Mayor Firhad Hakim inspects Kolkata streets, instructs road repairs on citizens' complaints

With Durga Puja's festive drumbeat just weeks away, Kolkata Mayor Firhad Hakim did a citizen-driven road revival, personally patrolling battered streets in the city's southern and central belts after fielding a flurry of complaints from frustrated residents about monsoon-marred pavements. Flanked by Municipal Commissioner Dhaval Jain and a cadre of top civic brass, Hakim dove into the gritty underbelly of Behala, Jadavpur, Haridevpur, Anandapur, Garden Reach, and Metiabruz, issuing on-the-spot directives to patch craters with paver blocks and concrete overlays— a smart, storm-resistant fix designed to withstand Kolkata's notorious downpours. "This is for the people of Kolkata; I've hit the roads before Puja to hear them out," he declared amid the whir of repair crews, emphasizing upgraded drainage systems that promise quicker water clearance and pothole-proof paths. This proactive sortie, covering over 135 roads in the first phase, isn't just maintenance—it's a pledge to deliver a seamless pandal-hopping experience, blending bureaucratic hustle with the warmth of a mayor who walks the talk in a city where every bump tells a story of resilience.

The inspection kicked off with unannounced vigor in Behala stretch, where Hakim's convoy snaked through James Long Sarani, Shakher Bazar, and Motilal Gupta Road, eyes peeled for the telltale scars of recent rains that had turned smooth asphalt into treacherous traps. Residents, spotting the mayor's vehicle amid the afternoon bustle, didn't hesitate to voice their woes—pointing out uneven patches near Haridevpur's Mahatma Gandhi Road that snag scooters and strain spines. Hakim, ever the attentive listener, huddled with locals on the spot, his sleeves rolled up as if ready to grab a shovel himself, before barking orders to the trailing engineers: "Fill it now, concrete over the blocks—no excuses, Puja's coming." It's moments like these that humanize the civic machine, turning abstract complaints into tangible triumphs, with workers scrambling under the golden September light to seal fissures before the evening azan echoed from nearby minarets. Pressing northward, the mayor's team traversed the throbbing veins of the Eastern Metropolitan Bypass, dismounting at Building More for a pedestrian's eye view of the EM Bypass to Shyambazar stretch— a vital artery clogged with honking autos and delivery bikes.

From CIT Road's bustling corners at Phoolbagan and Haddow More to Ultadanga's chaotic main drag and Khanna More's flyover shadows, Hakim strode purposefully, testing the tarmac with his own steps and chatting up chaiwallahs and shopkeepers about lingering hazards. "We've inspected 135 roads today; KIP and Roads departments have mended most, bar a Thakurpukur snag we'll nail tomorrow," he noted, his tone a mix of satisfaction and vigilance. Accompanied by the commissioner's notepad scribbles and department heads' hurried nods, this leg highlighted the collaborative grind: not top-down decrees, but a symphony of on-ground tweaks ensuring that even the Bypass's relentless traffic won't unearth fresh potholes come immersion day. Swinging through central Kolkata's iconic corridors, Hakim's path carved a sweeping arc from Shyambazar's five-point pandemonium—where concrete paver blocks gleamed fresh against the old bazaar facades—to Park Circus's seven-point swirl, then southward via Ballygunge's leafy lanes. The air buzzed with the scent of frying jhal muri and distant temple bells as he engaged a cluster of aunties near Gariahat Road, who praised the smoother ride but flagged a sneaky dip at Golpark. True to form, Hakim pivoted to his team: "Get it sorted by dusk—Puja revellers won't forgive a stumble." This phase, weaving through Southern Avenue's genteel curves to Hazra More's scholarly hum via Diamond Harbour Road and Lenin Sarani, underscored the mayor's holistic sweep: from elite enclaves to everyday bylanes, all tuned for the festival's footfall frenzy.

Hakim, beaming from the backseat of the official SUV as it idled at a signal, elaborated on the upgrades: "Kolkata's roads stay solid year-round, but we've ramped up for Puja—no more waterlogging marathons, thanks to better drainage." It's a narrative of quiet evolution in a city that drowns annually, where civic upgrades like these foster not just smoother drives but a surge in public trust. Residents along the route, from Jadavpur's student-packed cafes to Metiabruz's multicultural markets, nodded in approval, their feedback loops closing the gap between grievance and gratification in real time. Hakim wrapped his odyssey at Hazra More, Puja-goers, step out worry-free—the corporation's on eternal alert," he assured, his words carrying the weight of a leader who's traded boardrooms for boot leather. Yet, beneath the optimism lingers a nod to the eternal dance with the monsoons: even as crews pack up, contingency plans simmer for any rogue showers.