SWINGS OF DEATH AT FAIRS: Dr. PRIYANKA SAURABH

SWINGS OF DEATH AT FAIRS: Dr. PRIYANKA SAURABH

11-FEB-ENG 40

RAJIV NAYAN AGRAWAL

ARA--------------------------The incident of a swing breaking at the Surajkund International Fair in Haryana once again proved that even entertainment in our country is risked by life. The fair, which is supposed to be a celebration of culture, art, and tourism, instantly turned into screams, chaos, and mourning. A police inspector died and thirteen people 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 center of attraction at fairs. The laughter of children, the enthusiasm of youth, and the hopes of families—everything is linked to these swings. But when these same swings become the cause of death, the question is not just about technical faults, but the negligence of the entire administrative structure is exposed. The Surajkund accident did not happen suddenly. This is the culmination of negligence that has been ignored for years, saying, "Let it be."

The biggest question is: how are such swings permitted? Is there a serious scrutiny of their fitness certificates, or is everything "managed" simply with a few papers and signatures? Before every major fair, the administration claims safety—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 hang?

This is not the first time that a swing has collapsed at a fair or amusement park. Such accidents have occurred periodically in different states across the country—sometimes killing children, sometime injuring women, sometime devastated entire families. Each time, the same story repeats itself—an investigation order, an announcement of compensation, and a few days of noise. Then everything is forgotten, until the next accident.

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 the blame by blaming contractors. It is said that the swing was owned by a private operator and its 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.

In reality, this is a problem with the system. Fairs are temporary, but negligence is permanent. Safety standards are considered an "additional expense," and profits are prioritized above all else. The swings are old, often imported from other states and installed without proper inspection. The operators are often untrained, lacking any understanding of the machinery's technology or training to handle emergencies.

It's also sad that the administration's sensitivity after an accident is limited to announcing compensation. The family of the deceased is considered to have fulfilled their responsibility by giving them a few lakh rupees. But can a few lakh rupees be worth someone's life? Can compensation compensate for the pain, the emptiness, and the injustice?

The question also arises: has entertainment become synonymous with risk in our country? Have fairs, swings, 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 all over the country and abroad come here. If this is the state of security at such a prestigious event, it's not difficult to imagine the situation at fairs in smaller towns and villages. There are no inspections, no ambulances arrive on time, and no one is held accountable.

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 swings 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 occur, but whether we will only wake up after a 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 fixing responsibility for that crime will be the true tribute.