The story of a road leading to Zia Bari in Bagbari village of Gabtali Upazila, Bogura. It was Prime Minister Tarique Rahman’s first visit to his ancestral home. April 20, 2026, Monday. He would arrive, and the local people would welcome him. There was a road leading to the house! That road is no longer just a road today; it is like a character from a fairy tale. One day it was muddy, the next day it became a brick-paved royal highway, and the day after that it returned to its old identity. It was as if a movie hero had removed his makeup after the shooting was over.

According to a report published in The Daily Prothom Alo on June 11, 2026, the LGED temporarily made an earthen road suitable for travel by laying bricks on it in preparation for the Prime Minister’s visit. After the visit ended, those bricks were removed again. It was along that brick-decorated road that the Prime Minister reached his ancestral homestead.

Upon hearing the incident, an elderly villager reportedly sighed and said—

*“Our road has become like a bride’s jewelry. It is rented for the wedding day and returned after the ceremony is over!”*

Many things are rented in Bengal. Rental houses, rental cars, rental chairs, rental microphones—those are old stories. But a rented road! This is an innovative invention indeed. If there were an international award for innovation, perhaps the officials of this project would have returned home with a gold medal on behalf of the country.

Perhaps roads have feelings too. If those bricks could speak, they might have said—

*“O traveler, we are not permanent. We are guest performers of development. We come when a VIP arrives, and we leave when the VIP departs.”*

As the wheels of the Prime Minister’s vehicle rolled over those bricks, the road may have imagined itself to be one of the capital’s elite boulevards. But as soon as the visit ended, the decorative mark on its forehead disappeared, the color of its sari faded, and one by one its brick ornaments were taken away.

It was like the reverse version of Cinderella’s story. There, a pumpkin became a carriage; here, a road became development. Yet as soon as the clock struck midnight, everything returned to its previous condition.

The most astonishing aspect is that if even the road leading to the Prime Minister’s own ancestral home requires temporary decoration instead of real development, then what must be happening to ordinary people living in the remote corners of the country? The question naturally arises.

A witty schoolteacher commented—

*“For years we heard that cosmetic surgery is performed on people’s faces. Now we understand that roads can undergo cosmetic surgery as well!”*

Some officials in the administration may think that development means creating a scene for the cameras. But development is not a theatrical stage where everything can be packed away once the curtain falls. Development is the real improvement in people’s daily lives, something that does not disappear after a visit is over.

That road in Gabtali stands today as a silent witness. It knows that one day a procession of power traveled across its chest. Red-and-green flags fluttered above it. Motorcades rushed along it. Security measures were strict. Yet today it is once again dusty, muddy, and neglected.

A few bricks lying beside the road still seem to whisper—

*“We were actors in the drama of development. The lifespan of our role was only a single visit.”*

In the language of political science, this is a question of administrative accountability. But in the language of literature, it is a tragic comedy—where there is a road, there are bricks, and there is a story of development; only permanence is missing.

In the end, that road in Gabtali leaves us with a profound lesson—

In a country where roads are decorated for visits rather than for people, the biggest pothole in development lies not in the ground, but in the mindset.