Sangeeta Sharma, a resident of Delhi’s Dwarka Sector 7, followed the same routine for years until a phone call turned her life topsy-turvy on September 7, 2011. Around 2.30 p.m., Ms. Sharma learnt about the death of her husband, Ashok Kumar Sharma, a swimming coach at Kendriya Vidyalaya Sangathan, as he was caught up in a bomb blast at gate number 5 of the Delhi High Court. Ashok Kumar was among the 15 people who died in the explosion.
After 14 years, on the fateful evening of November 10, 2025, another bomb blast rocked the national capital, claiming lives of 13 people and injuring more than 20.
For families affected by earlier blasts, the tragedy reopened wounds that never fully healed. In Delhi, survivors continue to reel with grief that has taken many forms – resilience, anger, withdrawal and silence and anything but a clean break from loss.
“I still feel he will walk down the stairs any moment,” Ms. Sharma said. Her two daughters, who were teenagers when their father died, got married in 2024. “I missed him the most at my daughter’s wedding. Managing everything alone has been very difficult,” she said in a trembling voice.
After her husband’s demise, Ms. Sharma worked as a voice-over artist to support the family. “You cannot truly explain how loss affects you. Loneliness is the fate of those who are left behind,” she said. The couple had been married for 23 years.
The last 14 years have also taken a toll on her health: she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer, underwent treatment, and had surgery for a hernia last year. “When the mind is troubled, the body shows it,” she said.
She now spends most of her day doing seva at gurudwaras and hopes to open a small shop to stay occupied and escape the constant memories, which she described as a “frustration”.
Ms. Sharma’s pet dog, Laado, was the only steady companion through the years. After Laado’s death, two years ago, her pups, Kuku and Karan, have taken her place.
Deepavali, a festival of darkness
Deepavali is a “festival of lights” for everyone, but Monika and Satish Ochani were pushed into darkness on the eve of the festival in 2005. Monika, her two daughters, aged nine and eight months, her mother, and her sister went for shopping on October 29, 2005, when an explosion ripped through the crowded market, killing at least 50 people. The blast left an indelible mark on the lives of the couple, as they lost their eight-month-old daughter, Ms. Monika lost her mother and sister. She and her elder daughter, Jagriti, suffered burn injuries, which left the nine-year-old with a permanent walking impairment.
“The initial years were spent recovering – physically and emotionally,” said Ms. Monika, who still struggles with hearing loss. Stating that her father and younger sister carried her through the grief, the 53-year-old blast survivor said, “I could not enter the kitchen for two years. My father cared for my children even while he grieved for his wife.”
In a glimmer of hope, Ms. Monika gave birth to twins three years after the blast incident. “They are the only reason I was able to heal,” she said.
After Mr. Ochani met with a major accident in 2014, the family moved from Delhi to Meerut to be closer to relatives. “Delhi had been so devastating for us,” she added.
Visiting Sarojini Nagar for a tribute event for victims of the November 10 Red Fort blast was the family’s first return to the Capital in years.
Now, the family doesn’t celebrate Deepavali, because it reminds them of the “dark phase of their lives”, she said.
Reality check for siblings
In the same blast in 2005, Lal Chand Saluja, who ran Shyam Juice Centre in the Sarojini Nagar market, passed away. Saluja’s wife decided to send her children, Karuna and Nimrit, who were four and three years old at the time, to boarding school in Dalhousie to keep them “safe”.
The decision gave the siblings “freedom”, recalls Mr. Nimrit.
Ms. Karuna has completed her Master of Business Administration and is now seeking a job. Her brother remains connected to the only thing left of their family – Shyam Juice Centre at Sarojini Nagar. “Despite hurdles, we cannot leave the shop, as it is in the name of our grandfather, Shyam [Lal Saluja],” Mr. Nirmit said, calling it his father and grandfather’s nishaani [remnant].
“But my mother dreamed of making me an IAS officer,” he added.
Their mother died during the COVID-19 pandemic. Asked how they cope, the siblings offered a quiet answer: “With time, you learn to accept reality.”
Grief turns into anger
For Surinder Singh, another victim of the same blast, grief turned into rage. He was 15 when his brother, Khushwinder, died. Authorities mistakenly handed the body to another family, and a DNA test confirmed the error years later. “My mother still cries every night,” he said.
Khushwinder had postponed marriage to save money to build the family a house – a dream that remains unfulfilled.
“The everyday struggles do not let us forget. There has been no support from anywhere,” Surinder said. “Our grief has now turned into anger.”
Published – November 24, 2025 06:36 pm IST
