Nihal In India: Part 2 of a Series

Affluence, But to What End?

If you want to observe civic order taken to its logical extreme, visit Zurich. During my first visit, I found myself at a crosswalk over a two meter-wide trolley lane. Though there wasn’t a trolley in sight, I dutifully waited with half a dozen Swiss, waiting for the crossing light to turn green. The city lives up to the precision of its citizens: the streets are spotless; the trains go everywhere and get there right on time. Even the airport monorail was whisper-quiet, with only the noise of recorded cowbells and mooing adding a bonus helping of creepiness to the eerie silence. My return to New York felt like a UN fact-finding trip to Mogadishu.

The first morning after my arrival in Mumbai, I found myself at an intersection not much wider than that Zurich trolley crossing. There was no traffic signal, no crossing guard, and no mercy shown by a vicious and continuous stream of traffic. The expression worn by an elderly co-pedestrian was an only-in-India mixture of nonchalance and determination. Suddenly, the man saw a lull and made his move. My New York-honed instincts told me that he had miscalculated badly—I jumped back and cringed, bracing myself to witness certain injury (or death). But he made it with inches to spare and a honk from a taxi, and continued on his way.

To live in Mumbai as a local is to realize that while India’s economic muscle might have fattened wallets, everyday life beyond its citizens’ front doors is spiraling downward. The only thing thicker than the traffic is the air pollution. The 5 km, 8-lane Bandra-Worli Sealink bridge promises to create a bypass between Mumbai’s downtown and its suburbs, but planners have terminated the Worli end onto a quiet residential street. Streets are routinely widened at the cost of footpaths, forcing pedestrians onto the road itself. My uncle counseled me to avoid an express commuter train, lest I was unable to fight my way out of the car at my stop. Imagine a New York where the sun disappears into an oily haze an hour before sunset, the George Washington Bridge terminates onto 79th St., old ladies are forced to walk on Fifth Avenue inches from taxis and buses, and commuters breathe a sigh of relief after jumping from doorless trains that stop for seconds and depart without warning. Imagine all of this, and you’ll get a sense of the price that Mumbaites pay for their affluence.

The argument that Mumbai’s civic planners are challenged by their city’s runaway success was often rolled out to rebut my critique. And it’s true that the city represents only 2% of India’s population, but accounts for 40% of the country’s GDP. So Mumbai attracts countless migrants that live in unconscionable conditions by Western standards and overwhelm the city’s infrastructure, but keep coming to enjoy a life that would be impossible back in the home village. “What can be done?” the argument concludes with a sigh.

But just as democracy permits freedom of movement within a country, it provides all the tools for citizens to mobilize so that the common welfare can be improved. You’d expect that in an India that’s growing richer and where labor is plentiful and cheap, countless large-scale civic works that ease transport, improve sanitation, and create green spaces would naturally follow. But India’s urban and educated middle class doesn’t see their rising affluence as an opportunity to demand more livable cities. My insistence that cars should yield to pedestrians and that each intersection should be properly signed (and each road named, for that matter) were met with bemused smiles, as if I was insisting that Santa Claus was a real person.

Instead, the middle and upper classes retreat into their spotlessly-kept flats and emerge only when absolutely necessary. At the top of the economic ladder, the world’s fifth richest man is building a $1 billion house in South Mumbai. A man who could leverage his influence to catalyze the populace and intimidate corrupt bureaucrats into building the civic amenities that European and American urban dwellers take for granted has instead chosen to build the world’s most exclusive prison. Because when his new home is complete, Mukesh Ambani won’t be able to step out and enjoy a pleasant stroll through his neighborhood.

The contrast with Indians’ chosen benchmark couldn’t be starker. In the West, high living standards are measured by the charm and vibrancy of your surroundings, not by how expensive a house you can build on your property. My favorite memories from Boston, Munich and Madrid were rambling walks through neighborhoods and parks that spanned hours without having a single honk directed at me. My parents can choose between three parks within a five mile radius of their suburban New Jersey home. Walks in Indian cities couldn’t be more different, with the ideal stroll being short, and ideally within the confines of your housing society.

I found India on an unfortunate trajectory, in which the dividends of economic success are being invested in building affluence that ends at the front gate. “I think India more powerful than America soon,” said my driver as we made our way to the airport. I remember thinking that it was an odd thing to say after 45 minutes of being stuck in standstill traffic.

But at least the cows mooing around me were the real deal.

Editor’s Footnote: Well, that was a bit longer than your average nihal.com entry—sorry about that. And to add editorial balance to a decidedly negative piece about Mumbai: We loved “Slumdog Millionaire.”