Welcome to the picturesque Andaman & Nicobar Islands, where the beaches shine, the coconuts fall in rhythm, tourists float in luxury, and the locals? Well, they’re navigating potholes, blackout schedules, and tanker water with Olympic-level patience. In this exotic dreamland, the administration has found its new obsession: not electricity, not hospitals, not bridges, but eco-resorts. Yes, because nothing screams “inclusive development” like a ₹391 crore luxury retreat at Long Island while the common man sits in darkness, fanning mosquitoes with old election pamphlets.
As per the official vision, eco-resorts will bloom at Smith Island, Shaheed Dweep, Long Island, Aves Island, and Sri Vijaya Puram. With budgets ranging from ₹60 crore to nearly ₹400 crore, these will feature five-star rooms, wellness spas, water villas, and if luck permits uninterrupted power. Meanwhile, back in the real Andamans, the NVVN Chatham power plant has been shut down for “upgradation,” resulting in scheduled load-shedding in five elegant time slots. Locals now live by the clock: 4:00 PM to 11:30 PM of rotational darkness. One auntie quipped, “Bijli toh gayi beta, par sarkar ka vikas 24x7 on hai!”
Water? That’s a luxury item too. With the Dhanikhari gravity main lines being shifted, the public has been blessed with tanker services and appeals to “use water judiciously.” From Buniyadabad to Garacharma, buckets, bottles, and balti line up like it’s some government fair. While eco-resorts promise piped water and jacuzzi baths for tourists, locals have started treating two buckets of water like a dowry gift. One uncle was overheard saying, “Pehle paani ke liye line lagte the, ab toh tanker ka OTP bhi aata hai.”
The condition of NH4, the so-called lifeline road, is another tragicomedy. Built under the care of NHAI which now unofficially stands for “Not Happening Anytime Initiative”, the road is more crater than concrete. And just when you thought it couldn’t get worse, Chatham Bridge was closed for the public. Sippighat and JodahKilan bridges, which had barely finished posing for their inauguration selfies, are now also marked “Do Not Cross.” Instead of building new bridges, the public is learning new routes mostly involving mud, frustration, and spiritual endurance.
Now, let's talk about the public health “care.” The GB Pant Hospital in Port Blair, the so-called lifeline of healthcare in these islands, is functioning on a new model BYOS: Bring Your Own Surgical items. Need surgery? Then please carry your own gloves, blades, syringes, and perhaps an extra pillow. Patients are routinely told to purchase everything from private pharmacies. One man said, “Doctor gall bladder nikaalein, lekin pehle gall aur paisa laayiye.” While people struggle to get a surgery done, the government is busy planning wellness spas and luxury suites with volcanic mud therapy.
And what about the voice of the people? Well, they’re mostly muted. A large chunk of the population here are government employees, and in these islands, speaking out equals professional suicide. Raise your voice and you risk a departmental enquiry or a transfer to Interview Island, where even Wi-Fi is a myth. Truth isn’t just inconvenient here, it’s punishable. One sarkaari babu whispered, “Main light ke bare mein kuch bolna chahta hoon, lekin mere transfer ki roshni mujhe andhere mein le jaayegi.”
Of course, the political landscape is buzzing not with action, but with letter-writing. Opposition parties are competing in what can only be described as an Olympic event of “Letters to the LG.” One for water, one for electricity, one to complain about the previous letter. The actual solution? Nobody knows. And the ruling party? They’re in such deep hibernation that locals are considering sending a rescue team. No press statements, no visits, not even a tweet but just peaceful silence, probably somewhere near a resort.
To top it all off, we now have the majestic launch of Geo-tourism. Yes, come see mud volcanoes, coral bridges, and volcanic islands only if you can survive the potholes, ferry delays, and blackouts along the way. Tourists fly over in helicopters while locals charge their torches with solar lights and hope. One tourist asked a villager, “Why is it so dark here?” The villager replied, “Madam, yeh eco-lighting hai powered by moonlight and government’s silence.”
So here we are, in the land of endless possibilities… for tourists. For locals, there’s endless waiting, carrying water, fixing punctured tyres from NH4, and navigating a healthcare system that says “bring your own blade.” While the government dreams of Maldives-style tourism, the people of Andaman dream of regular water, working fans, and a basic road without needing a chiropractor.
Dear sarkar, if only your dream for resorts was matched by your will to provide public services, we’d have a paradise for all, not just for influencers with GoPros. But for now, the average islander continues their candle-lit dinner, not out of romance, but due to necessity.
Andaman ka asli slogan hona chahiye:
“Development in dreams, struggle in reality!”
Comments
Post a Comment