Bridge to nowhere

The tragic collapse of a rusty footbridge in Pune district exposes Maharashtra’s decaying infrastructure, unregulated tourism and political cynicism.

Pune: The recent crumbling of an iron footbridge over the Indrayani River in Kundmala, Maval taluka, killing four and injuring several more, has become yet another symbol of the convergence between state negligence and India’s runaway tourism boom. As monsoon-swollen waters rushed beneath it, the 470-foot-long, 4-foot-wide relic of the past gave way under the weight of more than a hundred tourists and five motorcycles, many of them leaning over to take in the view or a selfie.

That such a structure, known to be corroded and clearly marked as unsafe, was still being used by the public is damning enough. But the bridge’s collapse is merely the latest consequence of a wider malaise in Maharashtra’s governance: a combination of infrastructural decay, political opportunism and a tourism culture that now borders on addiction.

Local authorities have done little to dispel the impression of ineptitude. Deputy Chief Minister Ajit Pawar said the bridge was “old and rusted” while blaming crowding caused its collapse. This was an admission of administrative failure cloaked in bureaucratic vagueness. Even more tellingly, it was revealed that Rs. 8 crore (roughly $1 million) had been sanctioned for a new bridge before the last state elections. Yet, according to local villagers and opposition leaders, not a single pile of concrete was laid. Only survey markings were made.

Mukund Kirdat of the Aam Aadmi Party has accused the ruling BJP of mere tokenism. Sanjay Raut of the Shiv Sena (UBT) demanding both Ajit Pawar and local MLA Sunil Shelke be held directly accountable. Their allegations find ample support in the facts on the ground. In 2022, then Public Works Minister Ravindra Chavan reportedly ordered a proposal for a new bridge. Nothing came of it.

Thus, the public was left with a metal husk, rusting and visibly weakening, despite repeated warnings. A police signboard cautioning against crowding and vehicular use was found buried under the debris. A concerned citizen even tipped off the police hours before the collapse that the bridge was dangerously overcrowded. Officers briefly intervened and left. The crowds, naturally, returned.

That said, the heedlessness of tourists was also evident. Lured by social media reels and the promise of ‘nature escapes,’ many rode two-wheelers onto the narrow bridge or leaned precariously over its edges for photographs. A flimsy bridge can be condemned and roped off, but in the face of viral content and a long weekend, such barriers are easily ignored.

A wider phenomenon

The tragedy at Kundmala is symptomatic of a subtler, wider phenomenon that is the post-pandemic tourism craze that has gripped India’s middle class. Once confined to occasional holidays, urban wanderlust has become compulsive. Every long weekend sees highways out of Pune and Mumbai choked with SUVs heading to forts, dams and nature retreats in the Western Ghats. The once-quiet hill stations of Panchgani, Wai and Lonavala now witness gridlocks every Saturday and Sunday. Local police forces are overwhelmed.

This influx has transformed the rural economy. In districts like Maval, agriculture is increasingly sidelined in favour of roadside dhabas, Airbnb-style farmhouses and ‘eco-resorts’ with little ecological grounding. While a veneer of prosperity has emerged, the primary beneficiaries are often politically connected landowners or local elites. Farmhouses, according to some insiders, double as venues for political hospitality offering entertainment, and occasionally more, to grease the wheels of bureaucratic favour.

The Lavasa and Aamby Valley projects near Pune demonstrated the early convergence of real estate and escapism. Their partial successes have inspired copycats across Maharashtra. Landowners, eager to cash in, plaster the region with hoardings promising “nature with luxury.” Meanwhile, their haphazard development often flouts zoning rules, water limits and safety norms. The authorities either look the other way or are complicit.

Imposed restrictions

District Collector Jitendra Dudi has now imposed restrictions around popular hotspots like Bhushi Dam and Sinhagad, hoping to curb accidents during the rainy season. He has appealed to tourists to stay away from dangerous zones, including Kundmala, where 14 people have died since 2005. But such appeals rarely suffice against a cultural shift that prizes Instagram moments over personal safety.

Tourism, if properly regulated, can indeed benefit rural communities. But the problem in Maharashtra (and India more broadly) is that such regulation is often reactive, not preventive. Safety audits of existing structures are rare. Crowd-control measures are minimal. Warning signs are ignored. Planning is dictated by the electoral calendar, not public need.

The Kundmala bridge collapse was not an act of God. It was an entirely preventable tragedy, made inevitable by indifference. It reveals, in miniature, how India’s obsession with growth and spectacle, whether in infrastructure or leisure, often overlooks the prosaic but essential work of maintenance and regulation.

If the state government is serious about preventing another such disaster, it must do more than sanction funds. It must spend them and then build and it must regulate crowds before they form. Tourism may fuel the local economy, but if left ungoverned, it will continue to erode the very foundations on which it stands.