hierarchy of intents. Everybody has broadly the same set of wants, intentions, values and goals. What separates people and nations is the order of those things.

I even think it is absurd in many situations to use the plural for priority. There is usually one wish or goal of a person, city or nation that has an outsized influence on everything they do. The hierarchy of wants is everything, because wants are often in conflict. And our cities and lives show that quality of urban life is not the priority of India’s political class and most Indians. As a result, we have no hope. 

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Urban India is only going to get worse from here. We try to throw money at escaping India within India, but even that is becoming exorbitant, because India keeps seeping in and you have to pay more and more to fully escape. 

Gurugram, where I live, is a dismal town lined with filth. As I write, there is waist-deep water in many lanes because there was moderate rainfall for a few hours. Rain is a common natural phenomenon that those who run Gurugram are surely aware of; also, it rains more than usual every year around this time. Yet, there is no preparation. There are stretches on the main roads where you just see a river of polythene bags. And garbage burns in open spaces.

That nothing is going to change is most clear when the municipality publicizes its “good work.” That is when you realize it may have no clue what a quality city life is. For instance, in a self-congratulatory way, it has posted a picture of a lane filled with slush to claim water logging has ended. 

I believe that there is an eternal battle between the village and the city—between people who are trapped in tribal instincts and old grouses, and those who wish to be cultural orphans and live in the future. Seen this way, with city dwellers and village folks as human archetypes, I feel most Indians are village folks even though many of them might live in something that is called a city.

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We know the contempt that the city has for the village—its pastoral ways, its labels and its backwardness and narrow-mindedness. This is a hint that the village too has disdain for the city. And it is not only about live-in relationships, the length of skirts and their other fears of modernity. It is also for all visual icons of the city, the metro systems, roads and cable-held bridges.

Golf Course Road in Gurugram was intended to be an imitation of a rich-world main street. Fancy, by Indian standards. A person who worked closely with local authorities during the decade when the 10-km Golf Course Road was built told me how much the officials disliked it. They said it was “not necessary.” Often, I get the feeling that Indian officials want Indian cities to have a mofussil gloom.

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When we reflect on our lives, we often do not include the government. We think of love and regrets and near misses. But I always think of the government—though not fondly. In the beautiful film of my life, the production sets were terrible. I see a girl from a distant time, I see that my heart is filled with joy that I am going to meet her, but along the way I am squeezed in a heaving mass of people in a humid train, all to alight in a hellish place called Andheri. I often wonder how it would have been if, in my 20s, I could walk to a metro station, get into an air-conditioned train and not see a little man dangle from the door, because the doors are automatic, and read through the journey or think of the young woman I am about to meet. 

Is this asking for too much? At the time, for hundreds of millions of people around the world, this was an unremarkable way of living. Mumbai, until recently, did not even have AC cabs. I remember arriving at the homes of people drenched in sweat.

Many feel that Indian cities are so  messy because politicians and developers are corrupt. But my complaint is not that they make money, but that they don’t know how to make money—real money. Imagine an India with beautiful cities. There would be so much more money to be made. An unsung reason for our urban mess is that we don’t even seem to do corruption well.

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In her book, China’s Gilded Age: The Paradox of Economic Boom and Vast Corruption, Yuan Yuan Ang divides corruption into four kinds: petty theft, grand theft, speed money and access money. India has petty theft and speed money, where bureaucrats and politicians demand or extort money from people to give them services. India also has grand theft, which is large embezzlement of public funds. These three forms of corruption impoverish a nation. 

But, she says, the fourth type of corruption, access money, is more interesting. It’s money that entrepreneurs give those in power to create things—new things, difficult things. This is why, she says, China has prospered even though it has its share of corruption. India’s urban mess shows a lack of imagination at many levels— including corruption.

The author is a journalist, novelist, and the creator of the Netflix series, ‘Decoupled’