Telangana tragedy: lax laws, lost lives and the cost of ‘ease of doing business’

A foul smell hits the nostrils as one enters the Pashamylaram area industrial area near Hyderabad. It’s the smell of chemicals — and of something much worse.

On 30 June, an explosion at the Sigachi Industries Limited, a microcrystalline cellulose manufacturer, killed 44 workers and left many injured or missing. Days later, the ground still bears testimony to the explosion, with a burning smell, charred debris, broken concrete and the skeletal remains of a once-bustling factory.

On the day of the explosion, one of the worst in the state, 143 workers were present at the site. Of them, 61 are safe, 16 are in hospital and 14 discharged after treatment, the company said in a statement on 6 July 2025. 

From the gates of factory, where policemen stop us, one can see personnel from the State Disaster Response Force (SDRF) going through the debris, looking for the remains — bone or flesh of the dead — to establish the identity of the eight missing workers. Their families, brought from Bihar, Jharkhand and Uttar Pradesh, are camped at a government-run rehabilitation centre, waiting to hear, waiting for confirmation of their worst fears.

The grief for them is emotional and bureaucratic.

The DNA matching is a prerequisite to even claim compensation. But the agony has only deepened. Officials from the Central Forensic Science Laboratory (CFSL) have informed families that none of the over 100 DNA samples collected have matched.

The families were told to consider returning home.

Sangareddy additional collector Chandrashekar counselled the families on Wednesday, 9 July, and assured them that death certificates would be issued within three months. A sum of Rs 15 lakh has been announced as immediate compensation for the families of the missing.

Agonising, anxious wait

Among those waiting is Jayprakash Nishad — looking for his cousins Akhilesh Kumar Nishad and Vijay Kumar Nishad from Bihar.

Akhilesh, a BA graduate, had to give up dreams of higher education due to financial constraints. “We only have two bighas of land back home. His friends who went for further studies are now government teachers. He worked in this company for over 10 years,” says Jayprakash.

Akhilesh leaves behind three children and a house so poorly built that rainwater leaks through the roof. “We are clueless what will happen to the family now,” says Bajrangi Lal Nishad, another relative, who is sitting anxiously at the rehabilitation centre.

From Devghar, in Jharkhand, 22-year-old Irfan Ansari had joined the company just 10 days before the blast. His brother Jafruddin says, “We don’t get continuous work back home. My mother is a heart patient — we still haven’t told her what happened.”

Another young recruit, Justin, had joined the unit just two days before the incident. His father injured himself while searching through the debris on the fourth day, and nine days later, still waits for news. “The confirmation of death with even a trace of their body would bring closure to this agonising wait,” a relative said.

‘Systemic neglect’

Trade unions and activists don’t hesitate to say that the tragedy was not just an accident, but a systemic failure enabled by policy.

Founded in 1989, Sigachi Industries manufactures pharmaceutical excipients used in tablets and capsules. It operates in multiple states, boasts USFDA approvals and is listed on the stock exchange in 2021.

Paladugu Bhaskar, state general secretary, Centre of Indian Trade Unions (CITU), Telangana, blames the 2014 dilution of the Factories Act, 1948, by the BJP-led central government.

“Factory inspections were watered down in the name of ease of doing business. The Telangana government followed suit. Visits by inspectors were stopped. Workers without technical qualifications are handling hazardous materials,” he explains.

Manik Athimela, CITU district vice president and convenor for the Pashamylaram industrial area, says, “The company is responsible. Casual labour was handling machinery, which is illegal. Officers are not allowed to inspect factories on their own. The state facilitated this by issuing government orders (GOs) to this effect. Both Centre and state are responsible. Criminal cases must be filed.”

Pointing to another regressive step, he adds, “The government increased working hours from eight to 10 under GO 282. Lunch breaks are allowed only after six hours instead of the previous four. These changes are in line with the Centre’s new labour codes.”

Dr R.V. Chandravadan, IAS, and former labour secretary, highlights the collapse of regulatory infrastructure. “The factories department is short-staffed. Staffing needs were never updated post-1960s, despite exponential growth in industries. There’s no training or regular inspections anymore. Without post-disaster reviews or systemic reform, the next disaster is just around the corner,” he warns.

Retired scientist Kalapala Babu Rao of the Indian Institute of Chemical Technology says the blast made headlines only because of the death toll. “Many accidents go unreported. Management failures are covered up. Workers are blamed,” he says.

‘He sent us Rs 5,000 every month’
Meanwhile, another parent says that while the government cannot give him back his son’s life, but a proper enquiry would bring succour.

G. Chinna Rao, from Srikakulam district, in Andhra Pradesh, is awaiting news of his 28-year-old son. “He used to send us Rs 5,000–6,000 per month. He was to visit us shortly and had also spoken with us. Other state governments sent officials to cater to those hailing from the respective states, but Andhra Pradesh has not done anything for us yet,” he says.

The voices of parents like Shambhu Bhind and Manmuna Devi, from Bhabua in Bihar, are painful to hear.

“The DNA sample from another relative did not match with our son Shivaji Kumar. We were called to Hyderabad to give blood samples,” says Shambhu.

Despite ill health, Manmuna Devi travelled all the way to Telangana. Her son’s future, like that of many young men from Bihar and Jharkhand, has been swallowed up by industrial negligence.

Prime Minister Narendra Modi announced Rs 2 lakh as compensation for the dead and Rs 50,000 for the injured. Telangana CM Revanth Reddy announced Rs 1 lakh and Rs 50,000, respectively. The Odisha government also announced Rs 10 lakh as compensation for families of victims from Odisha.

The Telangana government has constituted a five-member committee, including top bureaucrats and fire services personnel, to probe the incident.

But trade unions demand more: Rs 1 crore for the families of the deceased and Rs 50 lakh for the injured, who may never return to work. A judicial probe by a sitting High Court judge, they argue, is essential.

From a distance, industrial growth may seem like a story of India’s rise. But the blast at Sigachi reveals its underbelly — where migrant workers from Hindi-speaking states risk their lives for daily wages, safety norms are bent for profit and grieving families are left chasing charred DNA for compensation.

Until systemic changes are made, it won’t be the last time a factory blast leaves behind ashes, unanswered questions and shattered families across India’s most vulnerable regions.