June 22, 1998

A year after the Uphaar fire, the probe has got nowhere.

By Sayantan Chakravarty

One year might be too short a time to get justice in the country. Yet, that's time enough at least for the wheels of justice to start moving. For the families of the 57 victims of the capital's Uphaar theatre inferno, however, June 13, 1997, appears to stand still. Since the blaze started by a transformer blast cruelly snuffed out the lives of their near and dear ones, nothing substantive has emerged out of the investigation. What's galling for them is that the alleged culprits are still free.

Sushil and Pranav Ansal, the owners of the theatre, are free on bail and have even travelled abroad. Over half a dozen civic authorities, who sent written submissions to the Delhi High Court, are busy trying to absolve themselves of the blame. The Uphaar theatre, confoundingly, is yet to file a reply. And the CBI, entrusted with the task of pinning responsibility, is yet to provide answers. "The only thing that I am living for today is justice, so that innocents don't die so cruelly again," says Harish Dang, a businessman who lost his wife, son, two nieces and a nephew in the tragedy. "I have little else to live for."

He may have to wait for a long time. For, those in authority -- asked to respond to the petition of the Association of the Victims of Uphaar Tragedy (AVUT) -- are dilly-dallying. The victims' families claim that many lives could have been saved had the All India Institute of Medical Sciences (AIIMS), Delhi, set up India's first Centralised Accident Trauma Services (CATS) unit in 1986 when it was approved. AIIMS director P.K. Dave says that the Hospital Consultancy Corporation was engaged for structural and architectural designs in 1993 but the project has been delayed because the Rs 50 crore outlined for it in the Ninth Plan has not yet been released by the Union Health Ministry. On its part, the ministry says the "responsibility" for raising the money rests with the AIIMS.

Other agencies involved in the tragedy have been deflecting responsibility and providing ambiguous responses to the high court's queries. It is well documented that the court had issued an injunction in June 1983 when Uphaar's temporary licence was suspended for four days. Despite that, a temporary permit was issued to the theatre every two months until the tragedy, even though the Delhi Cinematograph Rules of 1981 stipulate that such a licence can only be extended for up to five years. Delhi Police Commissioner V.N. Singh defends the decision, saying, "The licence was issued to exercise some control over the management without interfering with the stay."

Navin Chawla, chairman of the Delhi Vidyut Board (DVB), whose transformer triggered the inferno, isn't willing to accept blame either. He points out that the second fire in the DVB's 1,000 KYA transformer on June 13 was not reported by the Uphaar management. Chawla maintains that since only five per cent of the DVB's 75,000 transformers in the city are manned (Uphaar is not one of them), it was the bounden duty of the theatre staff "towards its patrons" to lodge a complaint. The chairman is bitter that the theatre staff switched on the generator to keep the film show running unmindful of the consequences.

Delhi's Municipal Commissioner V.K. Duggal similarly pins the blame for defects in the theatre building and the management's flagrant violations of by-laws on the Public Works Department. He avers that the "MCD was nowhere in the picture until 1996". With no authority willing to accept responsibility or furnish proper records, justice appears far away. However, K.T.S. Tulsi, former additional solicitor-general of India who is representing AVUT, is determined to see the guilty punished. "Administrative efficiency in western countries was achieved by making authorities accountable under law and after they paid huge sums of money as damages," he says. But for now, getting compensation is not the priority of the victims' families -- they only want to ensure that others do not experience the agony and trauma that they are going through. Some are unable to sleep, some have forgotten to smile. Shekhar Krishnamoorthy, who lost both his children in the fire, lives on memories. He has even cut a commemorative music album, Rukhsat. Kawal Bhalla, who groped her way out of the theatre through the smoke with her daughter but lost her husband, says, "It's like a living death sentence for us." For that torture alone, they deserve some justice.

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