Bhumik had gone to college as usual, and from there, a group of friends made an impromptu plan to head to the stadium to witness RCB’s celebratory event after their IPL season.
Published Jun 08, 2025 | 3:13 PM ⚊ Updated Jun 13, 2025 | 4:17 PM
Lakshman lying over his son Bhumik's grave.
Synopsis: A studious college boy, Bhumik, with no love for crowds or cricket, lost his life in a stampede outside M Chinnaswamy Stadium during the IPL title celebration of RCB. For his father, Lakshman, this was not just a tragic accident — it was a case of systemic negligence.
“He was my precious boy. An absolute gold son,” Lakshman said, his voice heavy with pain. “He was very studious. He listened to us, his parents. He never had that attitude, that craze for celebrities or cricket. That day, he had only a slight interest in seeing the stadium. That was it. And for that, I lost him.”
Lakshman never imagined that a routine day would end with the loss of his only son. Bhumik, a soft-spoken, disciplined college student, had never chased after cricket matches or celebrities. He wasn’t someone who got swept up by excitement or crowds.
However, on Wednesday, 4 June, the 21-year-old was convinced by his friends to join them in visiting Chinnaswamy Stadium to see the Royal Challengers Bengaluru (RCB) team — and never came back.
A studious college boy with no love for crowds or cricket was among the 11 people who lost their lives in a stampede outside M Chinnaswamy Stadium during the IPL title celebration of RCB.
It was supposed to be a simple outing. Bhumik had gone to college as usual, and from there, a group of friends made an impromptu plan to head to the stadium to witness RCB’s celebratory event after their IPL season. Bhumik even video-called his parents to let them know where he was going.
But what awaited him was not celebration — it was chaos.
“As soon as we got to know about the crowd situation, his mother tried calling him again and again,” Lakshman recalled. “But the calls didn’t connect. There was no network.”
In the end, it was Bhumik’s friends who told the family what little they knew — that each of them entered through different gates and got separated. Bhumik made it into the crowd while his friends were still stuck outside. The next thing they heard was that Bhumik had been admitted to the Intensive Care Unit (ICU).
“By the time we reached the hospital, it was already too late,” Lakshman said. “We don’t even know what happened to him. We weren’t there. We weren’t told anything clearly. All we know is that our son is gone.”
Now, as he mourns, Lakshman says he isn’t interested in apologies. “No one came to meet us. Not the Karnataka government, not KSCA [Karnataka State Cricket Association], not RCB management. No one. And I don’t want them to come now. I want my son back. That’s all.”
For him, this was not just a tragic accident — it was systemic negligence. A failure of planning, responsibility, and basic humanity.
“With our taxes, they could’ve facilitated a safe event. But there was no ambulance, no proper security, nothing. Government officials took their own families safely. For the rest of us? Nothing. They looted our money and gave us death in return,” he said, with anger simmering beneath the grief.
“They made money out of my son’s death,” he added bitterly. “And after all this, how will they show their faces? They went there to promote their status. To promote themselves. And now they’re hiding.”
Bhumik, he said, wasn’t even the kind of boy to sneak out or make unwise decisions.
“I don’t even know if he paid to go inside. I don’t check his PhonePe or anything. That’s how much we trusted him. He grew up with values. He followed what we said. But just one wrong decision — listening to his friends — and he’s gone,” Lakshman said.
The family had pinned their hopes on Bhumik’s future. “We had such big dreams for him. Now all gone,” Lakshman said quietly. “He was so well-mannered. I used to tell that to everyone. And now… he’s no more.”
The question that lingers, for him and many others, is one of accountability.
“My son shouldn’t have had this fate. If they couldn’t control the crowd, why not cancel the event or plan it differently? Why did they open only one gate? Why no basic facilities to handle an emergency? Do we need such a ruling government?” he questioned.
As investigations begin and official statements circulate, none of them mean much to the parents left behind — parents like Lakshman, whose ordinary Wednesday turned into a permanent scar.
“He went for one moment, one glance,” Lakshman said. “And now I’ll never see him again.”
(Edited by Muhammed Fazil.)
