A tragic bridge collapse in Pune claimed nearly 20 lives as people were swept away by the raging waters beneath. Even before the blame game could begin, Maharashtra Deputy Chief Minister Devendra Fadnavis squarely put the responsibility on those who chose to walk onto the bridge, despite a clear warning board cautioning against it. Technically and perhaps even legally, he’s not wrong. The government can conveniently wash its hands of the incident, deny any liability, and avoid paying compensation. That said, some ex gratia relief might eventually be announced—not out of compassion, but to soften public anger or harvest political goodwill.
But let’s face the uncomfortable truth: the biggest problem lies not with the government, but with us—the people. We are reckless, complacent, and often defy basic common sense. Safety warnings are seen as optional. Cautionary signs? Ignored. Rules? Meant to be broken. And the worst of it? Our blind herd mentality.
One person climbs onto a dangerous, condemned bridge. Another follows, emboldened by the fact that nothing happened to the first. No one warns the other; no one stops to think. Each individual assumes that their weight alone won’t matter. But when hundreds think the same way, the result is disastrous. A decaying bridge, already declared unsafe, is not some loyal uncle (bhanja or bhatija) that will hold up for the sake of emotion or tradition—it will collapse under pressure, indifferent to human foolishness.
And yet, when tragedy strikes, we’re quick to blame the government. That mindset needs to change.
Governments—both state and central—are fully aware of how citizens often behave. Morally, they may still be held accountable, as critics insist they must do more. And yes, like in many other countries, if a bridge is declared unfit, it should not just be marked with a sign—it must be physically closed off. Barricaded. Demolished if necessary.
Of course, barricades alone won’t deter everyone. There will always be thrill-seekers, rebels, or those simply oblivious to danger. That’s why we must go beyond passive measures. CCTV cameras, motion sensors, and sirens should be deployed to deter entry. And wherever feasible, human enforcement—security guards or local police—should be present. In a country that boasts of powering half the world’s digital transactions, surely we can deploy basic tech to save lives.
Let’s not deflect by pointing fingers at other tragedies, like the Morbi bridge collapse in Gujarat that killed over 150 people last year. Whataboutery serves no purpose. The issue here isn’t limited to one state or political party—it’s a national problem. There are hundreds, perhaps thousands, of old, decrepit, and dangerous bridges across India. The Centre and states must work together to establish a uniform national protocol to manage such structures and to prevent Pune-like disasters in the future.
We go out of our way to rescue people who climb mobile towers or threaten suicide in public spaces. We treat them with sympathy and try to talk them down. That same logic must apply here. Governments cannot rely on large crowds to exercise wisdom or restraint. When safety is left to chance, lives are lost.
It’s time we accept a bitter truth: common sense is not common. In a country where rules are routinely broken and warnings ignored, the state must step in—not just to punish, but to pre-empt. Because a stitch in time doesn’t just save nine. It saves lives.
