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Behind the bullet trains and grand redevelopment plans, the CAG exposes a shocking truth: 89% of Indian railway stations lack even basic amenities. From E. coli in drinking water to missing fans and toilets, this hard-hitting blog dissects the gap between expenditure and experience, and asks who is truly accountable to the 23 million passengers who travel each day.
There is a particular romance that clings to Indian Railways. It is the stuff of childhood memories—the clatter of wheels on mismatched tracks, the warm, oily smell of fried snacks sold at platform stalls, the gentle sway that lulls you to sleep as the landscape blurs past. For over 170 years, the railways have been more than just a mode of transport; they have been the circulatory system of a vast, chaotic, and magnificent nation. They carry gods, migrants, soldiers, students, and lovers. They are, in many ways, the very sinews of India.
Yet, as a journalist who has spent two decades travelling the length and breadth of this country—from the misty mornings of Dibrugarh to the sun-baked platforms of Kanyakumari—I have watched this romance curdle into resignation. We celebrate the Vande Bharat, we applaud the new steel bridges, and we cheer for the electrification of every last mile. But we have quietly, and dangerously, forgotten the passenger. We have forgotten the basic, non-negotiable dignity of waiting for a train.
The latest Comptroller and Auditor General (CAG) audit has done what we in the profession call a “reality check.” And it is a brutal one. The numbers are stark, almost damning: of the 512 stations inspected, a staggering 89% were found to be deficient in one or more of the Minimum Essential Amenities (MEA). Let that number sink in. Not 50%, not 70%, but nearly nine out of ten stations—the very nodes of our national network—fail to provide the bare minimum a human being requires while waiting for a journey.
Only 54 stations out of 512 passed the test of basic decency. Fifty-four. That is not a failure; that is a systemic collapse of governance.
The Great Indian Illusion of Modernity
We are a nation obsessed with grandiosity. We love ribbon-cuttings and foundation stones. We love the spectacle of a new train being flagged off with a green flag, even as the station it departs from is crumbling. This audit pulls back the curtain on that illusion. It tells us that we have been spending crores—indeed, hundreds of thousands of crores over the decades—but the money is not trickling down to the urinal that is perpetually clogged, or the drinking water tap that runs dry, or the waiting room that smells of neglect.
What makes this audit particularly devastating is that it does not spare our most hallowed stations. It is easy to ignore a small, forgotten halt in rural Bihar. But New Delhi? Howrah? Hazrat Nizamuddin? Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Terminus (CSMT)—the UNESCO World Heritage site that is the crown jewel of Mumbai? All these high-footfall, politically significant hubs were found wanting. If we cannot keep our premier stations in order, what hope is there for the rest?
The CAG’s list of deficiencies reads like a catalogue of shame: shortages of drinking water taps, a lack of clean toilets and urinals, waiting rooms without adequate fans or water coolers, platforms without full covering, public address systems that are mute, clocks that are wrong (if they exist at all), and dustbins that overflow. These are not luxuries. These are not frills. In a tropical country where temperatures soar past 40 degrees Celsius, a fan is not a comfort; it is a necessity. In a country where hygiene is a public health imperative, a working toilet is not a privilege; it is a right.
We are a nation obsessed with grandiosity. We love ribbon-cuttings and foundation stones. We love the spectacle of a new train being flagged off with a green flag, even as the station it departs from is crumbling. This audit pulls back the curtain on that illusion. It tells us that we have been spending crores—indeed, hundreds of thousands of crores over the decades—but the money is not trickling down to the urinal that is perpetually clogged, or the drinking water tap that runs dry, or the waiting room that smells of neglect.
What makes this audit particularly devastating is that it does not spare our most hallowed stations. It is easy to ignore a small, forgotten halt in rural Bihar. But New Delhi? Howrah? Hazrat Nizamuddin? Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Terminus (CSMT)—the UNESCO World Heritage site that is the crown jewel of Mumbai? All these high-footfall, politically significant hubs were found wanting. If we cannot keep our premier stations in order, what hope is there for the rest?
The CAG’s list of deficiencies reads like a catalogue of shame: shortages of drinking water taps, a lack of clean toilets and urinals, waiting rooms without adequate fans or water coolers, platforms without full covering, public address systems that are mute, clocks that are wrong (if they exist at all), and dustbins that overflow. These are not luxuries. These are not frills. In a tropical country where temperatures soar past 40 degrees Celsius, a fan is not a comfort; it is a necessity. In a country where hygiene is a public health imperative, a working toilet is not a privilege; it is a right.
The Invisible Poison: E. Coli on Our Platforms
But the most chilling revelation of the report is not the absence of a fan or a broken clock. It is the detection of E. coli bacteria in drinking water at several stations. Let us be absolutely clear about what this means. E. coli is a faecal coliform. Its presence in water indicates that the water has been contaminated with human or animal waste. When millions of passengers, including elderly people, infants, and those with compromised immune systems, drink this water, we are not just failing them in terms of comfort—we are actively endangering their lives.
I have witnessed this first-hand. I recall standing at a busy junction in Uttar Pradesh a few years ago, watching a family of five trying to fill their bottles from a tap that dribbled brownish water. The father, a daily-wage labourer, shrugged at me. “What to do, sir? We cannot afford the packaged water.” That image has haunted me. The CAG has now confirmed that his fear was justified. We are serving poison under the guise of public service.
But the most chilling revelation of the report is not the absence of a fan or a broken clock. It is the detection of E. coli bacteria in drinking water at several stations. Let us be absolutely clear about what this means. E. coli is a faecal coliform. Its presence in water indicates that the water has been contaminated with human or animal waste. When millions of passengers, including elderly people, infants, and those with compromised immune systems, drink this water, we are not just failing them in terms of comfort—we are actively endangering their lives.
I have witnessed this first-hand. I recall standing at a busy junction in Uttar Pradesh a few years ago, watching a family of five trying to fill their bottles from a tap that dribbled brownish water. The father, a daily-wage labourer, shrugged at me. “What to do, sir? We cannot afford the packaged water.” That image has haunted me. The CAG has now confirmed that his fear was justified. We are serving poison under the guise of public service.
Why the Delay? The 59% Conundrum
The audit also throws light on a second, equally frustrating malady: the failure of execution. The CAG found that 59% of passenger-amenity works were not completed on time. More than half! This is not a case of a lack of funds; it is a case of a lack of will, poor project management, and a bureaucratic culture that treats deadlines as suggestions rather than mandates.
We allocate billions, we approve projects with great fanfare, and then the money sits idle, lapsing, or being diverted. The funds were not adequately utilised, the report notes. What happens to that unspent money? Does it return to the exchequer, or does it evaporate in the labyrinth of red tape? The answer is never satisfactory. For an academician or a policy analyst, this is a goldmine of research—a classic case study in the disconnect between policy formulation and ground-level implementation.
The audit also throws light on a second, equally frustrating malady: the failure of execution. The CAG found that 59% of passenger-amenity works were not completed on time. More than half! This is not a case of a lack of funds; it is a case of a lack of will, poor project management, and a bureaucratic culture that treats deadlines as suggestions rather than mandates.
We allocate billions, we approve projects with great fanfare, and then the money sits idle, lapsing, or being diverted. The funds were not adequately utilised, the report notes. What happens to that unspent money? Does it return to the exchequer, or does it evaporate in the labyrinth of red tape? The answer is never satisfactory. For an academician or a policy analyst, this is a goldmine of research—a classic case study in the disconnect between policy formulation and ground-level implementation.
The Human Cost of Neglect
For the general public, however, this is not an academic exercise. It is a daily struggle. Think about the millions of women who travel alone, who must navigate dark, poorly maintained platforms to find a toilet. Think about the elderly, who cannot stand for hours because there is no bench or fan in the waiting room. Think about the families with young children, forced to sit on their luggage on a baking-hot platform because the shelter is incomplete. Think about the daily commuter, the lifeline of our cities, who starts and ends every day in a state of squalor.
This is not the India we promised ourselves. This is not the Amrit Kaal we speak of in corridors of power. The railways are the great equaliser; the rich and the poor, the minister and the migrant, all sit in the same compartment. But the rich can afford the AC lounge and bottled water. The poor cannot. This audit is an indictment of that inequality.
For the general public, however, this is not an academic exercise. It is a daily struggle. Think about the millions of women who travel alone, who must navigate dark, poorly maintained platforms to find a toilet. Think about the elderly, who cannot stand for hours because there is no bench or fan in the waiting room. Think about the families with young children, forced to sit on their luggage on a baking-hot platform because the shelter is incomplete. Think about the daily commuter, the lifeline of our cities, who starts and ends every day in a state of squalor.
This is not the India we promised ourselves. This is not the Amrit Kaal we speak of in corridors of power. The railways are the great equaliser; the rich and the poor, the minister and the migrant, all sit in the same compartment. But the rich can afford the AC lounge and bottled water. The poor cannot. This audit is an indictment of that inequality.
A Question of Accountability
As a writer who has covered public infrastructure for over 20 years, I have learned to temper my indignation with pragmatism. I understand the complexities of managing a behemoth like Indian Railways. I understand the challenge of maintaining assets across 1.2 lakh kilometres of track. But I refuse to accept incompetence and apathy as inevitable.
The questions that must be raised, and answered, are these:
💥Whose watch is it anyway? The station director, the divisional manager, the general manager—who is held accountable when a station fails the MEA test? Where are the annual performance appraisals linked to passenger satisfaction?
💥Where is the passenger voice? Why is there no mandatory, third-party passenger satisfaction survey conducted every quarter, with penalties for failure?
💥Why is maintenance not a priority? We spend crores on new trains. Why can we not earmark a mandatory, non-negotiable percentage of the budget exclusively for station maintenance, ring-fenced from all other expenditures?
💥What about the water? If the water at a station fails quality tests, who is prosecuted? The Railway Board must treat this as a criminal negligence issue, not just an administrative lapse.
💥Whose watch is it anyway? The station director, the divisional manager, the general manager—who is held accountable when a station fails the MEA test? Where are the annual performance appraisals linked to passenger satisfaction?
💥Where is the passenger voice? Why is there no mandatory, third-party passenger satisfaction survey conducted every quarter, with penalties for failure?
💥Why is maintenance not a priority? We spend crores on new trains. Why can we not earmark a mandatory, non-negotiable percentage of the budget exclusively for station maintenance, ring-fenced from all other expenditures?
💥What about the water? If the water at a station fails quality tests, who is prosecuted? The Railway Board must treat this as a criminal negligence issue, not just an administrative lapse.
The Path Forward: From Stations to Destinations
The late, great architect Eero Saarinen once said, “Always design a thing by considering it in its next larger context – a chair in a room, a room in a house, a house in an environment, a building in a city.” We have forgotten this wisdom. We treat stations as mere transitory spaces, stepping stones to the train. We forget that for millions, the station is the first and last impression of the journey. It is not a thoroughfare; it is a destination in itself.
We need to adopt a Passenger First philosophy that goes beyond bureaucratic jargon. This means:
💥Zero-tolerance for unfinished projects: Dedicated project managers with personal accountability for timelines.
💥Real-time monitoring: IoT sensors on water taps, toilets, and fans to ensure they are operational, and a public dashboard to display this data.
💥Public-Private Partnership for Maintenance: Not just for building new stations, but for maintaining the existing ones, with performance-based contracts.
💥Citizen Audits: Enable local communities and passenger associations to conduct spot checks and submit reports directly to the CAG and the Railway Ministry.
The late, great architect Eero Saarinen once said, “Always design a thing by considering it in its next larger context – a chair in a room, a room in a house, a house in an environment, a building in a city.” We have forgotten this wisdom. We treat stations as mere transitory spaces, stepping stones to the train. We forget that for millions, the station is the first and last impression of the journey. It is not a thoroughfare; it is a destination in itself.
We need to adopt a Passenger First philosophy that goes beyond bureaucratic jargon. This means:
💥Zero-tolerance for unfinished projects: Dedicated project managers with personal accountability for timelines.
💥Real-time monitoring: IoT sensors on water taps, toilets, and fans to ensure they are operational, and a public dashboard to display this data.
💥Public-Private Partnership for Maintenance: Not just for building new stations, but for maintaining the existing ones, with performance-based contracts.
💥Citizen Audits: Enable local communities and passenger associations to conduct spot checks and submit reports directly to the CAG and the Railway Ministry.
A Wake-Up Call
The CAG report is not an enemy of the railways. It is, in fact, its greatest friend. It has done what friends must do: it has spoken the truth. It has handed us a mirror. The question is whether we will look into it or smash it in anger.
We are a nation that dreams of being a developed economy. But development is not measured by the sleekness of our new trains alone. It is measured by the dignity we afford to the most vulnerable passenger waiting on a platform, hoping for a glass of clean water and a bench to sit on.
Today, I stand with that passenger. I stand with the family of five, the elderly woman, the young student. They deserve better. We all do. The crores have been spent. The promises have been made. It is time to deliver. Not for the headlines, but for the human.
The CAG report is not an enemy of the railways. It is, in fact, its greatest friend. It has done what friends must do: it has spoken the truth. It has handed us a mirror. The question is whether we will look into it or smash it in anger.
We are a nation that dreams of being a developed economy. But development is not measured by the sleekness of our new trains alone. It is measured by the dignity we afford to the most vulnerable passenger waiting on a platform, hoping for a glass of clean water and a bench to sit on.
Today, I stand with that passenger. I stand with the family of five, the elderly woman, the young student. They deserve better. We all do. The crores have been spent. The promises have been made. It is time to deliver. Not for the headlines, but for the human.
