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The Bhopal Gas Tragedy didn’t just affect those alive at the time. It left a toxic legacy that continues to impact unborn generations and children born decades later. Many in Bhopal still rely solely on medication to survive. Down To Earth spoke to several such victims, whose lives were directly or indirectly were shaped by the tragedy.
Bano Bi, 72 years old
I was born in the Mahoba district of Uttar Pradesh. My family married me off at the age of 12. My husband, Inayat Khan, moved to Bhopal in search of work. He started working as a labourer at the railway warehouse. A year or so later, I joined him here. We settled in JP Nagar, which was not as developed back then. The Union Carbide factory was located right in front of JP Nagar. The atmosphere here was lovely, and Bhopal started to feel like home. I became a mother for the first time at the age of 16, and eventually, we had eight children.
Everything was going well until that dark night arrived.
We had all gone to bed after dinner. Suddenly, we started coughing. We woke up; the children were coughing too. Our eyes were burning as if someone had thrown chili powder in them, and tears started streaming down. The light in the room dimmed.
The coughing grew worse for everyone. We were scared, not knowing what was happening. We thought someone must have burned chilies. When we stepped outside, we saw people running everywhere. Cries and screams echoed all around. We ran out of our house, not knowing where to go. My husband and children got separated from me. Later, I learned we had been exposed to toxic gas. My eyes were swollen, my face had turned dark, and my stomach was burning.
When my family back in Mahoba heard about it, they came to Bhopal. We searched for my husband and children. After a long search, we found my husband the next day in Katju Hospital. We recognised him by his voice. His condition was critical. The children were admitted to Hamidia School, but their condition was equally severe.
The hospital staff initially refused to hand over the children, asking us to identify the clothes they were wearing. It was only after a senior official intervened that the children were returned to us. My husband’s condition kept deteriorating, and a year later, he passed away. After that, Shamim, Salim, and Bablu also succumbed, one by one. I lost my brother-in-law and brother as well. I was left behind to bear the burden of the gas tragedy and am still suffering.
I once weighed about 100 kg. Illnesses took hold of me to the point where living became unbearable. After the gas exposure, I spent months sitting outside as my menstrual cycle became irregular. My limbs started aching, I developed chronic headaches, and numerous ailments plagued me. Visits to hospitals became routine. The doctors prescribed medications, but new problems kept arising, requiring more tests. Eventually, I began visiting non-profit Sambhavna’s clinic for treatment.
Over the past 40 years, I have had to take an average of 11 pills daily. I have a collection of prescriptions from countless doctors. I consume 8-10 different medications daily. If you calculate the amount of medicine I’ve consumed in 40 years, it adds up to approximately 150 kg.
I am battling multiple health issues, including high blood pressure, type-2 diabetes, headaches, joint pain, dizziness, insomnia, and digestive problems. Recently, even the doctors have stopped prescribing more medication, saying, “If you keep taking these pills, you’ll lose your mind.” However, I still take sleeping pills because I cannot sleep without them.
I have a son, Ismail, who also suffers greatly. He works for a day and stays home for four days because of shortness of breath. His 12-year-old son, a victim of the gas tragedy’s aftermath, has developmental delays and attends a special needs school.
We fought hard for our rights. Compensation was given, but what good is ₹25,000? The government started a pension scheme, but we were excluded from it. Only those who died immediately after the tragedy were listed. My husband passed away a year later, so I only receive a widow’s pension. But that’s something all widows get. What did we get? Nothing but poisonous air and water. The toxic waste is still buried inside the factory, and the government has done nothing about it.
We fought for clean water, marching twice from Bhopal to Delhi on foot. The journey left our thighs chafed and raw. Once, we were detained and sent to Tihar Jail for 13 days during Manmohan Singh’s government. Eventually, someone intervened, saying, “These are not criminals; they are activists,” and we were released. Only then did we begin receiving Narmada water.
We have to live with this poison, not knowing how much longer we will survive. But every day, I feel that one night turned our lives into poison. We are still waiting for justice. Justice isn’t just about money—what punishment did those responsible for this receive? You tell me.
Dinesh Sahu, 41 years old
For the past 20 years, I have been exhausted by countless visits to hospitals. My entire youth was spent in hospital corridors. Once, I was a strong young man weighing 72 kilograms. Now, I weigh only 42 kilograms. Medicines and machines have drained my blood.
I am a resident of Itwara in Bhopal. My father, Hareprasad Sahu, traded grains in Bhopal, while my mother, Natthobai, was a homemaker. I had five brothers and one sister. I was born in March 1984, the same year as the gas tragedy. At the time of the disaster, I was only six months old. As the years passed, my struggles only increased. How a single day’s event can impact an entire life is evident if you look at my story.
I run a readymade garment shop near Laxmi Talkies in old Bhopal. I don’t remember the horrific night of December 3, 1984, but my mother often recounted the events. We lived in Itwara. That night, we experienced burning in our eyes, and everything fell apart. The gas tragedy affected my entire family.
Somehow, I was able to continue my life. But 2005 brought me immense trouble. At an age when one lays the foundation for a stable life, I found out that my kidneys had failed. I lost my appetite and consulted several doctors. For a long time, the real issue wasn’t diagnosed. Finally, a renowned Bhopal doctor, NP Mishra, confirmed my kidneys were damaged. Dialysis began, and hospital visits became frequent. Money flowed like water into private hospitals, crippling our middle-class family.
My family and I decided to go for a kidney transplant, but it wasn’t easy. At that time, kidney transplant facilities were unavailable in Bhopal, so we explored options in Indore. In 2007, I underwent a transplant, which cost us Rs 14-15 lakh.
I fail to understand how this misfortune befell me. No one in my family smokes or drinks. Was it a result of the Bhopal gas tragedy or something else? While my parents did not suffer serious gas-related illnesses, I see many in my neighborhood struggling with similar health issues.
Because of these struggles, I never married. I thought, “When my own life is uncertain, why create trouble for someone else?” I have been living alone ever since. After COVID-19, life took another turn. My transplanted kidney stopped functioning.
Since then, I have been undergoing dialysis twice a week, coupled with medication. The veins in my arms are so punctured that you wouldn’t be able to count the holes. The lumps near my elbows are a result of this process. During each dialysis session, I lose about 100 grams of blood, and my body regenerates it slowly. As a result, I have withered away.
Thankfully, I get dialysis done at Bhopal Memorial Hospital, which saves me some expenses. Still, my monthly medicines cost ₹5,000. I take 14-15 tablets daily. My body survives solely on these medications. If you weigh all the medicines I’ve taken over the years, they’d total no less than 30 kilograms.
I’m now trying for another kidney transplant. A donor is ready, but the process is so complicated that obtaining permission itself is taking a long time. I’m not the only one facing this issue; others I know have willing donors but cannot proceed due to the lengthy approval process. This adds to the mental anguish of already suffering patients. Authorities need to address this urgently.
A second transplant will be expensive, which is challenging for me. But I will try. The government once provided Rs 1.5 lakh in compensation. But what is that for such immense pain? The government should step forward to support the poor and understand the far-reaching impact of the gas tragedy. Today, the disaster has become just another memorial day. But its effects linger in people’s bodies—I am living proof of that.
Abu Hasan, 8 years old
My name is Sufiya. For the past six months, I have been coming to the Chingari Rehabilitation Centre every day, hoping that my child will get better. We’ve tried every treatment imaginable and spent Rs 8-10 lakh, but there hasn’t been any improvement. I take it as Allah’s test and a chance to serve my child, holding on to hope that one day he will recover.
I was born in Itwara. My father worked as a labourer. I don’t remember the gas tragedy, but my mother used to tell us stories about that night. Everyone was coughing so much they couldn’t breathe, and their eyes burned like fire. My sister’s eyes swelled up badly. Since then, life has been full of challenges. Both my parents developed respiratory problems and underwent extensive treatment. By God’s grace, I was spared from those issues.
I got married in Obedullaganj, Raisen district. My husband, Musharraf Rahman, is a truck driver. Eight years ago, our son was born, and we were overjoyed. We named him Abu Hasan and raised him with utmost care. For the first year, we didn’t notice anything unusual. He was chubby and tall. But as he grew, it became apparent that he was different from other children.
By the time he was a year and a half old, we realised something was wrong. His developmental milestones were delayed. He was learning everything slowly, couldn’t speak, and, most concerning of all, had frequent bouts of anger. We consulted every reputed hospital in Bhopal and tried homeopathy, Ayurveda, and allopathic treatments. For the past seven years, we’ve been running from one hospital to another for him.
Since childhood, Abu Hasan has been on medication. At the age of eight, he’s taken an average of four pills a day. If each pill weighs around a gram, he would have consumed around 10 kilograms of tablets in his short life.
Six months ago, we moved to Bhopal for his treatment and rented a house here. My husband and our two younger daughters, Maria and Haniya, also live with us in Itwara. Abu undergoes physiotherapy at the Chingari Centre every day. We come here with the hope that someday he will recover.
You might wonder if this is due to the gas tragedy or something else. We used to think the same. After all, Abu wasn’t even born in Bhopal. But at this centre, you see so many children with similar issues—why are such cases concentrated in this area? Abu Hasan’s grandmother was exposed to the gas, though neither of us was. Only experts can explain how the gas’s effects are reaching these children.
Every day, visiting this centre breaks our hearts as we see innocent children suffering. Why are they being punished like this?