For a city that proudly calls itself Karnataka’s Second Capital(in news stories alone), Belagavi still runs on first-hand bargaining. Every morning and evening, thousands of citizens engage in the same exhausting ritual — arguing fares with auto drivers like it’s a vegetable market, not a commute.
The Daily Loot
A short 1–1.5 km ride? ₹50–₹60.
After 9 pm? The fare doubles, and logic disappears.
A simple First Gate to CBT ride — barely 3 km — starts at ₹200, “settles” at ₹150, and ends with a sigh. Tourists? Add an extra 10–20% “outsider tax.”
Citizens have accepted this daylight (and nightlight) robbery because the system lets it thrive. Meters are installed, sealed, certified — and never used. The law says “mandatory meter usage.” The ground reality says “optional, if ever.”
Promises and Punchlines
Every Deputy Commissioner for the past five years has announced: “Meters will be enforced from next month.”
Apparently, that month never comes. The government can send rockets to the moon, but can’t make an auto meter run in Belagavi. That’s not technology’s fault — that’s apathy on wheels.
Why the Law Stalls
There are over 10,000 (actual number may be more) autos in the city. The RTO dutifully checks for meters when issuing permits — but nobody checks if they’re used. Enforcement drives? Rare. Complaints? Ignored. Prepaid booths? Inaugurated, photographed, forgotten. Even the “prepaid” counter became another “bargaining” counter.
A Tale of Two Cities
In Bengaluru, meters start at ₹36 for 2 km, ₹18 thereafter, and even the night fare is clearly printed.
In Belagavi, the only thing printed is the “No Meter” excuse.
The Common Man’s Math
Two rides a day cost ₹120 — that’s over ₹3,000 a month. For someone earning ₹15,000, that’s 20% of their income just to move within their own city. Add family members, and it’s a financial pothole no one can climb out of.
What We Need
- Meters that actually work, not just decorate dashboards.
- Prepaid booths that function, not just make headlines.
- Strict enforcement with penalties that bite, not warnings that whisper.
Because right now, travelling in Belagavi feels like being charged “per breath.” The laws exist, but the will doesn’t — and until the day the government finds the courage to enforce its own rulebook, Belagavi’s commuters will keep paying not by meter, but by mercy.