Karnataka’s roads and the collapse of governance

 Two and a half years into its term, the Siddaramaiah government is battling an image problem that is not merely about perception, but about the lived reality of millions of citizens: the collapse of Karnataka’s roads. Nowhere is this more visible than in the pothole-ridden streets and highways of both cities and villages, which have become a metaphor for broken governance.

When people brand a government as “non-performing,” they are not referring to abstract policies or five-year plans. They are talking about the daily struggles of travel, safety, and mobility. Today, in Karnataka, even essential travel is being postponed because citizens cannot trust the roads. Photographs and video clips circulating on social media paint an alarming picture — highways washed away, village roads resembling mud tracks, and city streets breaking apart after every rain. These images shape public opinion faster and more effectively than any government advertisement.

The government’s excuses — that prolonged rains, natural calamities, or lack of funds have delayed repairs — sound hollow. Citizens do not measure governance by rainfall patterns; they measure it by whether their vehicles can move without damage or danger. If Karnataka, with Bengaluru as India’s technology hub, cannot provide motorworthy roads, it raises uncomfortable questions about the state’s priorities.

Even more damaging is the fact that the crisis is not limited to rural interiors. The capital city Bengaluru, the pride of the state and a symbol of global aspiration, is scarred by craters and unmotorable stretches. Cities such as Mangaluru, Mysuru, and Shivamogga fare no better. For a government that seeks to attract investment and showcase Karnataka as an advanced economy, this collapse of basic infrastructure is an unpardonable self-goal.

It is worth noting that this kind of neglect was not a norm in Karnataka. Previous governments, irrespective of party, managed to keep roads at least serviceable in major cities. The situation today feels like a regression, a return to the worst stereotypes of inefficiency and corruption. When roads remain unrepaired for months, people inevitably conclude that the system is broken, tenders are manipulated, and funds are either unavailable or siphoned away.

This single issue of roads has the potential to outweigh the government’s welfare schemes. Free rice or subsidy programs cannot mask the anger of a citizen who spends hours negotiating potholes, or who loses a loved one in an accident caused by a broken stretch of road. For the middle class, the business community, and even rural farmers, roads are the most visible barometer of state performance.

The broader political lesson is simple: infrastructure is not a luxury, it is governance in its most basic form. If the state fails here, nothing else matters. Siddaramaiah’s government may hope to be judged by its social policies, but the verdict is already being shaped daily on Karnataka’s battered roads. Unless urgent, visible, and large-scale repairs are undertaken, the image of a “government with broken limbs” will harden — and it could define the electoral outcome.