Not an Accident, but Murder by Corruption: The Vadodara Bridge Collapse Exposes India’s Deep-Rooted Systemic Rot

In Vadodara, Gujarat, the recent collapse of the Masagar River bridge was not a mere accident—it was a meticulously planned murder of ordinary citizens, executed through years of unchecked corruption.

This 45-year-old bridge split in half, swallowing the lives of 10 people, including two innocent children. Two trucks, two cars, a rickshaw, and a pickup van plunged into the river below. Yet, as always, no one is willing to take responsibility. Everyone is looking at each other, but no one is ready to answer for these deaths.

For decades, the common man in India has had to die to make the system listen. Each tragedy is followed by promises that it will never happen again, yet the cycle repeats. After every disaster, the same questions arise: Is the life of an ordinary Indian so cheap? Would these deaths have occurred if the system had acted on warnings?

In April 2025, a Gujarati journalist loudly warned about cracks in this very bridge, predicting its collapse. But the authorities turned a deaf ear. If only they had listened, 10 lives might have been saved. In India, the life of a common man is often treated as less valuable than insects. Each tragedy is followed by an inquiry committee, which ends up being a mere formality. The real culprits are rarely held accountable, and the public moves on—until the next disaster.

When a bridge collapses in India, it’s not just steel and concrete that shatter—families are destroyed, and the last hope in the system is crushed. Remember the Morbi bridge collapse in 2022? The 143-year-old suspension bridge over the Machhu River collapsed, killing 135 people and injuring 180. Then too, there were loud promises and hollow investigations. Nothing changed.

The cycle is always the same: construction, corruption, superficial repairs, another collapse, media outrage, temporary government pressure, and then collective amnesia. This will not be the last tragedy. The real question is not why this bridge collapsed, but how long the system itself will keep collapsing. How many more lives will be lost to corruption before the government takes real responsibility?

One-time accidents are called tragedies; repeated ones are called crimes. This is a crime—whether it happened in Morbi or Vadodara. Every time, the same script unfolds: construction, scam, fake repairs, deaths, media outcry, government drama, and then silence.

In 40 years, from 1977 to 2017, more than 2,000 bridges collapsed in India. In the last decade alone, over 500 bridges have fallen—an average of four every month. Each collapse claims lives, destroys families, and snatches away parents from children and children from parents.

Corruption is most rampant in infrastructure projects. When roads, bridges, hospitals, schools, and dams are built, scams are embedded in every bill. In 2022, 135 people died in Gujarat due to a bridge collapse. Now, 10 more have died in Vadodara. These are not isolated incidents.

The British ruled India for 200 years, but the bridges they built still stand strong after 100–150 years. Our locally built bridges, however, often collapse within decades, sometimes even before their inauguration. Roads wash away with the first rains, and bridges are built not with steel and cement, but with corruption and kickbacks.

Each year, crores of rupees are siphoned off in the name of repairs—money that belongs to the public, not the contractors or officials. Repairs exist only on paper, while the money lines the pockets of contractors, officials, and politicians. The result: 10 more lives lost, and nobody cares.

According to a CBI report, 90% of bribes in India are paid in cash to officials and politicians to get tenders passed. About 30% of every project’s cost goes into bribes. When the money is divided up before construction even begins, how can we expect the bridge to stand?

In India, corruption is no longer seen as a crime but as a shortcut to success. Society reveres those who amass wealth, regardless of how it was earned, while honest individuals are dismissed as fools.

Until the public stops respecting the corrupt and starts demanding accountability, these tragedies will continue. How long will we risk our lives on crumbling bridges built with our own tax money? If we want to stop this cycle, we must change our mindset—honor the honest, shun the corrupt, and raise our voices.

As long as the public remains silent, corruption will continue to devour lives. Gujarat, often touted as a model of development, now stands exposed. Whether it’s the 135 deaths in Morbi or the 10 in Vadodara, each corpse testifies to the rot in the system.

The question is: How long will the game of destruction in the name of development continue? The collapse of the Vadodara bridge is not just an accident, but a symptom of a broken system weighed down by corruption. The Gujarat government must ensure justice, accountability, and real change—or else, these broken bridges and shattered dreams will someday drown us all.

It’s time for the people of India to wake up and destroy the demon of corruption—before the next tragedy claims someone you love.