Highrises aplenty, but no place for children to play

It's early morning. Six little roller skaters barrel down an empty Indirapuram road. One of them has brought three bollards from home, which the group neatly plants in a straight line demarcating a portion of the thoroughfare as their practice arena.
From one end of the road to the other, they zip, testing one another on speed and skill. It's nice. Skating at daybreak is always a wonderful experience, the air is clean, the breeze gentle, humidity bearable.Their parents, anxious not to let the teeny enthusiasts practice on an open road on their own, are there, vigilant. They stretch, jog, chat on the sidelines but keep an eye on speeding cars and lumbering trucks.
Indirapuram's drivers are fierce believers in the drive-as- you-like dharma. At daybreak and in the dead of night, they live their Schumacher dreams, hence the need to be watchful. Every morning, the ringside daddy-mommy, uncle-auntie chat invariably begins with the pain of getting out of bed at the crack of dawn, that too after a late night at work or a redeye flight. Then, it meanders. But not for a moment the parents' eyes leave the kiddy racers zooming and frolicking on the road.
That morning too, things were playing out to script. When, a parent noticed a car race down the wrong side of the track bang in line with the skaters. It had turned the corner beyond and nothing had looked unusual. Suddenly, the driver stepped on the gas. She immediately shrieked, flayed her arms in alarm and lunged at the skaters desperately trying to push them away from the menacing car. In sniffing distance from the group, the car swerved, cutting away and screeching to a halt.
Furious, the parent rushed at the smug motorist who was clearly spoiling for a fight. "Don't you have eyes? Are you crazy," she challenged. "Why are these children on the road, this is no playfield," he shot back. "Do you have permission from the authorities to block a portion of this street," he screamed, his tone intimidating, anger dripping from his eyes. "What permission, which world are you in?" she dared him, refusing to pipe down. "You're at fault. You've been driving on the wrong side of the road."
"Wrong side?" he matched her, just as defiant. "You don't know who I am, I can mean a lot of trouble. You wouldn't know where to hide." Just exactly who are you, she confronted him. "My dad, he's a top gun - a senior civic official. I'll tell him what you're up to and then things will be very, very bad," the motorist shot back, his voice rising with every word.
"Oh really," the parent matched him. "If your dad is such a big guy, part of the administration as you say, he is the man I'm looking for. Tell me where to find him. Come, I'll go meet him right now. He's the one who must answer why our kids are forced to be out in these mean streets practising at this unearthly hour. We pay taxes to the civic body, yes we do. Why doesn't this place have a playing arena? Why aren't our parks maintained? Why does this place only have highrises and no sports complex? In any case, what explains this outlandish, murderous behaviour?"
"Every apartment complex has such facilities," he shot back refusing to back down. "Are you from Mars, or some other planet?" At this point the other parents rushed in and the motorist, seeing he's outnumbered, slipped into his car and sped away.
Hours later, the parents met and decided it was a terrible idea to allow their children practise on the road, especially so with killers lurking at every corner. Last heard, they've discontinued the dawn practise sessions and are awaiting a decent sports complex in Indirapuram. Will the authorities pay heed?