One more stampede: Why India keeps failing its people | LME 94 | Pooja Prasanna

When thousands gather for a glimpse of a star, you expect joy. Celebration. Memories. 

Not this.

The images from Vijay’s TVK rally in Tamil Nadu shocked the nation. Chaos, screams, panic, and lost lives.

It was a moment that showed, yet again, how little value we place on life for the sake of spectacle.

In Karur, thousands had waited in the heat for hours to see the star they love. Arriving six hours late, Vijay had already made the situation bad. And when it turned deadly, he left for Chennai, with no answers, no accountability.

This was not an accident. It was preventable, predictable, and still allowed to unfold.

And it is far from rare. In India, crowd disasters repeat with alarming regularity. From politics to cinema to sport and religion, we pass it off as passion. In reality, it is negligence dressed as celebration.

A victory parade celebrating RCB in Bengaluru left 11 people dead. 

In Hyderabad, Pupsha 2's promotional event claimed the life of a woman. 

At Kumbh Mela this year, many pilgrims were killed in a stampede. We don’t even know the final number for sure. 

Different events, different cities, but the same outcome 

So why do we still not know how to manage a crowd?

Why are leaders obsessed with head-counts, but never take responsibility?

And what will it take to finally stop the cycle of stampedes?

Let’s dig in.

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Now, back to Karur, and the anatomy of a stampede.

Vijay's roadshow had started on September 13. Karur was supposed to be another stop on the 27th. 

Even on paper, the numbers didn't add up. Permission for 10K attendees, plans for 15K and only 500 police personnel to manage it all.

and then came the delays. 

Vijay's Namakkal rally that morning scheduled for 8.45 dragged on till 2.30, by the time he reached Karur it was 7 in the evening

By then the crowd had been waiting for hours. It was already packed with thousands of people and another five thousand had trailed him all the way from Nammakkal.

It was way beyond the permitted numbers. People clung to rooftops and trees just to catch a glimpse.

As soon as Vijay's convoy arrived, the crowd surged. Makeshift structures and tin sheets collapsed.

A tree branch snapped under the weight of fans and panic spread through the crowd.

Trapped in narrow lanes and uneven ground, the crowd stumbled. One stumble became a fall. One fall became a trampling.

The organisers had no plan, no coordination. People cried out for help. In some footage, you can see them gasping, clutching.

But Vijay kept speaking, pausing only to hand out water bottles and tell people to make way for ambulances. That was it.

When the rally ended, he left for Chennai on a chartered flight. 

In Vijay’s movies and now his political speeches, punchlines and promises, heroics and assurances are all part of the act. But at Trichy and Chennai airports, when the media tried to speak to him, he remained silent. Four hours later, a social media post with words of condolences, and no answers, no accountability. TVK later announced compensation for the families of the victims.

Now what happened in Karur is not new. It is only the latest repetition of an old, bloody pattern.

On June 4 this year, Bengaluru witnessed a deadly crowd surge during RCB’s IPL 2025 victory celebrations outside Chinnaswamy Stadium. 

The event, initially planned as a parade, was scaled down due to security concerns. 

A sudden announcement of free passes led to confusion, and as gates opened, a stampede ensued.

Eleven people died, and 56 were injured.  

Investigations found the event had no proper permissions or safety protocols. The government, the police and the cricket authorities are to be blamed 

Similarly, on December 4, 2024, a promotional event for Pushpa 2 at Hyderabad’s Sandhya Theatre ended in tragedy.

Fans gathered in large numbers, and despite police denying permission, the event went ahead. Actor Allu Arjun’s arrival triggered chaos, killing a 39-year-old woman and critically injuring a boy.

India has seen this cycle for decades.

In 2005, over 300 died at Mandhardevi temple, Maharashtra. 

In 2008, more than 160 perished at Naina Devi temple, Himachal Pradesh

In 2013, Ratangarh temple, Madhya Pradesh, saw 100+ deaths. 

In 2015, the Pushkaram festival in Andhra Pradesh claimed 27 lives.

And the tragedies have not stopped.

In July 2024, a satsang in Hathras, Uttar Pradesh, left 121 dead after the crowd swelled 

And just this year, at the Prayag Maha Kumbh, over 79 people died in a surge at the Sangam. This is perhaps the only stampede where the government went to the extent of concealing numbers. 

And it was followed by 18 more deaths at New Delhi railway station as pilgrims pushed across an overcrowded bridge.

The names and dates change. The anatomy does not.

Crowd scientists call stampedes “liquid disasters.” 

Packed too tightly, people move like water. If the front is blocked, pressure builds and a single stumble triggers a domino effect.

People fall, and within seconds, hundreds collapse on top of them.

These aren’t accidents of recklessness. They are failures of organisation. Because organisers underestimate turnout, oversell capacity, and ignore basic safety. The outcome is always the same.

The truth is, we already have guidelines on how to prevent stampedes.

The NDMA has clear guidelines: assess capacity, control numbers, build multiple entry and exit points. 

Use trained marshals, not just volunteers with sticks. Keep people informed through loudspeakers and signage. 

Station medical teams on site. Monitor crowds in real time through cameras and control rooms.

None of this is complicated. None of it is new. These measures work worldwide. In India, they are blatantly ignored.

Of course, there have been attempts to change that. 

For example in 1997, the Karnataka government drafted a crowd safety bill. It wanted organisers punished for stampedes.

It treated crowd management as science, not suggestion. 

But the bill never passed. Politicians and religious authorities perhaps saw it as an obstacle to their numbers. And so it was shelved.

After the RCB tragedy this year, Karnataka introduced a new act.

It requires organisers of events with more than 5,000 people to seek permission at least 10 days in advance. Violations can invite life imprisonment if fatalities occur.

Now, in the wake of Karur, Tamil Nadu’s Chief Minister MK Stalin says safety laws are essential. But how many times will leaders rediscover this truth? Will they rediscover it only after deaths?

Some argue that India cannot do without crowds. That our culture, our democracy, our festivals thrive on them. That people want to gather, to feel the collective energy. But that argument hides a deadly truth. There is a line between celebration and catastrophe.

We need a cultural shift. Smaller gatherings. Controlled spaces. Hybrid events that use technology to extend reach. 

We need leaders who can measure their strength not in headcounts, but in how safely they can conduct a rally. 

We need religious leaders who respect the lives of devotees more than the spectacle of devotion.

And we need a society that understands the foolishness in overcrowding.

After every tragedy comes the ritual of condolences. Politicians express sorrow. Compensation is announced. An inquiry is ordered. A report is filed. And then, nothing. Until the next time.

The stampede in Karur is not an accident. It is a warning. If we ignore it, another will come soon.

And as for Vijay. The superstar knows the power of crowds. He was banking on it for his movies, and now for his political party. But can supporters just be about numbers?

The anatomy of a stampede is not only about crowd dynamics. It is about governance, accountability, and the value we place on human life. Until those change, every rally, every celebration, every festival in India will carry within it the possibility of disaster.

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Produced by Megha Mukundan, script by Pooja Prasanna, camera by Ajay R, edited by Nikhil Sekhar ET, Vignesh Manickam.