Mobility apartheid

The new expressway model turns a public road into a revenue corridor, creating a two-tier system that excludes the majority


By: Sridhar Radhakrishnan

NH-66, when first envisioned, promised a modern, six-lane road to ease traffic and connect Kerala’s dense population. It was a dream sold to us all. But as the highway nears completion, it has become clear: This is not a road for everyone. For most, the dream has turned into a nightmare. The emerging highway favours speed and privilege over the real mobility needs of ordinary citizens. What was meant to connect is now dividing—creating a corridor of exclusion under the guise of development.

The project is turning into a textbook example of ‘mobility apartheid’. Expanded under Bharatmala Pariyojana, this lifeline is now a six-lane, access-controlled motorway, mostly elevated, that bypasses cities, towns and villages. It excludes precisely those who depended on the original two-lane road—locals, workers, students and families. It is no longer a public road, but a fast track reserved for the few.

Worse, the road is rising on land it shouldn’t—over wetlands, paddy fields and natural floodplains. It has been built in defiance of Kerala’s natural terrain and the flow of water. Embankments built throughout the highway have cut across the east-west flow, against all warnings and local public protests.

Kerala’s roads are dominated by two-wheelers and autorickshaws. Out of 1 crore vehicles, nearly 72 lakh are two- and three-wheelers—lifelines for students, farmers, vendors and families. Yet NH-66 excludes them. While cars and lorries glide along the expressway, others are pushed onto broken, waterlogged service roads. Even tractors and trailers must crawl through these ‘cattle class’ lanes.

Often, these service roads and underpasses were built as an afterthought, with minimal consideration to water drainage or commuter safety. In many stretches, local people report that service roads flood faster than before and some have become practically unusable during heavy rains.

This did not happen by mistake or oversight. It happened by design. Under the hybrid annuity model, private contractors build the highway with 40% central funding upfront and NHAI is committed to paying them the full cost through the collection of tolls. This model, pushed by the Centre, incentivises high-speed traffic and revenue. The result: A road built for trucks and SUVs, while the people living along it, the original beneficiaries, get fewer access points, poorer roads and unaffordable tolls. A full journey on NH-66 could now cost over Rs 1,650—unaffordable for most of the population.

NH-66 is no longer a shared road but a revenue entity that cuts out slower, local traffic. Access ramps are kilometres away from homes, schools, hospitals and markets. The social costs are enormous: Children miss school, small shops lose customers, and communities get cut off behind embankments and chaotic service roads.

NH-66 doesn’t just split society—it carves up the land. The old road flowed with Kerala’s terrain, weaving through villages and water bodies. The new one rises like a wall, disconnecting east from west, upper land from lowlands. Water can’t flow freely across it, nor can people move freely. In this plan, speed wins and people lose.

What’s most troubling is how this happened—with almost no public debate. Neither the Modi govt and the NHAI under Nitin Gadkari, nor the LDF govt in Kerala under Pinarayi Vijayan and PWD Minister Muhammed Riyas, allowed for meaningful consultation. Land was acquired in haste. Environmental concerns were waved aside. The Left and Right moved in sync—not to help people, but to bypass them. Revised Detailed Project Reports (DPRs) introduced elevated sections, toll plazas, and grade-separated junctions without explanation.


The project was split into under-100 km segments to sidestep environmental and social impact assessments. Community protests, like the one in Keezhattoor, were suppressed. Even legally protected paddy fields were not spared.

The shift from a common road to an access-controlled toll-paid corridor isn’t just a technical shift—it’s a political one. By cutting off two- and three-wheelers and tractors, the govt has created a two-tier road system: Fast lanes for the elite and broken lanes for everyone else. This violates the very principles of public infrastructure—equity and fairness.

The embankment collapse in Kooriyad in May 2025 should have shaken the system. It didn’t. It buried not only wetlands and paddy fields, but also public trust. Investigations exposed engineering and hydrological flaws. But the deeper issue remains: The systemic exclusion of the poor. Now, in July 2025, a second tragedy—a hill collapse in Cheravathoor, Kasaragod—has once again revealed the fragility of this project. Vehicles were buried. A contractor was fined. But accountability remains elusive. And once again, the public pays the price.
As Kerala mourns the passing of former chief minister V S Achuthanandan, it’s impossible not to wonder—would VS have allowed this? He was a leader who stood with the displaced, questioned reckless development and listened before damage was done. He would have sided with the protesters in Keezhattoor. He would have defended the wetlands. Above all, he would have defended the idea that infrastructure must serve the people, not bypass them.

Today, that voice of clarity is missing. In its absence, NH-66 continues to rise—a concrete barrier that cuts across land, water, and society. It divides Kerala into those who can afford to glide over it, and those left stranded below.

So, what must be done? Firstly, all modes of transport must regain access to the main line of NH 66. Service roads need widening and flood-proofing. Daily local users must be exempted from high tolls. DPRs and flood data should be released publicly and communities must be consulted on all changes. Kerala’s infrastructure must align with its geography. Embankments should give way to viaducts in flood-prone zones. Paddy fields and wetlands must be preserved. A complete hydrological review of NH66 is urgently needed—and it must be transparent.

NH66 was sold to the people as a promise. It must not become a betrayal. A public road must remain just that—public. If we act now, it can still be redesigned and made inclusive. It doesn’t have to be a wall that divides Kerala.

(The author is an environmental and social justice activist. He writes about democracy, ecology, agriculture, development and climate concerns)