It?s a conspiracy! I am convinced that the ?powers-that-be? (PTB) that (mis)manage the state are working hand-in-glove with the manufacturers and every single car repair workshop in the state. How else can one explain the condition of, what the PTB have the utter gall to call, roads? Recently, after about a decade or so, I had the opportunity of driving into the Bengal countryside. We were a trio of music-lovers, one of whose mother?s Fiat Uno had been pressed into service for the trip. Our destination: the village of Dattapukur, a baaganbari where a music concert was scheduled to take place.

Dattapukur, way beyond Barasat, is near the Bangladesh border, Petrapol, and I first went there was over 10 years ago to take delivery of a Maruti 800 that had been driven to the Bangladesh side of the border, Binapol. Although less than 100km away, the journey took over three hours due to the poor road conditions and horrendous traffic. But that was several years ago and surely, this time around, the trip wouldn?t take that long.

It was turning into a rather pleasant evening as we started our journey. Initially it was smooth sailing thanks to the new (though still unfinished) Rajarhat expressway that leads onto VIP road. But the pleasure of driving on a newly-surfaced modern highway disappeared abruptly as soon as we hit Jessore Road. Then the memories came flooding back as one negotiated crater after crater, while trying to dodge oncoming trucks at the same time. Having started out late in the evening, it was already dark when we reached Jessore Road. So while trying to dodge traffic, one also had to drive partially blinded on an atrociously-narrow two-lane single carriageway thanks to truckers driving with the headlights on high beam. Not quite the recipe for a quiet evening drive to the country!

Eventually, after what seemed an eternity (two hours actually) we reached the baaganbari. I cannot help but compare this drive with drives in other parts of the country, like Delhi for instance, where a two hour drive takes one pretty close to Agra or Jaipur, both over 200km away. Of course, once we reached the baaganbari, the bad roads were soon forgotten. Indeed, despite a slight mishap to one member of the trio, a good time was had by all. Unfortunately, all good times come to an end and soon, it was time to wind up and head back to Calcutta.

It was late and very dark with the minimum of lighting along the road (that leads to an international border). Signage was absent too, and soon, we drove onto an unknown road. Having realised our mistake, we were lucky to find a road that would take us back to the Barasat road. This one, to everyone?s delight, was smooth and unbroken. At last the Uno could be allowed free rein and so it was homeward bound at a decent speed with just the headlights lighting up the road ahead.

We were just about to thank our lucky stars for providing us with one decent road at least, when suddenly this huge pothole appeared in front and the Uno went straight into it, nose down under braking! Emerging from the pothole, it seemed the car had emerged unscathed and we were about to heave a sigh of relief when I spotted a little red light glowing fiercely on the fascia ? something was wrong with the engine oil pressure. Turning onto the main road, the car was halted for inspection ? a trail of oil glistening in the dim light of the solitary streetlight immediately confirmed the problem. The sump had been holed. What had been an enjoyable trip so far had now taken a rather serious turn for we were still some distance from Calcutta in the midst of rural Bengal.

What happened next was an exercise in Indian road survival techniques. Being a cold night, the engine could be run briefly without heating up, thus allowing us to coast along for a bit with the engine off. Doing this repeatedly got us to a petrol pump, right next to which was a dhaba. Parking in the pump forecourt, it was off to the dhaba in search of soap. After identifying the source of the leak, a clean hole in the bottom of the sump, the soap was softened and inserted into it to form a plug.

The sump was refilled with engine oil and fortunately, the plug held. It was still not a hundred per cent repaired and so the rest of the journey was undertaken cautiously. We arrived home at around three in the morning.

Some people may point out that perhaps we shouldn?t have driven at high speeds on such roads. The point is, why should bad roads be a given? Across the world, roads are the lifelines of any place. But here, the PTB seem to think otherwise. Yes, tax the people, but do nothing towards improvement of basic facilities. Consider the commercial implications: trucks breakdown everyday due to bad roads all over India sending transportation costs spiralling, time schedules cannot be adhered to and so demands are not met, forcing industry to bear losses. Traffic is slowed down, time and fuel are wasted and pollution levels rise due to poor road conditions.

On a personal level, who will bear the cost of the Uno?s repairs? Not the PTB for sure! I have every right to drive at what is a safe and acceptable speed. I have every right to expect good roads, which I get in other Indian states. I also have a right to expect roads to be illuminated properly. The PTB on the other hand do not have the right to let roads fall into a state of disrepair.

In Maharashtra, the judicial system has taken a positive step. A judge has apparently stated that civic corporations cannot blame the rains and weather for bad roads and that citizens have a right to demand repairs and compensation as pothole-ridden roads constitute a nuisance. The corporation?s defence was that since they had not created the potholes, they were not causing a nuisance. But then, that is Maharashtra and this is Bengal. If people don?t stand up and ask for what is rightfully theirs, why should the PTB bother?

Is there any hope? If the PTB could be shown the error of their (road)ways, it?s not only motorists who would breathe easy.