Peerzada Masarat Shah
Srinagar: Welcome aboard Jammu and Kashmir’s new-age Smart Bus Service — a flagship mobility project that was supposed to redefine accessibility, ease traffic, and bring comfort to the common man. Instead, it appears to have rolled smoothly into a paradox — one where the rich glide freely, and the needy wait.
Launched with much fanfare, the Smart Bus Service was envisioned as a progressive step toward sustainable and inclusive transportation. But in practice, it has become a curious case study in misplaced priorities. The service, which offers free rides across several routes, seems to be serving everyone — except those who truly need it.
At a bustling stop near Lal Chowk, an elderly man leans heavily on his walking stick as he waits for the bus. Beside him, a young professional, car keys in hand, chats on the phone before stepping aboard the same bus — both riding for free. This simple snapshot tells the story of a policy gone awry: a welfare scheme that forgot to draw a line between privilege and necessity.
According to Transport Minister Satish Sharma, the Smart Bus Service costs the exchequer around ₹2 crore every month. The intention, he says, was noble — to promote eco-friendly transport, reduce carbon emissions, and provide free mobility to all sections of society. However, as the system evolved, the “all” in that promise began to include those who can easily afford private transport, fuel, and even chauffeurs.
“The government’s resources are meant to uplift the underprivileged, not to subsidize luxury for the well-off,” Minister Sharma candidly admitted during a recent review meeting. He also hinted that the government may soon revisit eligibility criteria to ensure that benefits reach the right segments — the elderly, differently-abled, students, and economically weaker citizens.
But until then, the irony runs deep. In a place where public funds are stretched thin and essential services like healthcare and rural transport remain underfunded, the state spends crores each month to offer complimentary rides to many who neither need nor deserve them.
Critics argue that the system, instead of being a model of smart governance, has exposed gaps in planning and oversight. “The Smart Bus Service is a great concept, but its implementation has gone off track,” says transport policy analyst Bilal Ahmad. “Subsidies are meant to bridge social and economic divides, not blur them. When a government gives away free rides to the rich, it’s essentially redistributing wealth upward — and that defeats the very idea of welfare.”
The irony isn’t lost on the streets either. From Rajbagh to Parimpora, tales abound of corporate employees, government officers, and students from affluent families enjoying the free rides. Meanwhile, those who need it most — daily wage earners, vendors, and senior citizens — often struggle to find seats during peak hours.
“It’s absurd,” says Zahida Begum, a retired schoolteacher from Barzulla. “I wait for half an hour, and when the bus finally comes, it’s packed with young people scrolling on expensive smartphones. I sometimes wonder if I’m standing at the wrong stop.”
This growing frustration among the elderly and the differently-abled underscores the urgent need for reform. Experts have suggested that a means-based or category-based access system could balance the scales — for example, offering free or discounted rides only to identified groups such as senior citizens, persons with disabilities, and low-income workers, while charging nominal fares to others.
Globally, such models have been successfully adopted in cities like Singapore and London, where transport subsidies are carefully targeted. In India too, several states have introduced differential fare systems to ensure fairness without discouraging use. Jammu and Kashmir, observers say, could easily follow suit — but it requires the political will to act.
At the heart of the debate lies a larger question: Who truly deserves welfare benefits in a society already struggling with economic inequality? The Smart Bus controversy, though seemingly minor, mirrors a broader national dilemma — how to balance inclusivity with accountability.
A senior official in the Transport Department, requesting anonymity, admitted that internal reviews have flagged the issue. “We’ve observed that a significant proportion of users come from well-off backgrounds. The purpose was inclusivity, but we cannot ignore the misuse. Policy adjustments are likely after the upcoming review meeting,” he said.
Until that happens, the irony of the situation continues to unfold daily across the city’s roads. The well-heeled glide past in air-conditioned buses, saving a few hundred rupees, while the underprivileged — the scheme’s intended beneficiaries — struggle for space and comfort.
Perhaps the slogan on the side of the bus should be rewritten to reflect the reality better:
“Smart Bus — where the rich save money, and the poor save seats.”
As Transport Minister Satish Sharma prepares for a policy re-evaluation, many hope that this time, logic will finally get a reserved seat too.
For now, the Smart Bus remains a symbol of good intentions gone astray — a ride meant for the masses, but monopolized by the classes.
