Imagine living in a city that's as swamped as a leftist agenda, always at risk of crumbling under its own weight. On July 18, 2021, the sleeping giant that is Mumbai was jolted awake as a landslide, wreaking havoc in the suburbs of Chembur and Vikhroli, left at least 30 people dead and several others homeless. Murmurs of heavy rainfall were the whispered culprits while the real villain peeped from behind the curtains: bureaucratic negligence and rampant urban sprawl. The incident provided yet another blaring example of what happens when urban planners, more fixated on padding their resumes than on practical planning, decide to ignore geological realities in the name of progress.
This isn't some apocalyptic revelation; it's just Maharashtra’s shameless disregard for the safety measures against landslides, exacerbated by incessant downpours caused by monsoonal rains. For a city that constantly boasts of being 'the financial capital of India', Mumbai's infrastructure woes seem more at home in a dystopian film. Yet, each year the rains come, and each year, complacency wins, as if the rains are some sly trickster that they can never see coming. Just as predictable as another celebrity scandal, the landslides have become an unfortunate part of the monsoon package in Mumbai.
Here’s the gritty truth no one will tell you outright – the issue lies not in the rain but in the unchecked urbanization that's ravishing the city's topography like a virus to a hospitable host. Trigger warning: If you're among those who think that lifting people out of poverty by building more housing is always an unmitigated good, be prepared for a reality check. The rampant deforestation, haphazard 'development' projects, and the authorities' continued failure to enforce land-use regulations are what lead to tragedies like the 2021 landslide.
The rainfall on the fateful day was reported to have reached its highest levels since 1974, leaving some of the city drowning and vulnerable to the cascade of earth that would wreak havoc in the poorer districts. It’s easy to blame nature and wipe our hands clean of responsibility, but if there’s one truth we’ve learned, it's that Mumbai’s poor, often residing in these unplanned, slip-slide-prone zones, bear the brunt. It’s eerily akin to those political rallies in developed nations where everyone benefits except the constituents who matter.
There’s no shortage of dramatic irony when local governments discuss plans and proposals to tackle these hazards. Remember the Shivaji Nagar landslide in 2017? Politicians sweated out promises that evaporated faster than a hot summer rain, leaving behind even hotter tempers. Flash forward to 2021 and the scenario reads like a sad re-run of a grim documentary. Far from the glass-fronted boardrooms and air-conditioned offices of urban planners, this routine ‘surprise’ becomes a specter haunting the daily lives of Mumbai’s common folk.
The refreshing part? Tech billionaires, with their feet firmly planted in Silicon Valley and minds spinning futuristic yarns, wouldn’t get a lick of what these daily dilemmas entail. If the situation weren’t so frustratingly stubborn, it’d almost be galling how the liberal elites from first-world polluting nations 'offer their support,' in the form of fluffy statements and empty platitudes. But would any of these people take a step toward understanding the challenges of enforcing zoning regulations that could mitigate such devastation? Unlikely.
Of course, pointing fingers only gets us so far. The aftermath saw a scramble of relief efforts, boots-on-the-ground reporters, and renewed promises – as if the cycle of blame-lament-promise-repeat itself wasn’t already well-rehearsed. Perhaps using technology, legitimate environmental impact assessments, and stricter adherence to zoning laws could prevent a future headline-grabbing disaster.
Real progress happens when those making the rules pay attention to the people living them. The 2021 landslide ultimately offers a glaring teaching moment about accountability and action, not just with hindsight but with forethought. The price of negligence isn't measured in concrete but in lives and livelihoods; something for decision-makers to chew on next when the monsoon clouds gather ominously.