Opinion Rajasthan school building collapse: Deaths of children demand more than government’s ‘condolences’

The children, most of them under the age of 14, had gathered in the classroom for the day’s lessons. Moments before disaster struck, one girl stepped outside and warned teachers that “kankar (gravel)” was falling from the ceiling. Her plea went unheeded. Minutes later, the roof caved in on the children. The teachers who were reportedly outside at the time of the incident were unhurt. The incident is a culmination of long-standing oversight failures and a deeper, often unspoken reality: Children from underprivileged communities are rarely treated as a priority. The school building had long shown visible signs of structural decay, cracked beams, water-stained ceilings, and sagging concrete slabs, which became even more vulnerable during the monsoon.

The Rajasthan government, while expressing grief, has announced a high-level committee to investigate the matter. But one wonders what is left to investigate? More so when the building was visibly unsafe. Immediately after the accident, the District Magistrate acknowledged on record that there was already a list of school buildings in dangerously poor condition. But when it came to the government’s plan for making those buildings safe, he had nothing concrete to offer. The only “solution” in place, it seems, was to shut the schools down. No thought was given to what would happen to the students in the meantime. Where would they go? How would they continue learning?

From Prime Minister Narendra Modi to Rajasthan Chief Minister Bhajanlal Sharma, everyone extended their condolences over the tragic deaths. State Education Minister Madan Dilawar also expressed sorrow and stated that the government would cover all the medical expenses for the injured students. At the same time, he also acknowledged that a large number of government school buildings in the state are in a dilapidated condition. Repair work, he said, has begun, and Rs 200 crore has been earmarked for the effort. Announcing free medical treatment for the injured may sound generous, but let’s be honest — that’s a bare minimum.

The painful truth behind these failures is that schoolchildren do not constitute a political constituency. Aged under 14, they don’t vote, don’t protest, and don’t march. Their parents, often daily wage workers or small farmers, rarely have the clout to compel urgency. The result? School safety isn’t prioritised, and it becomes just another forgotten line item in a forgotten budget. What makes the situation even worse is that the mindset is reactive: Wait for the accident, then offer the bare minimum compensation and sympathy.

This same quiet neglect plays out in cities like Delhi, just with a different backdrop. I’ve been representing the petitioner in WP (C) No. 8828 of 2017, Kush Kalra vs. Union of India, a Public Interest Litigation. This is a case that brings to the fore disturbing questions about the safety of school buildings in the nation’s capital. The petition highlights problems we’d all like to believe are unthinkable in a modern city: Narrow entrances, broken staircases, and classrooms without fire exits. You’d expect urgency, but instead, we’ve been stuck in limbo. The case is still pending before the Delhi High Court.

In this petition, we’ve drawn the Court’s attention to the Supreme Court’s 2009 judgment in Avinash Mehrotra vs. Union of India, a case that should’ve set the baseline for school safety nationwide. That ruling clearly laid out minimum safety standards for schools, including mandatory adherence to the National Building Code of India, 2005 (specifically Part IV on fire and life safety), and compliance with the Bureau of Indian Standards’ fire safety protocols for educational institutions. These aren’t just technical guidelines; they’re safeguards meant to prevent exactly the kind of tragedies that we keep on witnessing.

And yet, the data presented by the government in response is deeply troubling. According to their own submissions in Court, at least 202 schools in Delhi don’t even qualify for the No Objection Certificates (NOC) by the fire department because they’re tucked away in lanes too narrow for fire engines to access. Another 198 schools don’t even have the basic safety features; there are unfinished electrical setups, staircases are too narrow or single, there’s a lack of water tanks or fire pumps, and even something as basic as proper exit doors in classrooms is absent.

We often speak of India@2047, a developed, global power, one of the world’s largest economies. But how do we reconcile that ambition with a country where children still die in collapsing classrooms? What does “Viksit Bharat” mean when we can’t guarantee that a child sitting on a classroom bench will be safe?

The writer is an Advocate, Supreme Court of India and former member, NHRC