Laws on paper, deaths on road

The Kurnool and Jaisalmer bus fires reveal not one but a chain of institutional lapses

On October 24, a Hyderabad–Bengaluru sleeper bus caught fire near Kurnool, Andhra Pradesh, killing nearly 20 passengers trapped inside. The vehicle, operated by a private company, had all its paperwork in order — fitness certificate, tourist permit, and pollution clearance. However, it had been illegally converted from a seater into a sleeper coach, lined with flammable interiors, and fitted with blocked emergency exits. It had
also accumulated 16 unpaid traffic challans.

Barely 10 days earlier, a similar tragedy unfolded in Rajasthan. A Jaisalmer–Jodhpur bus caught fire after a short circuit in its illegally installed air-conditioning system, killing 21 people. That vehicle, too, had a fitness certificate and a clean inspection record.

Two states, two accidents, one pattern: when policy is reduced to paperwork, lives become expendable.

Both the Kurnool and Jaisalmer fires reveal not one lapse but a chain of institutional failures. Fitness certification, meant to ensure mechanical soundness, has become a tick-box exercise. Inspections are rushed, often conducted without equipment or accountability. Vehicles pass the “fitness test” even when basic safety devices like fire extinguishers, hammers, and exits are missing.

This failure of enforcement is compounded by regulatory fragmentation. The Ministry of Road Transport and Highways frames laws; the National Highways Authority of India builds roads; state transport departments issue vehicle licences; and local bodies maintain infrastructure. With so many actors and no single command, accountability dissolves the moment disaster strikes.

The Sundar Committee on Road Safety and Traffic Management (2007) had predicted this very outcome. It urged the creation of a National
Road Safety and Traffic Management Board to separate policymaking, regulation, and investigation. Nearly two decades later, the proposal remains unimplemented.

Enforcement failures go deeper still. The Kurnool bus, despite repeated violations, continued to operate because there is no integrated database linking road offences, fitness certificates, and permits. Buses with a history of violations continue to run without scrutiny in the absence of a unified digital monitoring system. 

Finally, the country’s engineering standards are ignored with impunity. Illegal modifications, such as extra berths and makeshift air-conditioning, are rarely audited. The pattern is unmistakable: certification without inspection, regulation without coordination, and governance without deterrence.

According to the Ministry of Road Transport and Highways, 4.8 lakh accidents in 2023 caused 1.72 lakh deaths — an average of 474 deaths every day. Yet road safety enters public discourse only after a disaster.

Every crash is both a human tragedy and an economic wound. The World Bank estimates that accidents cost India about  3 per cent–5 per cent of GDP each year, more than the national health budget. Most victims are 18-45 years old, the very segment that sustains India’s productivity. 

Transport departments are chronically understaffed and often compromised. The same authorities that issue licences also investigate accidents, creating a built-in conflict of interest. Even when negligence is evident, action seldom moves beyond temporary suspensions or cash compensation. Without criminal or professional consequences, deterrence disappears. 

Reaction to prevention

The path forward lies not in drafting new laws but in enforcing existing ones with institutional independence: Every intercity and sleeper bus must be inspected by accredited third-party agencies and linked to a central digital registry; states should establish multidisciplinary units — engineers, forensic specialists, economists — to identify systemic faults and publish public reports; central safety grants should depend on verifiable improvements in fatality rates and emergency-response times; mandatory fire-suppression systems, non-flammable interiors, and certified modifications must be enforced through random inspections; all buses should have GPS-linked distress alerts, functional exits, and fire kits, and ambulances must be tracked to ensure response within the “golden hour”.

These reforms demand coordination, data transparency, and political will, but not new bureaucracies.

India now needs a National Road Safety Authority — an independent statutory body with powers to set, monitor, and enforce safety standards across states. Countries like Sweden and Japan reduced fatalities only after empowering such agencies to integrate engineering, enforcement, and education.

Road safety must evolve into a culture of awareness and accountability across schools, businesses, and urban planning. Innovative technology can predict danger, but only decisive governance can prevent it.

India’s highway expansion has outpaced its safety governance. The right to safe travel is an inherent part of the right to life under Article 21 of the Constitution. Fitness certificates and permits mean nothing if enforcement is hollow. The true measure of progress lies not in how many kilometres we build, but in how many lives we protect. When policy delivers, lives will no longer pay the price.

(The writer is the Director of the Centre of Economics, Law and Public Policy at National Law University, Jodhpur)

(Disclaimer: The views expressed above are the author's own. They do not necessarily reflect the views of DH.)