In the crowded roads of Jammu and Kashmir, traffic congestion is no longer an inconvenience — it is a daily test of patience. From schoolchildren and office-goers to patients rushing to hospitals, everyone is trapped in the same suffocating gridlock. Everyone, that is, except the VIP convoys. As chaos builds at major junctions of Jammu, a familiar sound pierces through the noise — the shrill, commanding wail of a siren. Vehicles scatter. Motorists brake abruptly. Pedestrians retreat in alarm. A convoy sweeps through, often flouting the very traffic rules meant to regulate the rest of society. Wrong-side driving, abrupt lane cutting, and aggressive escort vehicles have become disturbingly routine. For those few seconds, the road ceases to be public space; it becomes a corridor of power.
This growing “siren culture” is not merely about convenience. It reflects a deeper malaise — the normalization of entitlement in a democratic setup. Instead of focusing on long-term solutions to decongest roads, regulate urban expansion, and modernize traffic management, the administrative instinct appears tilted toward carving out privileged mobility for the powerful. The problem of snarls remains unaddressed, but the siren ensures that some never have to experience it. More troubling is the widening embrace of this culture beyond high constitutional functionaries. Officers at relatively modest ranks have begun adopting sirens and beacon lights as markers of authority. Police vehicles, too, frequently deploy sirens in non-emergency situations, dulling the seriousness of what should signal urgency. When every second vehicle claims exceptionalism, the value of genuine emergency response erodes.
The optics are damaging. Democracy rests on the idea of equality before law and equal claim to public resources — including roads. When public servants demand right of way as a matter of status, the symbolism is unmistakable: hierarchy over harmony. It evokes not a modern republic, but echoes of colonial privilege where rulers moved, and subjects made way. Ironically, many developed nations function without this exaggerated display of authority. Leaders travel with security, yes — but rarely with theatrical assertion. Efficiency is ensured through planning, not intimidation.
The larger tragedy is the silence on citizens’ suffering. If traffic congestion is severe enough to justify sirens for officials, why is it not severe enough to warrant urgent structural reform? Why must ordinary commuters accept delay as destiny while convoys claim exception as entitlement? The roads of Jammu and Kashmir do not need more sirens. They need better planning, disciplined enforcement, and humility in public office. Authority is best asserted not through noise and flashing lights, but through fairness and example. Until that shift occurs, the blaring siren will remain less a signal of urgency and more a reminder of a democracy still struggling to outgrow its colonial reflexes.