Gargi Raut in Bengaluru
What unfolded at the Chinnaswamy stadium was heartbreaking. 11 lives lost, as officially stated by the Karnataka Chief Minister, all because they wanted a glimpse of a team, a team they had loyally waited to see win for 18 years. I had stepped out of my hotel room, a short walk away from the stadium, at around 4:45 pm. Having been to Bangalore and having stayed at the same hotel before I was well versed with the route I was supposed to take and knew it wouldn’t take me more than 10 minutes to get to Gate No. 12, where the media was supposed to enter from.
As I walked closer to the stadium, looking for a place to set up my camera and go live, I realised there was none. The crowd had to navigate through barricaded spaces and given the volume of people on the streets it was impossible for everyone to move through the space freely. The gates had been closed when I got there, but what I didn’t anticipate, that I would get stuck in the crowd way before I even reached my entry point. As I tried to navigate my way through the crowd, it came to a standstill, I realised I had come too far in to leave now and the gate from where I was supposed to enter was only 50 meters away, yet there was no way I could reach it.
I was in constant touch with my colleagues who were fearing my safety. I received phone call from three different colleagues, all advising me that at that point they did not care about the live show because a report from The Hindu had claimed that three lives had already been lost. That’s when the restlessness set in, not just in me but also the rest of the crowd, with no escape and people still pouring into the tiny lane outside the main gate, everyone started discussing ways we could leave. There were yells, fans saying they couldn’t breathe, discouraging each other from panicking and trying to stay calm.
People were packed shoulder to shoulder when the rain began to fall. In search of relief, some climbed barricades, fences, even trees. But the gates remained firmly shut, despite desperate pleas from fans asking security to open them.
As the team bus approached the main entrance, chants and cheers grew louder, and that’s when things turned chaotic but there was also a sense that the chaos would be over as soon as the bus entered the stadium. A stampede-like panic broke out. Some fans, trying to escape the crush, attempted to leap over barricades into the team bus lane. But the police, worried about safety, pushed them back. Once the bus had passed through, it became clear to many that they had no choice but to act for their own survival. They began scaling the barricades, helping each other over. Eventually, the police pulled the barricades down entirely, allowing the crowd to flood into an open area where they could finally breathe.
Before all this unfolded, a young man had spotted me trying to get out of the crowd and urged me to climb over a small barricade and go to the bus lane where the media was allowed to enter. I did so and eventually found my way to the gate, but alas, the police would not let me enter, considering just how chaotic the crowd had gotten. I requested multiple times, had to show them the media advisory that read “Media Entry for Trophy Celebrations at KSCA will be from the main gate (Nos. 12-13)”, after almost five minutes of explaining, through a language barrier, that I was from the media and this is where I am supposed to enter from, a kind policeman let me through.
As I entered, two ambulances rushed through the gate, carrying people that had been injured in the stampede; while another was parked inside and was treating minor injuries. I asked for directions for the media box and when I went inside the stadium the celebrations had already started, it was shocking to say the least. I had expected the event to be cancelled, considering that the death toll kept rising. While team took the stage, the trophy was brought in, fireworks went off, a victory lap begun and the crowds chants grew stronger, I had a strong urge to get to the other side of the media centre, which had windows overlooking the main entry, as I stepped outside the press box and into the hallway, the sirens kept growing louder, I opened the window to look out and more ambulances had made their way in, there were a lot more policemen now standing, people getting their injuries treated. From the videos I have now seen all over the internet, some were being rolled out on stretchers, others being carried away, all while the celebrations went on.
As I went back in, the call for a press conference was announced and I headed to the PC room. I took another look outside the window to see that the players were now entering the buses, the celebrations had ended. And as the media made their way to the PC room, it was communicated to us that the press conference had been cancelled fearing the players’ safety and the crowd outside.
It was surreal, watching the team lift the trophy while sirens screamed just beyond the walls. Fireworks lit up the sky as fans were being carried away on stretchers. The contrast was jarring, almost cruel. And somewhere in that chaos, the weight of what had happened began to sink in, not just as a reporter, but as someone who had stood in that crowd moments ago.
The entire day was supposed to be a day of celebration but it turned into a horrific state of events. Our thoughts and prayers go out to the fans who were injured and the families who lost their loved ones.
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🚨On a heartbreaking day, hours after RCB’s “celebration” wrapped up and the streets are still littered with lost slippers from the stampede, fans stand waiting to catch a glimpse of the team bus, unaware it’s already long gone.@gargiraut15 reports
Our thoughts are with the… pic.twitter.com/5u4LAEkV2y
— RevSportz Global (@RevSportzGlobal) June 4, 2025