'Welcome to Shiv Vihar, the next station... Grab a tractor trolley to proceed.'
Surprised? This is the reality for millions around Loni.
To reach Shiv Vihar Metro via areas like Shanti Nagar, Indrapuri, Loni, Tronica City, and Karawal Nagar during the rain, people must resort to tractor trolleys. The usual culprits: battered roads and rain floods. Shiv Vihar, a terminal of the Pink Line, is not just a stop; reaching it is an epic quest.
Though metro trains don’t announce this, travelers know that as soon as they disembark, the entire system gasps for air.
Despite Delhi Metro's extensive network to Ghaziabad, shiny trains, and all, the struggles remain. From e-rickshaw to auto to now dangling off tractor trolleys, the journey demands nerves of steel.
The road isn't merely a street but the significant National Highway 709B—linking Delhi with Baghpat, Saharanpur, and even Yamunotri Dham.
Refer to the below illustration for clarity. The red arrow points to the new Dehradun Highway. The yellow arrow signifies Loni Road. Beyond Pavi, the Dehradun Highway merges, where the road's condition significantly improves.
Source: aajtak
The journey from Gokalpur Roundabout to Pavi, spanning 7.6 kilometers, takes a grueling 50 minutes. It's not just a road but a test of endurance, where your bones tremble more than your vehicle does.
'The fare is not just Rs. 20 to Loni, but Rs. 30 now—have you seen the road's condition?' They argue. Rain barely allows auto or battery rickshaws through, but even when they run, it's the justification for higher fares.
Yet, it’s the tractor trolleys that truly rob. Where autos charge Rs. 20, tractors demand Rs. 50. People often give in, having no other choice on submerged roads.
Source: aajtak
However, there's another side. Tractor owners from Indrapuri say, 'We don’t usually carry passengers. Our work is hauling roadies or rubble. When someone asks, we give them a lift for free. We just drop them ahead.'
Thus, what seems like a forced ride is a shared plight. The true fault lies in the administration's lack of resolve.
As a gentle drizzle falls, dampened clothes citybound passengers exit the station. A voice laments, 'During rains, Sabhapur Pushta Road is always like this. It repeats every year…'
A man holding a child stands behind. No anger, no complaints—just indifference, narrating the reality: People here have stopped fighting, resigned to their fate.
Despite compromises, the challenges remain. Ravi Panchal, running a hotel under Shiv Vihar station, echoes this helplessness, 'I leased this hotel a year ago, assuming it would thrive under a metro station. Instead, rains flood it and when it's dry, dust storms choke us. Comfort? In any season, that’s a myth.'
He continues, 'Under such circumstances, guests avoid the hotel. Sometimes, meeting rent is arduous.' Hence, trains may arrive timely, but relief hasn’t reached people like Ravi yet.
Electrician Shah Nawaz mirrors this dilemma, 'Everyday, I’m bound for Shahdara, Bhajanpura, and the rains demand heavier fares daily.'
This region, under MP Atul Garg and MLA Nand Kishore Gurjar’s jurisdiction, has promises of road repairs post-monsoon. But everyone knows... the government promises shelters, yet the populace braves every storm exposed.
