Echoes of Loss: The Human Cost of the Red Fort Blast

‘Papa photo ho gaye’

Amar Kataria, 33

The phone – one of Amar’s two devices retrieved after the blast – rarely leaves his wife's hand. It has become her last tangible connection to Amar.

A month on, the silence inside the Kataria home feels as heavy as the day of the blast. The grief is pervasive– in the way Amar Kataria’s wife, Kriti, clutches his cellphone as if it were a lifeline to how their three-year-old son points to his father’s photograph and says, “Papa photo ho gaye hain.”

Kriti, 32, barely sleeps, her father-in-law says. The phone – one of Amar’s two devices retrieved after the blast – rarely leaves her hand. It has become her last tangible connection to Amar.

She has tried to occupy her days with online tutoring, that is only fleeting distraction. Their son, Viaan, wanders through the house, asking about the father he will now know through photographs.

For Amar’s father, Jagdish, the loss is a blow that goes beyond the emotional. At 33, Amar had built a thriving wholesale medicines business, allowing Jagdish, a tailor in Mayur Vihar, to slow down and imagine a future where his son carried the family name and legacy forward. “After Amar started his business, I was just passing time,” he says. “Now it is my responsibility again.”

The family was told a Rs 10-lakh compensation cheque would arrive from the sub-divisional magistrate’s office. It hasn’t. Each day it doesn’t come, it adds to their anxiety – the funeral bills, the rent, and the long road ahead for a widow raising a young child alone.

“We only hope the government gives Kriti a job,” Jagdish says. “Something steady like a government job, something that will help her stand for her son.”

Lost belongings, last memories

Vinay Pathak, 52

For Anish, the fight now is for something far more personal: “I just want my father’s belongings back.”

They are still waiting for his belongings. A month after the blast, the family of 52-year-old Vinay Pathak has not been handed a single one of the sacred objects he wore into surgery – a gold chain with a Hanuman locket, a Rudraksh rosary, his janeyu. For his elder son, 32-year-old Anish, these are no longer mere possessions. They are irreplaceable memories of his father.

Pathak had remade his life a decade ago, leaving a sales job to become a priest. He lived with his wife and younger son in Aya Nagar, helping with the family’s small LED and CCTV repair shop. On November 10, he stepped out only to buy items for the store. After the blast, his phone became unreachable.

Hours later, the family found him among the injured at the hospital. Anish managed a final conversation that still replays in his mind. “Before he was taken into surgery, he said his stomach hurt. He had burns all over. I told him he would be fine, that I’d take him home,” he says. Pathak never regained consciousness. He died on November 17.

But grief has curdled further. In a video Anish recorded at the hospital, his father is wearing all three sacred items. After his death, the staff told the family he had been admitted with nothing on him. “These were the last things he had. We need them as his memory.”

Calls and messages to the hospital were left unanswered till the time of going to print.

The family has yet to receive the promised Rs 10 lakh compensation. But for Anish, the fight now is for something far more personal: “I just want my father’s belongings back.”

Chasing a better life for his kids

Ashok Kumar, 30

His wife is now unsure of what comes next, but she knows she faces a tough life ahead: “Now I have to do everything alone.”

For 25-year-old Sonam Devi, life changed beyond recognition a month ago. Her husband, 30-year-old Ashok Kumar – a DTC bus conductor and the family’s sole earning member – died when the car exploded. He had told his family he was going to meet his friend Lokesh. Though they did not know what were the two doing near the Red Fort. Lokesh also died in the blast.

The couple lived in Jagatpur, far from their native Amroha in Uttar Pradesh. Their three young children – Aarohi, 7; Kavya, 6; and Aarav, 4 – now face a life without their father. Ashok worked relentlessly, often two shifts a day, leaving at dawn and returning past midnight, determined that his children study in a private school. “He wanted them to have a better life than ours,” Sonam says.

The shock has been particularly hard on the children. Kavya, Sonam says, has been the most shaken. “The other day she sat on the stove and asked her brother to light it. When he said she’ll get burnt, she said she’ll at least meet her father.”

Her support system is thin. Her father-in-law died years ago; her elderly mother-in-law remains in Amroha. With no income and three children, Sonam’s first instinct was survival – she says she went to the school to withdraw them, unable to pay the fees. What happened next was the only moment of comfort she’s felt in the past month. “The principal was kind. He said he wouldn’t take any fees. He said my children could study till this class ends.”

She is now unsure of what comes next, but she knows she faces a tough life ahead: “Now I have to do everything alone.”

‘At 60, he was our support’

Mohammad Lukman, 60

"We only saw on TV that compensation was announced. But how can anyone expect a grieving family to run from pillar to post?"

Lukman, 60, had come to Delhi from Bihar’s Begusarai two days before the blast to buy imitation jewellery supplies – a routine trip he had made countless times.

For his son, 35-year-old Mohammad Sikandar, the wait for the news was a torment. “It took us almost two days to find out whether our father was alive or dead,” he says.

Lukman, who once sold jewellery outside Akshardham Metro Station before Covid pushed him back to Begusarai, earned Rs 10,000 to Rs 15,000 a month. He is survived by his wife and two sons, one of whom has special needs.

“Even at 60, he was our support system,” Sikandar says. Now a daily wage worker in Delhi, he has returned to the village to complete the funeral rites. “We are not in a state to think about compensation. Our family is broken. After the rituals, we will have to decide where to keep our mother and my brother.”

“We only saw on TV that compensation was announced. But how can anyone expect a grieving family to run from pillar to post?” Sikandar says.

A routine visit turned fatal

Lokesh Kumar, 52

The family now finds itself trying to hold together a home, suddenly, without its centre.

Lokesh, a fertiliser trader from Hasanpur in Amroha, had come to Delhi on November 10 to visit ailing relatives – a familiar trip he had made several times before. Instead, it became the day his family’s world shattered.

After meeting his relatives at Sir Gangaram Hospital near Karol Bagh, Lokesh stepped out to see an old friend near Lal Qila Metro Station. Minutes later, a blast tore through the area. The family first saw the news on TV; calls to Lokesh went unanswered. “That’s when we started panicking,” says Sandeep Agarwal, a relative.

Lokesh leaves behind two sons and a daughter who had already lost their mother years ago. “Losing our father like this is something we could never imagine,” says Gaurav, his elder son.

The family now finds itself trying to hold together a home, suddenly, without its centre. “We don’t know how to restart our lives,” Gaurav says. Both brothers were working elsewhere; now one must return to run their father’s shop and care for the household.

Like the others, they have no clarity on compensation. “Innocent people died that night,” Sandeep says. “We only hope no one else suffers such a loss.”

‘What of the people who depended on him?’

Jumman Mohammed, 35

For nearly two days, they searched police stations and hospitals before finally finding him – lifeless, in the Lok Nayak Hospital mortuary.

For Jumman, an e-rickshaw driver from Shastri Park, life was already a daily battle to keep his family afloat – he was the sole breadwinner in his family of eight. On November 10, that fight ended abruptly.

He leaves behind five children, all between seven and 15, a wife with a disability, and an elderly mother who depended entirely on him. “We have lost everything,” says his sister Nazma. In the frantic hours after the blast, the family called him repeatedly. His phone rang unanswered.

For nearly two days, they searched police stations and hospitals before finally finding him – lifeless, in the Lok Nayak Hospital mortuary. His face was in such a disfigured state that only fragments of his jacket helped his wife recognise him. DNA tests confirmed what they already knew.

Since that night, his home has drowned in grief. “Who’s responsible for this loss? How can mere compensation fill the void of a man who carried an entire family on his shoulders?” Nazma asks.

The family wonders how they will educate five children, care for an elderly mother, and support a disabled wife. “We didn’t just lose our brother,” Nazma says. “We lost the hope of many lives that depended on him.”

Following through on a brother’s promise

Dinesh Kumar Mishra, 34

Now the responsibility of Dinesh’s family rests on his younger brother, Guddu. “I’ll ensure the kids study,” he says.

Dinesh Kumar Mishra spent more than two decades building a life in Delhi, far from his village in Ganeshpur, Uttar Pradesh. On November 10, while returning from a work errand near Kashmere Gate, that life ended in an instant.

Dinesh worked at a wedding card shop in Chawri Bazar and supported a family he visited often – his wife, two daughters aged three and five, and a 12-year-old son he’d brought to Delhi last year so the boy could study at an NGO-run boarding school in Ramesh Nagar. Education was his children’s ticket to a future brighter than his own.

“He had just returned from the village on November 8. Two days later, everything changed,” says his younger brother, Guddu. Now the responsibility of Dinesh’s family rests on him. Guddu works at a private firm in Subhash Nagar, but he has made a vow: “I’ll ensure the kids study. I’ll do whatever I can.”

For now, Dinesh’s son has returned to the village for the last rites. Guddu plans to bring him back to Delhi soon, determined to keep his brother’s hopes for his children alive.

‘His body was charred beyond recognition’

Mohsin Malik, 35

When Mohsin’s body reached Meerut three days later, his wife, Sultana, refused to let him be buried there. “He dreamed of his life here. I fought everyone and brought him back. We performed his last rites in Delhi.”

Mohsin spent the last two years rebuilding his life in Delhi after shifting from Meerut in Uttar Pradesh. The e-rickshaw driver stayed with his wife, Sultana, and their two children in a small room in Paharganj, certain that Delhi would offer them what Meerut could not – better schools, steadier work, a chance to improve their lives. Every week, he sent home Rs 3,000, determined that no one in his family would slip through the cracks.

On November 10, he was ferrying passengers when the Hyundai i20 that had slowed nearby exploded. He died instantly. When Sultana couldn’t reach him, she called his brother, Nadeem. “Nobody helped us,” he says. “I ran from one hospital to another. At 4am, we finally found his body. It was so charred I couldn’t recognise him. When I told my father, he fainted.”

What followed was another heartbreak. When Mohsin’s body reached Meerut three days later, Sultana refused to let him be buried there. “He wanted to be in Delhi,” she said. “He dreamed of his life here. I fought everyone and brought him back. We performed his last rites in Delhi.”

Now back in Meerut at her parents’ insistence, she feels adrift. “He left home saying he’d return in an hour… I still wait by the door. I want to return to Delhi, work, and raise my children the way he dreamed.”

Homeless, found by a friend

Bilal Ahmad Sangoo, 32

Distanced from his family, Bilal moved to Delhi 16 years ago and did not have a house here. He was identified by a friend almost two days after

From Jammu and Kashmir’s Ganderbal, Bilal operated a cart and ferried goods for a living in Chandni Chowk. Distanced from his family, he moved to Delhi 16 years ago and did not have a house here. He was identified by a friend almost two days after the blast. Bilal's body was taken to Ganderbal where his family performed his last rites.

Bilal’s family in Kashmir could not be contacted for comments.

The youngest son who carried a family

Numan Ansari, 23

His mother barely eats, glued to TV updates about arrests and investigations. “She just wants justice,” Farman says.

At just 23, Numan never stopped trying to keep his family afloat. A cosmetics shop owner in Shamli, Uttar Pradesh, he had come to Delhi only to restock supplies – a routine trip. But on November 10, that errand took his life.

Numan had stepped in early to support the family after his father, Imran, left his tile-mason job and his elder brother, Farman, suffered kidney failure. “Abba still asks for him,” Farman says.

“Numan was the youngest, but he helped us the most. I identified him by his red T-shirt. No brother should have to see that.”

Numan dropped out in Class 10 to earn a living despite dreams of studying further. He began selling cosmetics from a small stall in 2022, eventually renting his own shop. He often travelled to Delhi to stock up on makeup and hair products in bulk.

Now, the house is painfully quiet. His mother barely eats, glued to TV updates about arrests and investigations. “She just wants justice,” Farman says. “We have four sisters… we don’t know what will happen now.”

Numan leaves behind his parents, two brothers and four sisters.

‘His grandfather died days after hearing the news’

Pankaj Saini, 23

When news of a damaged WagonR flashed on TV that night, his father felt fear. “Nobody called to tell us, but we feared the worst.”

For Pankaj, Delhi was a place to work hard and, eventually, prosper. A cab driver from Samastipur in Bihar, he had spent a decade in the city, living with his father, Ram Balak Saini, in Mundka. He took whatever jobs came his way – cab driving, repairing, decoration work, even odd mechanical labour – so his family never felt the pinch. “He did everything for us,” Ram Balak says. “He paid all my medical bills. He was even going to pay for my surgery. I have no one now.”

For Ram Balak, the blast stole more than a son. He lost his father days ago. The old man “could not bear the loss of his grandson,” says Ram Balak, who is now in Bihar. Poverty has closed in around the family. Even arranging an ambulance required friends to send money.

“What was his fault?” he asks.

When news of a damaged WagonR flashed on TV that night, he felt fear. “Nobody called to tell us, but we feared the worst.” He rushed to Red Fort alone, dialling Pankaj repeatedly. Then a police officer showed him the cab’s registration number.

Like all others, the family has received no compensation. “We are in dire need,” he says. “But money can’t bring back my son.”