It is a terrifying warning, an ominous signal exposing the ruthlessness embedded in our model of development, the deep-rooted corruption, lethargy, negligence, and the utter disregard for human life in our administrative machinery and governance system.
Published Jul 11, 2025 | 9:00 AM ⚊ Updated Jul 11, 2025 | 9:00 AM
An image from the blast site in Pashamylaram.
Synopsis: The word “accident” often implies an event without responsibility, something that happened by chance, fate, divine will, or the victim’s destiny. In a society where fatalism is deeply rooted, and human life is cheap, people may shed a tear or two, console themselves with the notion that the dead met their fate, and return to their daily routines. Very few demand accountability, punishment for the guilty, or structural changes to prevent repetition of such causes. Governments don’t ask these questions either.
The horrific accident that occurred on 1 July at Sigachi Industries in the Pashamylaram Industrial Development Area, just on the outskirts of Telangana’s capital, Hyderabad, is not merely a tragic event that claimed numerous lives.
It is also a terrifying warning – an ominous signal that exposes the ruthlessness embedded in our model of development, the deep-rooted corruption, lethargy, negligence, and utter disregard for human life within our administrative machinery and governance system.
No matter how many such warnings we receive, our bureaucracy seems to respond like the proverbial ox in the rain – unmoved and unbothered. (In fact, that comparison may be an insult to oxen, but since there’s no better analogy, we are forced to use it. Apologies to the oxen!)
No matter how severe the accident, no matter how many lives are lost or families destroyed, our government and its administrative machinery fail to contemplate or implement corrective measures.
This is not only a warning about the indifference of the industrialists and bureaucrats, but also to every one of us who failed to react with sustained anger, who quickly forget even if we do express momentary outrage.
The workers’ blood is on all our hands.
At the Sigachi Industries factory in Pashamylaram – owned by Gujarati investors and involved in producing microcrystalline cellulose powder and other cellulose-based products – a spray dryer overheated and exploded. The building in which it was housed collapsed, and the surrounding structures crumbled. Massive machinery was burned.
The blast was so intense that the ground shook up to two kilometres away. So far, the death toll stands at 44. Another eight people remain unaccounted for, with no trace of their charred remains, suggesting their bodies were vaporised completely.
Some of these deaths were due to being crushed under the three-storey building’s debris or hit by shattered machine parts. However, the majority perished due to the extreme heat generated by the fire – estimated between 700 and 800 degrees Celsius.
That’s nearly the temperature used in electric crematoriums (800–1000°C), meaning several victims were burned alive within seconds – melted, incinerated, vaporised. The heartbreaking stories of the dead and their families have dominated media coverage over the past week.
However, can we really call this an “accident” in the true sense of the word – a sudden, unforeseen and unexpected event? Or should it be considered the inevitable outcome of years of negligence and apathy by profit-driven management and corrupt government oversight bodies?
The word “accident” often implies an event without responsibility, something that happened by chance, fate, divine will, or the victim’s destiny. Many consider it unavoidable and beyond human control. They may express sympathy for the victims and stop there.
Very few demand accountability, punishment for the guilty, or structural changes to prevent repetition of such causes. Governments don’t ask these questions either.
In a society where fatalism is deeply rooted and human life is cheap, people may shed a tear or two, console themselves with the notion that the dead met their fate, and return to their daily routines.
This apathy is exactly what industry owners responsible for such deaths count on. It is also what corrupt officials and politicians rely on – those who see every large-scale disaster not as a tragedy to prevent, but as a chance to profit.
However, if we break from that indifference and reflect deeply, we must recognise that the Sigachi disaster was nothing short of a deliberate massacre. It occurred because of the long-standing irresponsibility and mismanagement of both the company and regulatory authorities.
While the scale of the deaths may have been unprecedented, the conditions for such a tragedy had been building for years. The disaster was only waiting for the right moment. There is abundant evidence showing how the company and government agencies are responsible.
The management of Sigachi Industries has not spoken a single truth. On the second day after the incident, Company Director Chidambaranathan Shanmuganathan claimed that the factory was leased out. Yet the company’s website clearly states it is fully under their management.
He also denied the presence of contract workers, stating that all workers were regular employees. However, reports reveal that out of 197 workers, only 110 were regular employees and 87 were contract labourers.
Given that the dead and injured include many from Bihar and Odisha, it appears the company hired large numbers of unskilled, low-wage, vulnerable migrant workers.
Estimates suggest that between 143 and 155 people were on-site during the incident, but even this number is uncertain because attendance records were also destroyed in the fire.
Six months ago, it seems the state government’s Factory Department conducted a statutory inspection and issued a report highlighting numerous operational deficiencies – yet still gave the factory a clean chit. Though it claimed everything was “in good condition,” the 35-year-old building was structurally weak.
Regarding safety preparedness for high temperatures and pressure, officials did not confirm whether such systems were inspected, only stating that they were “reportedly in place”!
When asked whether the building’s structural safety was certified, they wrote, “Not applicable to this company.” Asked whether there were managers or staff to monitor dryers and ovens, they said, “Not required.”
Ironically, the same report noted the lack of first aid kits, no emergency exits in the machinery hall, no fire safety measures, exposed electrical wires, no protective gear for workers, lack of safety awareness, absence of welfare officers or medical staff, and even poor toilet sanitation. The report also mentioned violations of mandatory construction setback norms.
The absence of even a basic high-temperature and pressure alarm system is telling. Had such an alert system been in place, workers might have fixed the issue or escaped in time.
Even after that report, no corrective action was taken for over six months. The clean chit — perhaps bought with bribes and hush money — became the final word.
Today, the blood of around 50 workers stains the hands that signed off on that clean chit. The government that accepted it and the system that continues to protect these murderers are equally culpable.
This is not just about Sigachi Industries. Around 22,000 small and medium factories are registered around Hyderabad, of which at least 16,000 are operational.
The number of workers in the most hazardous factories alone could range from 50,000 to 1,00,000. Across all factories, over 800,000 workers are employed. Between one in sixteen and one in eight of these workers go to work not knowing whether they will return alive.
These industrial zones are rife with safety failures, labour law violations, and a total lack of basic welfare, health, and protective measures. Ensuring safety means factory owners must spend more, cutting into their profits. They are never willing to do so. That’s why a welfare state must step in, implement laws, and act on behalf of the workers.
There are numerous laws, regulations, and guidelines on worker safety and factory oversight.
However, the government departments that are meant to enforce them — Factories, Labour, Employment Training, Industries, Commerce, Pollution Control, Municipal Administration, Medical and Health, Police, Fire Services, Revenue — either do nothing beyond collecting routine bribes from factory owners or rarely visit sites to fulfil their mandatory duties.
Even when one honest official tries to intervene, they face staff shortages, pressure from superiors and political leaders, or obstruction from local power brokers and police.
Meanwhile, under the slogan of “Ease of Doing Business,” the government increasingly allows business owners to self-certify their safety protocols and shields them from regulatory scrutiny.
For instance, the Factories Department has only 27 officers in place of 35 sanctioned posts and only eight inspectors instead of the required 16.
While new factories and workers are added regularly, the staff required to inspect and report on them is missing. According to the department’s data, 25 percent of factories operate without any inspection or safety review.
So let’s wait quietly, indifferently, and passively… Until the next Sigachi disaster.
(Edited by Dese Gowda)
