top of page

By:

Minal Sancheti

2 May 2026 at 12:26:53 pm

Lost in Transport

Mumbai’s grand transport infrastructure is undermined by potholes, Poor discipline and a last-mile gaps that keeps it crawling Mumbai: It is morning time, and Pawan Khandelwal is all set to leave for work. A creative lead at an ad agency in Malad, Mumbai, Khandelwal should take 12 to 15 minutes to reach the office, but that rarely happens because of the traffic, poor road quality and lack of civic sense among co-drivers on the road. He mostly ends up reaching the office in 30 to 40 minutes....

Lost in Transport

Mumbai’s grand transport infrastructure is undermined by potholes, Poor discipline and a last-mile gaps that keeps it crawling Mumbai: It is morning time, and Pawan Khandelwal is all set to leave for work. A creative lead at an ad agency in Malad, Mumbai, Khandelwal should take 12 to 15 minutes to reach the office, but that rarely happens because of the traffic, poor road quality and lack of civic sense among co-drivers on the road. He mostly ends up reaching the office in 30 to 40 minutes. Khandelwal firmly believes that road construction is not a major issue for traffic. “The road under construction is not a big issue because they usually don’t take very long to repair the roads. But even after their work is done, it is not done perfectly. At times when they are digging up the road for other purposes, they often leave a bump or a pothole,” he said. He gives an example, “One can see it on the western express highway. There are so many bumps. We call it a highway, but we can’t even drive at 15 km/h because it is not fixed properly.” He also blames people for not following traffic rules, which adds to the problem. Traffic Woes Although there are coastal roads and metros available, the traffic still seems to be a problem for many residents. A media professional and a daily commuter, Charlene Flanagan has been travelling in Mumbai for many years now. There is not much difference in her experience of the traffic congestion. From her experience, she believes the coastal roads and metros have not completely accomplished the mission of curbing traffic congestion. She says, “As a resident of Mumbai and as a person with a valid driver’s licence, I would say the traf f ic hasn’t really changed. It is still as congested, and whether the coastal roads have helped depends on the time of the day you leave and whether you are going against the traffic or along with the traffic.” The pedestrians also face problems. Saloni Mehta, a theatre artiste, says, “I prefer walking to my destinations. For example, I live in Versova, and if I want to see a play in the Prithvi Theatre, I will take a half-hour walk. However, this one time, I could not reach the venue, not just because of the traffic but also because there were no pavements left to walk on. The roads are dug up, and every road is just half a road.” Mumbai’s average speed covered is 5.2 km per 15 minutes. During the peak traffic hours in the morning, when most people travel to their workplace, the average speed is 18.5 km/h. It is important to understand the issue and address it with a solution. Sudhir Badami, an author of the book ‘Matter of Equitability - Making Commuting in Mumbai Enviable’, explains why people still prefer to use cars over metros, “The metro line 3 has definitely taken away some car users. But it has not taken away sufficient numbers of car users to make a difference in the state of road congestion. The reason behind this is essentially the last-mile connectivity in areas where the Aqua Line or Line 7 operates, especially in suburban areas. In the city area, it is supported by good BEST services on the one hand, and taxis being available near the metro stations on the other hand. But most car users still opt for using their cars, as public transport currently does provide assured exclusivity, comfort and good frequency, not forgetting last mile connectivity. The Coastal Road sees very few cars compared to the number of cars on Mumbai’s Roads. Badami, as a transportation analyst, says, “Mumbai has approximately 16 Lakhs motor cars, out of which only about 55,000 seem to be using coastal roads. It is such a minuscule proportion for whom so much has been spent. This is largely because in the city, people don’t go from one end of the city to the other end. They normally start from in between and go somewhere in between. If there is not much time saving for the shorter stretches, then people are not likely to take it, and there will be continued congestion on city roads.” “In general, the necessity of the last-mile connectivity is an important part, but the greater part will be how to get car users onto the public transport,” says Badami. Public transport must provide near exclusivity, comfort and safety to a car-using commuter for migration to take place. This is where the importance of last-mile connectivity is felt. Air Pollution The slow-moving traffic also adds to the air pollution in the city several times more than when they are moving at optimum speeds, he says. Joint Commissioner of Police (Traffic), Mumbai, Anil Kumbhare, denies that there is much traffic congestion in Mumbai as compared to five years back. He credits the coastal roads for curbing the traffic. He says, “Earlier, there used to be bumper-to bumper traffic near Haji Ali. That has come down drastically. As coastal roads shape, the traffic will go down.” He also adds that there is traffic congestion in the morning hours as people are travelling for work. But there is no traffic jam. Although coastal roads have helped, there are still pockets of the city that face traffic congestion every day. This can be solved with careful planning and execution.

The Soul of Bharat on the Big Screen

Mumbai: April 4, 2025, my heart feels heavier than it ever has. The news hit me like a monsoon storm—Manoj Kumar, the towering legend of Bollywood, the man who painted patriotism across our screens, is no more. At 87, he slipped away at Mumbai’s Kokilaben Dhirubhai Ambani Hospital, leaving behind a reel of memories that flicker in my mind like a projector that won’t stop spinning. As a movie fan who grew up with his films, I’m not just mourning an actor—I’m grieving the loss of a piece of my soul, a piece of India itself. They called him "Bharat Kumar," and oh, how he earned that name.


I remember the first time I saw ‘Upkar’ (1967). I was a kid, sprawled on the living room floor, eyes glued to our old TV. Manoj ji played Bharat, the farmer who gave everything—his dreams, his love—for his country’s soil. That song, “Mere Desh Ki Dharti,” wasn’t just a tune; it was a heartbeat, pulsing with pride and sacrifice. I’d hum it walking to school, feeling like I, too, could be that noble, that selfless. He won a National Film Award for that one, and rightly so—it wasn’t acting; it was living.

Then there was ‘Shaheed’ (1965), where he brought Bhagat Singh back to life. I’d sit there, popcorn forgotten, as he roared defiance against the British, his eyes blazing with a fire that could’ve lit up the darkest colonial night. It wasn’t just a film—it was a revolution on celluloid, a call to remember the blood that bought our freedom. Manoj ji didn’t just play the martyr; he became him, and every time I watch it, I feel that lump in my throat, that sting in my eyes. It’s no wonder it snagged three National Awards—his passion was a gift to us all.


Oh, and ‘Purab Aur Paschim’ (1970)—how do I even begin? He directed and starred as Bharat again, this time wrestling with the clash of East and West, showing us the beauty of our roots while the world tried to pull us away. I’d laugh at Saira Banu’s antics, then choke up when Manoj ji stood tall, singing “Hai Preet Jahan Ki Reet Sada.” It was a blockbuster, sure, but it was more—it was a love letter to India, penned in his signature hand-over-face style. That move, mocked by some, was his shield, his quiet strength, and I adored it.

And who could forget ‘Roti Kapda Aur Makaan’ (1974)? He directed and starred as Bharat—again, because who else could?—tackling poverty, injustice, and the gut-wrenching struggle for the basics of life. I’d watch, fists clenched, as he fought for the everyman, his voice cracking with raw emotion. It wasn’t just a movie; it was a mirror to our society, a cry for change. Seven Filmfare Awards across his career, they say, but this one felt like it carried them all—his heart bled through every frame.


Then there’s ‘Kranti’ (1981), the epic that had me on the edge of my seat. Manoj ji as the freedom fighter, leading Dilip Kumar and Hema Malini through a storm of rebellion—it was grand, it was gritty, it was everything Bollywood could be. “Zindagi Ki Na Toote Ladi” still echoes in my ears, a reminder of the battles he fought on screen, battles that felt so real I’d dream of joining the fight. He didn’t just direct that film; he sculpted a monument to resilience, and I’d cheer like a fool every time he outsmarted the British.


As I sit here, flipping through these memories, I can’t help but feel cheated. Manoj Kumar wasn’t just an actor or director—he was family. Born Harikrishan Goswami in 1937, he carried the Partition’s scars from Abbottabad to Delhi, turning pain into purpose. He gave us over 50 films in a career spanning four decades, snagging the Padma Shri in 1992 and the Dadasaheb Phalke Award in 2015—honors that felt too small for a man who gave India its cinematic soul. His last role in ‘Jai Hind’ (1999) might’ve flopped, but it didn’t dim his light in my eyes.


I’d read how he met Bhagat Singh’s mother before ‘Shaheed’, seeking her blessing—can you imagine the weight of that? Or how PM Lal Bahadur Shastri urged him to make ‘Upkar’ after the 1965 war, handing him “Jai Jawan Jai Kisan” like a sacred torch? That’s who he was—a man who didn’t just entertain but carried a nation’s dreams.


Manoj ji, you weren’t just “Bharat Kumar” to me—you were the uncle who taught me pride, the friend who shared my anger, the poet who sang my hopes. Your films weren’t movies; they were my childhood, my rebellion, my tears. I’ll miss you like I miss the India you dreamed of—flawed, fierce, and forever ours. Rest in peace, sir. Om Shanti.

Comments

bottom of page