In a nation where the value of a human life often seems determined by the perpetrator’s social standing, a chilling new chapter has been added to the chronicle of road horrors.
On February 3, the dreams of 23-year-old Sahil Dhaneshra were extinguished, allegedly sacrificed at the altar of a social media “reel.” The tragedy has been compounded by a judicial development that many are calling a grave injustice: the 17-year-old accused, who was behind the wheel of a speeding Mahindra Scorpio, has been granted interim bail to sit for his Class 10 board examinations.
Sahil, a promising BBA student, had a future mapped out. He was weeks away from moving to Manchester, UK, for higher studies. It is a dream his single mother, Inna Makan, had worked tirelessly for 23 years to fund, one she says she sacrificed everything she had for.
That dream ended instantly near Lal Bahadur Shastri College when the SUV, allegedly being driven recklessly by the minor to create content for Instagram, collided head-on with Sahil’s motorcycle. The impact was so severe it caused a multi-vehicle pile-up, injuring a taxi driver and leaving Sahil dead on the spot.
“My son died because someone was making a fun reel,” Inna Makan cried in a heart-wrenching video appeal that has since gone viral. Her anguish is not just over the loss of her only child but over the apparent impunity with which the privileged navigate the justice system. The Scorpio involved reportedly had 13 pending challans for speeding, indicating a systemic pattern of abuse. Yet, just days after the fatal crash, the Juvenile Justice Board granted the accused bail, prioritizing his academic schedule over the gravity of the alleged crime.
This incident is not an aberration but part of a maddening pattern where the wealthy and well-connected bend the system, leaving ordinary citizens to mourn without closure. It echoes the infamous Pune Porsche case, where a 17-year-old killed two techies while driving drunk. In that instance, the initial response was to ask the boy to write an essay on road safety.
Although the Supreme Court recently granted bail to three adults involved in the evidence tampering of that case, it did so while delivering a stinging rebuke on “parenting failure,” noting that parents who hand keys to minors are equally culpable. However, for families like Sahil’s, such observations offer little solace when the accused walks free to take exams while their victim’s ashes are still fresh.
As if that wasn’t enough, a speeding Lamborghini Revuelto had a fatal crash in Kanpur, causing chaos and carnage. The perpetrator, Shivam Mishra, is the son of a Tobacco baron, and it took days to arrest him despite video evidence being in the police’s possession. He got out in mere hours, with bail pegged at a paltry Rs. 20,000.
The culture of accountability in India appears to be crumbling across sectors. While Delhi’s roads turn into film sets for reckless minors, Mumbai’s infrastructure is failing its citizens with lethal consequences. Just this week, a parapet segment of the under-construction Metro Line 4 collapsed in Mulund, crushing a 46-year-old auto passenger, Ramdhani Yadav, to death. The response? The contractor was fined Rs 5 crore. A life was lost due to negligence, and the penalty was a monetary transaction, little more than a “cost of doing business” for large infrastructure firms.
In each of the Delhi, Pune, Kanpur, and Mumbai cases, the system’s reaction has been procedural rather than penal. A fine is levied and/or a bail is granted. The message sent to the public is clear: safety is optional, and consequences are manageable if you have the resources. The aam junta are children of a lesser god, be it the biker going to work, the passenger in an auto, the pedestrian on the sidewalk, or even you, dear reader. They are the collateral damage in a society that fetishizes the “reel” life of the privileged while ignoring the real lives of the rest.
As Sahil’s mother pleads for support, her voice joins a growing chorus of grieving families asking a simple, devastating question: Is justice in India a right, or is it a luxury reserved for those who don’t drive Scorpios or build metros? The bail granted for board exams may be legally permissible, but in the court of public conscience, it stands as a stark indictment of a system that seems to have forgotten whom it is meant to protect.
