The collapse of a swing at the Surajkund International Fair in Haryana once again proves that even entertainment in our country comes at the cost of one’s life. The fair, which is supposed to be a celebration of culture, art, and tourism, instantly devolved into screams, chaos, and mourning. A police inspector died and thirteen others were seriously injured when a swing suddenly collapsed. This is not just an accident, but the result of a system where safety has become the last priority.
Swings have always been a centre of attraction at fairs. The laughter of children, the excitement of youth, and the hopes of families—everything is tied to these swings. But when these same swings become the cause of death, it’s not just a question of technical failure, but the negligence of the entire administrative structure is exposed. The Surajkund tragedy did not happen suddenly. It is the culmination of negligence that has been ignored for years by saying, “Let it be.”
The biggest question is: how are such swings permitted? Is there any serious scrutiny of their fitness certificates, or is everything simply “managed” with a few papers and signatures? Before every major fair, the administration claims security—police, ambulances, and fire engines on duty—but technical inspections of the swings often remain a mere formality. Why is there no strict monitoring of the quality, maintenance, and operator training of the machines on which dozens of lives are hanging?
This isn’t the first time a car ride has collapsed at a fare or amusement park, resulting in deaths. Such accidents have occurred periodically in various states across the country—sometimes killing children, some injuring women, and some even upsetting entire families. Each time, the same story repeats itself—an investigation ordered, compensation announced, and a few days of noise. Then, everything is forgotten until the next tragedy.
The death of a police inspector in the Surajkund accident makes this tragedy even more serious. The person who was supposed to protect the public himself fell victim to the system’s negligence. This incident symbolizes the irony that even the one who provides security is not safe. The question is: if an officer’s life is lost so easily, what guarantee is there for the safety of ordinary citizens?
The administration often shrugs off responsibility by blaming contractors. It’s said that the swing was owned by a private operator and that maintenance was their responsibility. But does the administration’s responsibility end there? Can any contractor be given free rein to install death swings without rigorous inspection? If so, then blaming the contractor alone after an accident is a form of deception.
The problem lies in the system. Fairs are temporary, but negligence is permanent. Safety standards are considered an “additional expense,” and profits are prioritized. The rides are old, often imported from other states and installed without proper inspection. The operators are often untrained, lacking any understanding of the machine’s technical capabilities or training to handle emergencies.
It’s also said that after an accident, the administration’s sensitivity is limited to announcing compensation. By giving a few lakh rupees to the family of the deceased, they assume their responsibility is fulfilled. But can a few lakh rupees be worth a life? Can compensation compensate for the pain, the emptiness, and the injustice?
The question is, has entertainment become synonymous with risk in our country? Have fairs, rides, and festivals become places for the common man to “try their luck”—where even returning alive depends on luck? This thinking is shameful for any civilized society.
The Surajkund Fair holds international recognition. People from across the country and abroad come here. If this is the state of security at such a prestigious event, it’s easy to imagine the situation at fairs in smaller towns and villages. There are no security checks, no ambulances arrive on time, and no accountability is held.
What’s needed now is not just expressions of sympathy, but concrete action. Strict safety standards should be established for every fair and entertainment event. Technical inspections of rides should be conducted by independent experts, not formal committees. Operator training should be mandatory, and licenses should be revoked for even the slightest negligence. Most importantly, criminal responsibility should be established, not just compensation, in the event of an accident.
Today, a swing collapsed at Surajkund. Tomorrow, it will collapse at another fair, if we continue to turn a blind eye. The question isn’t where the next accident will happen, but whether we will only wake up after death. The purpose of fairs is to spread joy, not death. But when lives are sold for the sake of happiness, we must understand that this isn’t just an accident, it’s a crime—and holding people accountable for that crime will be the true tribute.
