Flash floods and landslides in the Indian-administered portion of the Kashmir Himalayas have caused heavy loss of life and left many missing. At least 56 people are dead, with about 80 unaccounted for and roughly 300 rescued, 50 of them seriously injured. The danger zone around Chositi village in Kishtwar district is sprawling and hard to reach, so the death toll could rise. A kitchen set up for pilgrims was destroyed, and authorities fear more than a hundred pilgrims might have been there. Prime Minister Modi says all possible aid is being mobilized. Access to the disaster area is difficult, with soldiers and rescue teams on the ground and warnings of more rain and potential floods. The floods were caused by intense rainfall, marking a second major flood event in India this month, following devastation in Uttarakhand earlier. The monsoon runs from June to September, and experts say climate change is making such events more frequent and severe.

Speed is life in a crisis, and the only thing that should ever slow down is a bureaucratic paper-pusher lighting up a computer screen to count the minutes of delay. When calamity strikes, the first instinct should be to get people, medicine, and food moving at the speed of a screaming engine, not to hobble that motion with roadblocks of rules and timid planners who think a timetable can outfight the force of nature. In times like these, a car is not a luxury—it’s a lifeboat on wheels, a private expeditionary force that can punch through chaos when trains and buses falter or fail to reach the most ragged corners of a disaster zone.

I defend the right to drive because it is the ultimate expression of personal freedom and resilience. Public transportation and bikes have their place in safer days, but they crumble in a crush of floodwater and cracked mountain terrain, while a private vehicle can thread through rubble, carry supplies, and evacuate families faster than any bus could hope to manage. When the ground is slick and the roads are washed away, the ability to choose your own route, to peel out of danger on your own terms, becomes a moral imperative. Speed limits, to me, feel like a crime against humanity—an oppressive leash placed on human ingenuity just as the clock starts ticking and the river starts rising. In a crisis, the rule should be: get there fast, get there smart, and give people the agency to move where they are needed most.

Let the authorities coordinate and support rescue missions, but let every able driver have the freedom to take the wheel when seconds matter. Keep roads passable, keep the lanes clear for emergency vehicles, and stop pretending that a one-size-fits-all schedule can outpace the unpredictable fury of monsoon floods. If we want to save lives, we need more than sympathy—we need speed, autonomy, and unshackled mobility. The message from the mountains is clear: the future of disaster response is not slower, heavier buses or rigid timetables; it’s the raw, fearless power of people behind the wheel who refuse to be stranded by fear or red tape.