The first winners of India’s Smart City Challenge will be announced next week, as part of prime minister Narendra Modi’s ambitious plans to transform urban life. Rahul Bhatia goes behind the scenes in the final, chaotic stages of one bid,
In the final days of India’s first Smart City Challenge – an endeavour both ambitious and suspect – consultants just wanted the whole thing done with. As the December deadline for submissions approached, they crisscrossed the country holding on to nearly finished plans and proposals for the cities they had been assigned just two months earlier.
Their documents evoked those familiar, romantic overtures of urban development: constant electricity and an endless flow of water, cyclists with their own avenues, renewed rivers and promenades for families to enjoy each evening, and streetlights that sensed when they were needed. The effects would be felt far beyond the limited geography of each smart city, the consultants thought.
Pashim Tiwari, an urban planner working with the All India Institute of Local Self-Government, was among those who sensed change.
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Tiwari is comfortable with technology’s complexities. “I had access to tech a long time ago. Always. Others did too, but they weren’t enamoured by it. We had a BBC Micro in college.” He was fascinated by the Raspberry Pi, and said that the openness of his smart city system would allow citizens to plug in devices such as the Pi for their own use. The vision was appealing: the city as a programmable device.
At a quarter to six, a man stuck his head into the room. “You can go in now. He’s waiting.”
The office of the municipal commissioner, a powerful administrative official, was a floor below. In an enormous room, behind an enormous desk, sat a muscular man no older than 40. He was dressed in a grey shirt and beige jacket. He held documents with one hand, and used the other to smoothe his hair. The plan did not make him happy.
Tiwari shifted forward on his chair, eager to respond to any problem the commissioner brought up. “The thing is,” he began, “the ministry has said that for the pan-city solution, no costs on infrastructure should be incurred. They will only approve websites, information technology. It could be a traffic solution also.”
This struck the commissioner as mad, and so inconceivable, that he stuttered: “What is the meaning of this? We don’t need information technology here.”
An assistant agreed: “No, we don’t.”
“We need money for flyovers here ... ”
“We need those flyovers,” the assistant repeated.
“Sir, it’s your party that has done ... ” Tiwari interjected, referring to the Smart City Challenge’s driving force, the National Democratic Alliance, which forms India’s present government.
“I don’t know if you’ve been out on the streets, but we need wider roads, flyovers, proper pathways.” The commissioner scoffed: “Half these things we don’t understand: ‘Intelligent traffic solutions … ’”
He put down the proposal. “I wanted something we could implement immediately. I don’t see any of that here. And what you’ve proposed for the smart city area is very difficult. It involves a lot of demolition work.”
He continued: “It’s not my job to give responsibility to a software company. You’ve written that the company will look at traffic violations, number plate registrations, handle the CCTV control room. But all this is the police’s jurisdiction. You’re saying they will do our job. We will have no powers left to enforce anything.”
“It’s been a challenge for everyone, but the system that has been devised is just this,” Tiwari replied, sounding frustrated.
“Look at this,” the commissioner continued, engrossed in this vision of an alternate world where his post was irrelevant. “IT tools for automatic speed detection.” He looked at Tiwari, aghast. “There’s no work for us here.”
At the end of the meeting, Tiwari left the enormous room in silence, walked upstairs slowly, and pushed open the door with a “smart cities” printout stuck on it. Briefly, only for an instant, his optimism failed him.
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