<p>The Karnataka government’s conditional approval for the resumption of Indian Premier League (IPL) matches at the KSCA-run M Chinnaswamy Stadium has been greeted with predictable jubilation by supporters of Royal Challengers Bengaluru (RCB). </p><p>For a franchise defending its maiden title, and for a city starved of marquee cricket over the past year, the return feels like normalcy being restored. But Bengaluru is not returning to a blank slate. The shadow of June 2025 still hangs heavy over the stadium gates. The stampede, triggered during a chaotic RCB celebration, killed 11 fans and exposed a catastrophic collapse of planning, policing and accountability. The government’s decision to allow matches now—albeit with conditions tied to safety reforms—raises an uncomfortable question: has the system truly learnt its lessons, or has it merely moved on?</p>.<p>Multiple investigations ordered by the government spoke with unusual bluntness. A judicial commission headed by Justice Michael D’Cunha and a Criminal Investigation Department (CID) probe fixed primary responsibility on the RCB franchise, event managers DNA Entertainment, and the Karnataka State Cricket Association. The event was declared illegal, organised without police permission, and amplified by reckless social media announcements that drew nearly four lakh people into an area never designed to hold them. Senior police officers were also indicted for failing to prevent an unauthorised gathering they knew was unfolding without safeguards. Yet the arc from outrage to outcome has been depressingly familiar. Suspended police officers have been reinstated, criminal cases against organisers remain mired in litigation, with charge sheets stalled and key executives out on bail. No real action followed. Perhaps most telling is the silence surrounding the political establishment, which patronised the "illegal" celebration but escaped the purview of every probe.</p>.<p class="bodytext">This is the uneasy context in which cricket returns to the stadium. The government insists that this time is different: tighter ticketing, capped attendance, infrastructural upgrades, and a new crowd-control law that promises harsh penalties for violations. On paper, these measures are overdue and necessary. But they also underline a troubling truth. The state has focused on preventing the next disaster without conclusively accounting for the last one. If the resumption of matches becomes merely another chapter of “business as usual”, Bengaluru risks sending a dangerous message: that lives lost to administrative failure can be absorbed, settled, and ultimately forgotten. The real test of the government’s conditional approval will not be whether the stands are full or the matches are incident-free, but whether accountability has finally caught up with the powerful and the protected.</p>
<p>The Karnataka government’s conditional approval for the resumption of Indian Premier League (IPL) matches at the KSCA-run M Chinnaswamy Stadium has been greeted with predictable jubilation by supporters of Royal Challengers Bengaluru (RCB). </p><p>For a franchise defending its maiden title, and for a city starved of marquee cricket over the past year, the return feels like normalcy being restored. But Bengaluru is not returning to a blank slate. The shadow of June 2025 still hangs heavy over the stadium gates. The stampede, triggered during a chaotic RCB celebration, killed 11 fans and exposed a catastrophic collapse of planning, policing and accountability. The government’s decision to allow matches now—albeit with conditions tied to safety reforms—raises an uncomfortable question: has the system truly learnt its lessons, or has it merely moved on?</p>.<p>Multiple investigations ordered by the government spoke with unusual bluntness. A judicial commission headed by Justice Michael D’Cunha and a Criminal Investigation Department (CID) probe fixed primary responsibility on the RCB franchise, event managers DNA Entertainment, and the Karnataka State Cricket Association. The event was declared illegal, organised without police permission, and amplified by reckless social media announcements that drew nearly four lakh people into an area never designed to hold them. Senior police officers were also indicted for failing to prevent an unauthorised gathering they knew was unfolding without safeguards. Yet the arc from outrage to outcome has been depressingly familiar. Suspended police officers have been reinstated, criminal cases against organisers remain mired in litigation, with charge sheets stalled and key executives out on bail. No real action followed. Perhaps most telling is the silence surrounding the political establishment, which patronised the "illegal" celebration but escaped the purview of every probe.</p>.<p class="bodytext">This is the uneasy context in which cricket returns to the stadium. The government insists that this time is different: tighter ticketing, capped attendance, infrastructural upgrades, and a new crowd-control law that promises harsh penalties for violations. On paper, these measures are overdue and necessary. But they also underline a troubling truth. The state has focused on preventing the next disaster without conclusively accounting for the last one. If the resumption of matches becomes merely another chapter of “business as usual”, Bengaluru risks sending a dangerous message: that lives lost to administrative failure can be absorbed, settled, and ultimately forgotten. The real test of the government’s conditional approval will not be whether the stands are full or the matches are incident-free, but whether accountability has finally caught up with the powerful and the protected.</p>
