Uphaar - the gift

Finally, it has happened. The government has paid up. The amount may not be much. But just the fact that culprits (including a government agency) will be compelled by a landmark judgment, to compensate the relatives of victims killed in a ghastly fire that trapped unsuspecting cinema-goers in a hall which flouted basic safety rules, comes as an overdue initiative.Six agonising years later, one can imagine what the families of those who died or were injured must be going through. It isn’t about the money alone, it is about their mission. It’s about accountability. And a system that, so far, notoriously failed to extract compensation from the powerful and well-connected.
But before we start our chorus of bravos, hurrahs and other hosannas, it’s time to ask one basic question: what took so long? Each passing year after the horrifying incident, news channels would dutifully interview obliging relatives on June 13 (the black anniversary of the incident). Each year, the relatives would relive that awful moment. The original rage, I noticed, had practically disappeared by the third anniversary. It had been replaced by resignation. Most relatives had given up all hopes of any decent resolution. ‘‘The Ansals are too influential,’’ they’d lament privately. Nothing will happen, it will get hushed up and forgotten.’’
Frankly, that was my fear as well. And the view of most citizens who bothered to follow the case after the initial shock had worn-off. Usually nothing does happen in such cases. Everybody tires of the long-winded process and gives up trying to monitor how the whole thing is likely to pan out. What made the crucial difference in this case? I’d say it’s the determination of the families of victims to see justice done. Had they not banded together, kept up the pressure, raised their voices and made sure nobody forgot (least of all, the perpetrators of the crime), nothing would’ve happened. Absolutely nothing.
Building laws are constantly flouted. Most of the hi-rises in our country are potential death-traps. Water pressure being as low as it is in our metros, chances of fire brigade hoses producing less than a miserable trickle in an emergency, are frighteningly high. Several fancy night-clubs in Mumbai city alone, are fire-balls waiting to be ignited. There are no clearly-marked emergency exists, contingency plans or even fire-fighting
equipment in working order.
Most owners are nonchalant about such ‘‘minor matters’’. When I spoke to one of them at a glitzy music channel party, he looked baffled, and faintly annoyed. It was obvious that he hadn’t thought about such an eventuality and was prepared to deal with it, if it ever occurred, adopting the only tactic he was an expert at - bribing. I looked at thousands of exposed wires, fat cables snaking around the wooden floor, naked switch boxes with dangerous-looking plugs shoved into sockets....
I saw hundreds of happily high people smoking, stubbing out cigarettes under their boots, spilling alcohol, cramming onto the tiny dance floor and I also saw there was just one entry point that also served as an exit (‘‘To prevent gate-crashers,’’ the organiser boasted). ‘‘What if a fire breaks out...?’’ I asked, thinking of the Uphaar inferno. ‘‘Hey, come on. Don’t spoil the party,’’ said the host, laughing nervously. I fled.
It’s a pity that the 59 individuals who were burnt to death at Uphaar, didn’t flee on time. They couldn’t. The exit had been blocked by the greedy, inhuman theatre owners to accommodate an additional 52 seats. The income from these illegally installed seats ran into a couple of crores - petty cash, really, for the affluent Ansals. At the end of the day, it was greed that caused the stampede.