Vidya Kulkarni
Cities symbolise aspirations. They attract people with the promise of opportunity. They grow, they expand, and somewhere along the way, they become unfamiliar, even unsafe.
This is not a unique story. Most cities follow a predictable trajectory. The details may differ, but the pattern remains the same.
I have lived in Pune for nearly five decades, since I was in Class IV. I call this my city.
Over the years, I have experienced it on a bicycle, walking, on a two-wheeler, in buses and autos, and now, mostly, in a car.
I still remember cycling from SP College on Tilak Road to Hadapsar (nearly 10 kilometres) and back, effortlessly, in the mid-80s. Today, I travel the same distance by car, and it takes more time and feels far more exhausting. The distance hasn’t changed, but the experience has. Pune’s traffic has increased manifold.
Familiar Feels Alien
But longer travel times are just one part of the change. What strikes me more is how the city that once felt familiar now feels alien. Whenever I have to travel beyond my usual routes, I encounter a Pune I no longer recognise and which is harder to navigate. That unfamiliarity brings with it a subtle sense of unease.
Over the past few decades, Pune has expanded horizontally, incorporating surrounding villages into its municipal boundaries. This has triggered vertical development: flyovers, metro lines, high-rise buildings. Infrastructure meant to solve problems has brought new complications instead.
What concerns me most is how this vertical growth – all in the name of development – rarely considers the safety and mobility needs of women. Urban design continues to prioritise speed and vehicles over safety and inclusion. This one-sided approach severely impacts women’s everyday use of public spaces, whether as commuters, roadside vendors, pedestrians, or travellers during odd hours.
Caught in the Middle
I live on Sinhgad Road. Once considered the city’s periphery, it has now become a booming corridor of growth. For the past two years, flyovers have been under construction along the entire stretch, supposedly to ease traffic congestion. But for those of us who use this road daily, the experience is quite the opposite.
Construction occupies the centre of the road, narrowing the space for actual traffic. Meanwhile, new residential complexes have emerged, adding thousands of vehicles to an already saturated network. There is constant construction and dust, detours, slow-moving traffic, and unpredictable delays. I have tried adjusting my travel to non-peak hours, but even that doesn’t help anymore. There are no non-peak hours.
As a resident, I realise I am both part of the problem and a victim of it.
I used to see roadside vendors, many of them women, selling fresh farm produce. I would often stop to buy something. Now, many of them are gone. Some have been pushed to less visible spots; others have simply vanished. The roads no longer have space for them.
How must this rapid transformation be affecting vendors and other road users, especially women? Restricted mobility, reduced income, growing uncertainty and lack of safety – all by-products of “development.” Even something as basic as crossing the road has become risky. Footpaths, if they exist at all, are broken, narrow, or completely unusable.
What Kind of City Do We Want?
Urban planners speak of mixed land use, integrated design, and inclusive cities. But the reality on the ground often feels isolating.
UN Women’s End Violence Against Women Now campaign calls for cities that are safe and inclusive for all, especially women. But when basic infrastructure like walkable footpaths, reliable public transport, well-lit public spaces, and public toilets are still the exception and not the norm, the built environment feels increasingly imposing and unwelcoming.
To what extent do women feel safe and secure while navigating these changing urban spaces? How are ongoing construction projects – all in the name of development – shaping women’s daily experiences in public spaces?
These are some of the questions I plan to ask a diverse and representative group of women – commuters, pedestrians, vendors, caregivers – who engage with the city daily. I hope their voices reach urban policymakers.
Because a truly developed city is not defined by its flyovers and metro lines. It’s measured by whether the smallest, most ordinary journeys feel safe, dignified, and possible for everyone.
About the contributor: Vidya Kulkarni is a fellow at EGBVF Ending Gender-based Violence Fellowship at IMPRI and a photographer and writer based in Pune. With a background in journalism and over three decades of work with civil society groups, she uses photography to document and explore women’s lives, focusing on their everyday experiences, struggles, and strengths through an empowering and reflective gaze.
Disclaimer: All views expressed in the article belong solely to the author and not necessarily to the organisation.
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Acknowledgment: This article was posted by Bhaktiba Jadeja, visiting researcher and assistant editor at IMPRI.
