Reporter’s diary: Beyond Gurugram’s high-rises, lies a city left behind
The story began, as many in Gurugram do, with a drive to Gadoli near the Dwarka Expressway. It was meant to be a routine civic assignment, to report on broken roads and poor connectivity and residents’ woes. But as the car jolted over potholes and dust thickened the air, it became clear that this was more than a story about infrastructure. It was about identity, about what Gurugram has become and what it has left behind.
On paper, Gurugram represents India’s urban success. From the Delhi border, the city glitters with a skyline of glass towers, tech parks and luxury apartments that could belong to the most upscale parts of the world. Yet, a few kilometres in, the view changes sharply. Vacant plots turn into dumping yards, drains overflow and footpaths disappear. The contrast is stark, as if the city wears its prosperity only where it will be photographed.
At Gadoli, the main road resembled a cracked mosaic — uneven, broken and difficult for even an ambulance to navigate. Right along this stretch stood a private hospital, silent and empty. “How will a patient even reach here?” I wondered. A resident said, “The authorities come, click pictures, promise repair work, and disappear. We have learnt to manage on our own.” It was a line familiar to most reporters in the region, yet it never loses its sting.
The situation in Gadoli reflected Gurugram’s broader contradiction, a city that moves at breakneck speed but leaves its own people behind. Later that week, the same divide surfaced at the Diwali markets in Sector 31. On one side of the street, glittering stores sold imported décor. On the other, diya makers and rangoli colour sellers sat patiently on the ground, waiting for customers who rarely stopped.
One woman, who had been selling handmade diyas for more than two decades, said softly, “People don’t bargain anymore; they just scroll.” Her words captured more than any economic report could, revealing the quiet fading of traditional livelihoods in the shadow of digital convenience. Around her, lights flickered, music played and shoppers posed for selfies. Celebration and struggle existed side by side.
The feature, initially meant to document potholes and pollution, but as I started typing, it evolved into a deeper reflection on perspective. Gurugram is a city of ambition and neglect, running on parallel tracks that rarely meet. Behind manicured lawns and luxury towers lies a patchwork of forgotten corners where residents survive more than they live.
Yet such stories often remain underreported. Civic failures receive fleeting attention, overshadowed by narratives of growth and investment. The people who sustain Gurugram’s success — vendors, cleaners, guards and migrant families — rarely feature in the city’s day-to-day narrative. The real Gurugram, as seen during my days of reporting, is hidden in the dust. It demands a closer look, one that goes beyond the lights.
