The Canadian flag has the maple leaf, New Zealanders are deciding whether or not to have the silver fern on theirs. If Bengaluru had a flag, it would have a pothole. For some years now, the pothole has been the symbol of our city. Omnipresent and omnipotent: if it were omniscient too, we might have been worshiping it.
But do we know enough about potholes? Our school textbooks don’t have a chapter on them, maths problems seldom mention their geometric features, chemistry texts lack instructions on caring for them, history books ignore their origins. This is a strange lacuna in our educational system.
How did potholes originate? Here’s one theory: pottery makers in 15th century England would take advantage of the ruts that wagon wheels gouged into roads. Looking for a cheap source of raw materials for making clay pots, the potters would dig into the ruts for the clay deposits underneath. Those driving wagons over those roads referred to them as “potholes”.
Bengaluru’s potholes are special. They are masters of disguise. At the hint of an approaching Minister, they turn invisible. How else do you explain the Transport Minister’s disappointment? The poor man travelled 25 km on the roads of the city – and by my calculation should have hit at least 12,334 potholes – but no pothole presented itself. One sympathises with the Minister. It is like going to a tiger reserve and not spotting a tiger. Or attending a Miss World pageant and not seeing a single beauty queen.
There are, I am told, some 29,210 potholes in Bengaluru. Sounds like a conservative estimate, but let’s go with that.
The playwright and novelist Poile Sengupta recently pointed out another unique quality of our potholes. “Potholes have cultural identities,” she said, “Tell me: is this of the BDA clan or of the BBMP?”
Maybe specialists can distinguish between them. From a distance you can’t tell. And when you hit them, they all have the same name: “@#$% potholes”.
Potholes are such an integral part of our lives now that it feels cruel to leave them to fend for themselves. It's time we started a campaign – 'Adopt a pothole'. Citizens should be encouraged to maintain and care for the potholes in their area. In a year’s time they could be eligible for the top prize in the 'Best preserved pothole' competition.
In fact, since there are only 29,210 of them and about nine million of us, we might need to hold an auction so people can buy the potholes they will nurture with tender loving care (something only the BBMP or the BDA has been doing till now). In one smooth move, therefore, the problem of potholes as well as that of the civic authorities’ chronic shortage of funds will be solved.
In every pothole there is hope, says Steve Martin in the movie Mixed Nuts. The letters h, o, p, e. The government can use that as a slogan while it continues to lavish tender, loving care on our city’s emblem.
