The widow colony is one of the many lasting consequences of this 1984 Bhopal gas tragedy. Established in 1992 in Bhopal’s Karond region, Vidhwa Gas Rahat Colony was built as a housing facility with one-room flats for women who had lost their husbands in the disaster. It was intended as a place of rehabilitation, resettlement and relief after the world’s greatest industrial tragedy. Instead, it has remained an abandoned and neglected place where residents say they have been forgotten by the state, left in run-down apartments with poor infrastructure as if they no longer exist in its records.
The People’s Memorial Statue was created by Ruth Waterman in 1985. Located just a few hundred meters from the Union Carbide plant, it shows a woman carrying her child and protecting herself and the child from the toxic methyl isocyanate. The statue remains an enduring symbol of the victims of the Bhopal gas tragedy. Image source: Kanishka Chaturvedi
Bhopal was never just a one night tragedy. The gas leak lasted a few hours, but its severity remains in the soil, in the poisoned groundwater around Jay Prakash Nagar near the abandoned Union Carbide factory and in the bodies of survivors. It lives in damaged lungs, miscarriages, cancers, and children born with diseases they did not choose. This is slow, sustained violence; a violence that never ends. It survives on contaminated water, chronic illnessneurological disorders, damaged bodies and an endless bureaucracy that still requires survivors to prove the legitimacy of their suffering.
Rehabilitation in name alone
Kishwar Jehan’s one-room apartment in Vidhwa Colony carries the gravity of a place where the illness has lasted far too long. The walls are damp, the paint is peeling off in light streaks, and during the monsoon, water seeps in through the cracks and settles in the corners of the room. Above it hangs a single yellow light bulb, dim and dim. She has lived here since 1994, but the catastrophe burst into her life long before she did and never really went away.
Kishwar Jehan, a resident of the gas widows colony. Photo credit: Kanishka Chaturvedi
“I am sick and still am.” Yeh bimari gas kaand ke wajah se hi hain (We were sick then and still are. This illness is due to the gas tragedy.)
Kishwar married after the gas leak, but the poison of that night remained and was carried silently into the years that followed. It followed her into motherhood and also into her daughter’s body. Her daughter, now 21 years old, suffers from a neurological disorder caused by exposure to methyl isocyanate, and carries within her body the violence of a catastrophe that occurred before she was born.
Kishwar married after the gas leak, but the poison of that night remained and was carried silently into the years that followed. It followed her into motherhood and also into her daughter’s body. Your daughter is now 21 years old and suffers from a neurological disorder caused by exposure to methyl isocyanate.
“We can’t even get you to think because we don’t have paper.” Even proving that we are suffering from the gas disaster is a challenge,” says Kishwar.
The legacy of survival
For Shah Jahan, now 60, the memory of that night begins with the air itself. She remembers first the pungent smell, then the stinging in her eyes, followed by the panic and running.
She says: “Back when there was gas for cooking, our children loved it.” It felt like chili was in the air. First the eyes began to burn, then the throat, then the lungs. He ran without realizing it, just realizing that he was running. Humein then developed problems with his lungs. Saans ki dikkat kabhi gayi hi nahin (Our children were very young when the gas disaster happened. It felt like there was chili in the air. First our eyes started burning, then our throats, then our lungs. People ran without knowing what was happening; we just knew that we had to run. Since then, I have been having problems with my lungs. The difficulty breathing has never gone away.)
The inner alley between the dwellings of the widows’ colony is full of stagnant waste, which is due to the poor sanitary conditions in the colony. Photo credit: Kanishka Chaturvedi
Her lungs have not recovered since that night. Breathing has remained a lifelong struggle. Her room is small, with faded blue walls, full of inhalers, cough syrups and old prescriptions from Bhopal Memorial Hospital, the hospital for survivors. She still goes there, carrying a canvas bag full of reports and medication and waiting in long lines.
She had initially received compensation of INR 25,000. After that, promises came easier than justice.
She had initially received compensation of INR 25,000. After that, promises came easier than justice. “I asked to give a thousand rupees every month, but I never got that.” There was a sickness in my stomach. Always be mindful when breathing. Hum sab sharirik roop se kharaab ho gaye hain (They said they would give us a thousand rupees every month, but we never got it. I developed a stomach illness. Since then, I have found it difficult to breathe. We are all physically broken.)’
Shah Jahan sits with her grandchildren in front of her house in the widows’ colony. Photo credit: Kanishka Chaturvedi
She points to her daughter Farha, who has an inhaler next to her pillow. “Farha, my daughter is using the pump.” Use aaj tak saans lene mein dikkat hain (My daughter Farha uses an inhaler. She is still having difficulty breathing).’ “It seems to me that every one of our children will suffer from this disease (we fear that even our grandchildren will suffer from this disease),” she says.
Her voice sharpens: “You created a human government in the name of religion.” (The government divides us in the name of religion. But when the gas disaster happened, people, animals and plants alike were harmed.)”
She talks about how the suffering was not based on religion, caste or boundaries; it entered every house and touched everyone equally. However, she says access to justice has never been equal.
She talks about how the suffering was not based on religion, caste or boundaries; it entered every house and touched everyone equally. However, she says access to justice has never been equal. ‘Muawze baahar waale le gaye. Humein kuch nahi mila. “Aaj hum jhaadu pocha karte hain bade gharon mein” (The compensation went to outsiders. We received nothing. Today we survive by working as domestic servants in other people’s houses.)
The burden of survival
Rukhsana, now 70, has spent the last 26 years in the gas widows’ colony. Next to her charpai lies a metal chest containing ration cards and faded photos. She was pregnant during the gas disaster.
Rukhsana, a resident of the gas widows’ colony. Photo credit: Kanishka Chaturvedi
“Our daughter is poor Neeli hui thi.” She didn’t even cry during the birth. “Uski umar utni hi hain jitne saal gas tragedy ko hue (Our daughter was completely blue when she was born. She didn’t even cry. She is now as old as the gas tragedy itself),” she says.
Ruksana was born into the aftermath of the Bhopal gas tragedy and the disease remained as an inheritance with Ruksana’s daughter.
Ruksana was born into the aftermath of the Bhopal gas tragedy and the disease remained as an inheritance with Ruksana’s daughter. “Kidney my infection hain, Fefdon my Dikkat hain.” Bohot bimaar rehti hain (She has a kidney infection and problems with her lungs. She feels bad most of the time.) The body here carries the memory long after the night.
Rukhsana says her mother-in-law died due to the gas. Also her husband. Others followed. “Humare toh sab chale gaye (We all lost),” she notes. She says it with quiet pain, as if she doesn’t expect anyone to show compassion anymore. They once lived in Mangalwara before being shifted here. Her children now work in factories that make cookies. They leave before sunrise and return with tired hands and low wages to make a living.
She adds: “Initially I will walk a thousand miles.” After that, no one asked about our condition anymore. Until now we have bought electricity from intermediaries. Phir bhi chali jaati hain (Initially we were given 25,000 rupees. After that no one checked us. We even have to buy electricity through middlemen and yet the electricity is still out.)
Abandoned, dilapidated dwellings on the verge of collapse in Widows’ Colony, Karond, Bhopal. Image source: Kanishka Chaturvedi
“It seems we’ve been removed from the map.” “Kisi ko yaad hi nahin ki hum idhar abhi bhi zinda hain (It feels like we’ve been wiped off the map. Nobody remembers we’re still here),” says Shaheed, 22, as he stands near an open drain on the edge of the colony, where children play next to broken roads and stagnant water. His maternal grandparents died in the gas disaster.
The evidence of the gas widows’ colony is anchored in its location, for it lies quietly on the outskirts of Bhopal, in the Karond area, cornered and largely silent. Their current reality has hardly changed since the tragedy of 1984 and continues to shape everyday life as a struggle for survival with dignity.
The evidence of the gas widows’ colony is anchored in its location, for it lies quietly on the outskirts of Bhopal, in the Karond area, cornered and largely silent. Their current reality has hardly changed since the tragedy of 1984 and continues to shape everyday life as a struggle for survival with dignity.
Bhopal and its people cannot be understood through the lens of the gas tragedy alone, yet they are repeatedly reduced to it. The city is best known for the Bhopal gas tragedy, although it is much more than that. And the survivors of the Bhopal gas disaster deserve a life of dignity and recognition beyond the catastrophe that shaped their existence.
Some quotes in this article have been edited for clarity and length.
Kanishka Chaturvedi is a Delhi-based researcher and author who hails from Madhya Pradesh. Her research interests include intersectional feminism, workers’ rights, adivasi rights and the study of violence. Her work deals with questions of power, exclusion and state violence.
