“An exemplary punishment in this case is not about vengeance. It is about restoring faith in the idea that lives matter more than profits. Twenty-five people did not die because of an unforeseeable natural event. They died because safety was treated as optional. Fire regulations are not ornamental clauses meant to be ignored until tragedy forces attention. They exist precisely to prevent situations like this.
There is also a wider context that cannot be ignored. Goa’s nightlife economy thrives on a reputation for freedom and fun.“
What happened on that December night in a Goa nightclub was not an accident in the ordinary sense of the word. It was a catastrophe waiting to happen, born of arrogance, neglect and a casual disregard for human life. Twenty-five people walked into a place meant for music and celebration. None of them expected that faulty decisions and ignored safety norms would turn it into a death trap. The owners of that space cannot be treated as unfortunate bystanders to fate. They were active enablers of the conditions that led to mass death.
The Luthra brothers were not running a corner shop or an informal gathering. They were operating a high-profile commercial establishment in one of India’s busiest tourist hubs. Such ventures come with profits, visibility and responsibility. When safety norms are diluted, licences allowed to lapse and flammable structures become part of design aesthetics, responsibility does not end with apologies or legal paperwork. It begins with accountability.
What makes this case particularly disturbing is not just the scale of the tragedy but the behaviour that followed it. Within hours of the fire, the club’s owners left the country. That single act speaks volumes. Flight in the immediate aftermath of a disaster involving mass casualties is not the action of people eager to cooperate with the law. It reinforces a long-held public suspicion that wealth and influence can be used to evade consequences, at least temporarily.
India has seen too many such cases. Buildings collapse, fires break out, bridges fail, and lives are lost. Each time, negligence is blamed, compensation is announced, and the news cycle moves on. Very rarely does punishment match the magnitude of the crime. When it does not, negligence becomes normalised. It sends a dangerous message that cutting corners is a manageable risk, and that even if disaster strikes, the system will soften the blow.
An exemplary punishment in this case is not about vengeance. It is about restoring faith in the idea that lives matter more than profits. Twenty-five people did not die because of an unforeseeable natural event. They died because safety was treated as optional. Fire regulations are not ornamental clauses meant to be ignored until tragedy forces attention. They exist precisely to prevent situations like this.
There is also a wider context that cannot be ignored. Goa’s nightlife economy thrives on a reputation for freedom and fun. But freedom without responsibility becomes recklessness. When enforcement agencies look the other way and operators exploit that silence, public safety becomes collateral damage. While authorities and inspectors must also be held to account, that cannot dilute the primary culpability of those who owned and ran the establishment.
Some will argue that the law must take its course and that emotions should not influence sentencing. That argument misses the point. The law already provides for proportionate punishment. Culpable negligence resulting in multiple deaths is among the gravest offences a business owner can commit. Applying the law firmly is not emotionalism. It is the justice system doing what it is meant to do.
An exemplary punishment would serve a vital deterrent function. It would tell every bar owner, event organiser and hospitality entrepreneur that safety violations are not minor infractions to be settled with fines or influence. They are criminal acts with life-altering consequences. It would also tell families of the victims that their loss is not being reduced to a line item in a charge sheet.
This case must become a turning point. Not just in Goa, but across the country. Public spaces must stop being governed by a culture of jugaad and selective enforcement. When the punishment is strong, clear and unavoidable, behaviour changes. When it is weak or delayed, tragedy repeats itself.
The Luthra brothers did not pull the trigger, light the match or lock the exits. But they created an environment where death became inevitable. For that, the punishment must be exemplary. Anything less would be a betrayal of the dead and an invitation to the next disaster.
