Chapter 44: The Road Ahead
December 1983 – Singh Technologies Headquarters, Lucknow
A soft winter fog hung low over the rooftops of Hazratganj, blending chimney smoke with the early chill. Inside the main operations hall of Singh Technologies, the glow of halogen lamps bounced off the polished wooden floor. But the warmth inside could not mask the cold weight of frustration on everyone's faces.
The walls of the room were lined with rolled maps, logistics charts, and scribbled delivery notes. But it was the crumpled red file on the center table that drew the most attention. It carried the markings of a problem too large to ignore.
Ajay Singh stood silent, reading a letter with deep furrows across his forehead. His hand tapped nervously on the table, while nearby, members of the logistics and distribution team shifted uncomfortably in their seats.
Mahesh Bedi, head of rural supply chains, finally broke the silence.
> "Sir, the tractor shipment to Saran got stuck for four days. The approach road to the village was half washed away in rain. One wheel of the trolley sank completely. We lost one axle and half a week."
Another manager added, "Same in Maharashtra. A thresher couldn't reach the Taluka warehouse. The driver turned back after a bridge collapsed overnight."
Ajay closed the file. His voice was low and tired.
> "We're making machines to transform lives. But we can't even deliver them safely."
In the back of the room, seated on a narrow bench near the window, eight-year-old Bharat watched it all quietly. He had listened to every word—absorbed every pause.
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Bharat's Question
He finally stood up, brushing imaginary dust from his kurta.
> "Pitaji, may I ask something?"
Ajay looked up, surprised but expectant.
> "Why… why are India's roads like this?"
The room stilled.
> "In the newspapers I read… in photos from Germany or Japan, or America," Bharat continued softly, "the roads are wide. Smooth. Clean. But ours are broken, narrow, often muddy or cracked. And our bridges—some of them collapse within two years. Why?"
His voice wasn't angry. It was... disappointed. Curious. Wounded, even.
Ajay exhaled, rubbing his temple.
> "Bharat, the truth is... most of the money meant for roads never reaches the road. It gets stolen—bit by bit—by middlemen, contractors, corrupt officers, and sometimes even politicians. What's left isn't enough to build anything that lasts."
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Stone that Stands Forever
But Bharat didn't sit down.
> "But why do forts built hundreds of years ago still stand? Why are the Rajput forts like Chittorgarh or Kumbhalgarh still strong? They didn't have mixers, cement trucks, or steel rods—but they built walls that even earthquakes fear."
Everyone listened now, as if history had come to life.
> "And in South India," Bharat added, "kings like Karikala Chola built the Kallanai Dam—two thousand years ago. It still works. Still holds water. But today we make a bridge and it collapses before a schoolchild finishes high school."
Ajay closed his eyes, letting the words land.
> "They built for legacy. We build for contracts," he finally said.
Kulkarni, sitting at the end of the table, murmured under his breath, "Sometimes, the cement never even touches the earth."
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A New Path Forward
Bharat looked up, determined.
> "Pitaji, why don't we build the roads?"
Ajay blinked. "We?"
> "We already make road rollers, mixers, soil tampers. Our industrial division is expanding. Why not form our own infrastructure wing? Not to bid for government contracts—but to build our own projects. To prove it can be done—with integrity, durability, and transparency."
He stepped closer to the whiteboard and grabbed a piece of chalk.
> "We already have experience in low-cost cement mixes, mobile construction labs, and multi-layer foundation techniques. If we build schools, clinics, even model roads, we show the public—and the nation—what's possible."
Ajay stared at him, speechless for a moment.
Then he turned to Kulkarni.
> "What's our surplus fund status?"
> "After project reserves and R&D," Kulkarni said, flipping his notebook, "we still hold enough capital for at least five road pilot projects. No loans required."
> "Then we start with five," Ajay said. "One in each region."
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The Division is Born
That afternoon, a name was scribbled onto a new register:
> Singh Technologies – Department of Infrastructure & Civil Works
Within hours, the engineering floor buzzed with fresh plans. Calls were made to civil engineers, road planners, retired irrigation officers, and even artisans who had worked on old fort walls. A team was assembled within three days.
They would not just build new roads—but repair old ones. Strengthen schools in flood zones. Build storage sheds for grain that wouldn't rot in the rain. And each would be monitored down to the last brick.
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Bharat's Vision
That evening, as winter rain tapped gently on the roof, Bharat stood by the glass window with his sketchpad.
He drew a simple road—lined with streetlights powered by solar panels. A water channel beside it. A signboard that read: "School: 2 km"
Ajay joined him, looking over his shoulder.
> "What's this?" he asked.
> "A road to education," Bharat whispered. "Every child deserves to walk it."
Ajay placed a hand gently on his son's head.
> "And we'll make sure it's strong enough to carry them all..