Biography of a flyover

The already jam-packed roads were now decorated with barricades, cement mixers, and mysterious construction workers who only showed up during election time.
Construction labourer working near a under construction flyover in Hyderabad
Construction labourer working near a under construction flyover in HyderabadVinay Madapu
Updated on
3 min read

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away from Madhapur (a whole 2 km, but in Hyderabad traffic, that’s basically a road trip), lay Kondapur — a magical kingdom ruled by IT engineers, cab drivers, and the last remaining good humans who would actually warn you if your bike’s side stand was loose.

As time passed, the kingdom flourished. More IT projects, more cheap labour, and suddenly, engineers from every neighbouring state started pouring in like uncles at a free buffet. With them came the inevitable — traffic. Road rage became a personality trait.

Bosses got ruder because their morning commute was just 40 minutes of non-stop horn therapy. Marriages turned into war zones because couples, after spending hours stuck in traffic listening to honking, started communicating in the same decibel at home. Slowly, Kondapur became the kingdom of slow, sad-moving vehicles. It was like a funeral procession, but with more honking.

One fateful day, the emperor of this great land found himself stuck in Kondapur traffic. This was unacceptable. He looked outside, saw the chaos, and immediately summoned his engineers — the real ones (not the IT ones, the civil engineers).

“Build a flyover!” he declared, and the city cheered. Newspapers made it front-page news, treating it like Hyderabad’s second independence day. People stopped fighting with their spouses for a few days. Hope was in the air.

But as construction began, so did a new era of suffering. The already jam-packed roads were now decorated with barricades, cement mixers, and mysterious construction workers who only showed up during election time.

At first, people accepted this pain like a necessary struggle before good times. But then... nothing happened. The construction looked the same for two years. People adapted. They found alternate routes through secret gullies, cutting through chai bandis and somebody’s dining hall. Some switched to night shifts just to avoid the gridlock.

A few journalists tried asking tough questions, and the kingdom’s PR team (read: some guy on Twitter) assured them saying, “Slight delay of just two years. But don’t worry, it will be completed soon. Please don’t beat your spouse over it.”

After an eternity, the flyover was finally ready. Or so they said. People were ecstatic, ready to drive over it like a dream and reach home before they lost their soul to carbon dioxide. But...it remained unopened.

Why? Because the emperor was busy. His dog’s wedding took priority over the city’s traffic crisis. The grand opening had to wait.

A few brave citizens tried using the flyover illegally. They were arrested and made to share a jail cell with drug peddlers. How dare they use infrastructure built with their own tax money!

Finally, after the emperor’s dog gave birth to its first royal pup, he found time. With great fanfare, the flyover was inaugurated. People celebrated. They zipped across, finally saving precious time. For a full two weeks exactly.

Then came the plot twist. Turns out, some civil engineers had missed a few important classes, and the flyover had a slight problem — like making bikes and cars fall off.

So, just like that, it was closed again for ‘minor corrections’.

But by now, nobody cared. People just accepted their fate, returning to their traffic-infested lives.

And when the flyover was finally, fully, completely fixed...it was too late.

The city’s population had grown so much that now people were stuck on the flyover itself. And thus, Kondapur traffic remained the same. Only now, it had ‘altitude’.

The End.

Sandesh Johnny

@johnnykasandesh

(This comedian is here to tell funny stories about Hyderabad)

(The writer’s views are his own)

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