Justice took too long: Dilsukhnagar remembers twin blasts horror

Hours after the Telangana High Court upheld the death penalty for five convicts in the Dilsukhnagar twin blasts case, Venkatadri Theatre Lane was pulsing with energy. The narrow stretch throbbed with life — street vendors calling out to passersby, ice clinking in lemon water glasses, and students spilling out of coaching centres as they rushed to catch their buses near the stand.

But this very road — now filled with everyday noise and movement — was once a site of horror. Over 12 years ago, two deadly explosions — one near the bus stop and another at the A1 Mirchi Centre — ripped through the area, killing 18 and maiming more than a hundred.

“Aaj bhi kabhi yaad aa jaye toh darr lag jaata hai,” (I still get scared when I think of that day) says Pandu Reddy, owner of A1 Mirchi Centre, his eyes welling up with tears as he looks around the now-rebuilt shop.

His shop, once a popular food stop in the area, took the full impact of the blast. Along with the shop, he lost a new two-wheeler, his savings — and for years, the trust of his customers. “We rebuilt the place by borrowing money, but the crowd has never been the same. A decade later, customers still hesitate. Footfall dropped by 30-40%, and hasn’t recovered.”

The trauma wasn’t just his. “My brother lost a finger, my brother-in-law lost his hearing, and my cousin was badly injured. We were promised ₹1 lakh in compensation, but nothing came,” he says. He lets out a dry laugh, tinged with bitterness. “So much money was spent on keeping the convicts alive for 12 years. But for us — for the injured, the ones who actually suffered — life just froze. No one ever checked in on us again.”

Reddy is among a dozen locals and vendors who expressed relief over the High Court’s verdict speaking to The Hindu. But one emotion cut through all — frustration at the delay. “Magar bahut time lag gaya… yeh pehle hona chahiye tha” (It should’ve come much earlier), many said, echoing a sentiment that justice had arrived too late.

Ashok Verma, who now runs a tea stall near the spot where one of the bombs went off, still carries the weight of memories of that evening. “Back then, I was working for a pharmaceutical company,” he recalled, gesturing toward a nearby building. “I was on the terrace, enjoying the breeze, when a deafening sound shattered everything.”

In seconds, thick black smoke swallowed the street. “The road below was soaked in blood, and the usual chirping of life gave way to ambulance sirens. That memory… it still sends a shiver down my spine,” he said.

P. Ramakrishna was even closer to the blast. The bomb exploded right in front of him. He instinctively ducked, but not before a shrapnel sliced past his ear, leaving him bleeding and in need of stitches.

His shop — Kalpavani Bangle Store, a fixture in the area for over 42 years — was ripped apart by the blast. The front was partially destroyed, and repairs set him back by nearly ₹4 lakh. But that wasn’t what stayed with him. “My grandson was inside the store,” he recalled. “When I heard the thud and saw the glass shatter, I ran straight to him. He had cuts on his arms. There was blood… everywhere.”

Even now, more than a decade later, his anger hasn’t eased. “Twelve years have gone by… the culprits shouldn’t have been fed and taken care of all these years. They should have been hanged right after they were convicted.”

Shiva Kumar, who once ran a small garment stall behind the bus stand, now owns ‘Trendy Line’ — a sleek, well-lit clothing store that stands as a symbol of how far he’s come. “I still hear a store helper in the shop right across from mine calling out… ‘Anna… anna…!’ A sweet, cheerful boy — I was very fond of him,” recalls Shiva his voice quivering with emotion. “After the explosion, I ran toward the chaos. He was lying there… right on the road. His stomach had ripped open — his organs spilled out. I still can’t forget that sight,” he says.

Even today, the rage bubbles up. “We’re happy with the court’s decision,” he said. “But those men didn’t deserve to live for 12 more years — not after what they did to innocent people.”

A short walk — just about 20 steps — from the A1 Mirchi Centre, Santosh stands behind the counter of the Santosh Pan Shop, a family-run business that has held its place in the lane for over four decades.

He points to a patched-up section of the ceiling. “That part came crashing down when the blast hit,” he said. “I was standing right here… when young men with torn clothes and injured limbs staggered into the lane. Some collapsed just outside.” His voice drops, and he presses a hand to his chest. “The sound — it wasn’t just loud. I felt it here. I still do.”

Twelve years on, life in Dilsukhnagar moves on. The shops are still tightly packed, the streets just as busy — only the towering metro station stands as a reminder that time has passed.