Delhi Red Fort Metro blast | Ashok Randhawa: The man who never stops running towards tragedy

Twenty years ago, on October 29, 2005, a series of explosions ripped through Delhi’s marketplaces, tearing apart the festive calm of Diwali eve. The blasts at Sarojini Nagar, Paharganj, and Govindpuri killed 62 people and injured over 200, the deadliest terror attack the national capital had seen in decades.

Among the chaos and smoke at Sarojini Nagar stood a shopkeeper named Ashok Randhawa, who would go on to dedicate his life to helping others who survived the same tragedy. Over the next two decades, Randhawa would become one of Delhi’s most persistent voices for terror victims, a man who transformed personal loss into public advocacy.

Today, as Delhi reels once again after a car explosion near the Red Fort in November 2025, the first major blast in years, Randhawa’s journey assumes renewed significance.

As soon as Ashok Randhawa, whose colleague was killed in the 2005 serial blasts, heard about the Monday incident, he rushed towards the Red Fort to help the victims.

Nine people were killed and about 20 others injured when a blast ripped through a slow-moving car at a traffic signal near the Red Fort metro station at 6.52pm. The explosion, which is now being probed under anti-terrorism law, also left nearby vehicles badly damaged.

"There are many people from outside Delhi who have lost their relatives in the blast, who cannot take their bodies with them. They are in need of money. So we have arranged for an ambulance or any private vehicle for them to take their bodies," Randhawa, who is the president of the Sarojini Nagar Mini Market Traders Association, told the WEEK.

Randhawa was handing over bottles of water and tea to victims' families with moist eyes and consoling them. He also arranged ambulances for some families.

The night that changed everything

On that Diwali weekend in 2005, Sarojini Nagar was packed with shoppers. Randhawa, then general secretary of the local market traders’ association, remembers hearing the first loud bang and rushing out to check what had happened.

“I had stepped out to call the police to control the crowd when the blast went off,” he recalls. “There was smoke everywhere, bodies scattered, people screaming for help. It looked like the market itself had exploded.”

That night, he helped carry victims to ambulances and hospitals. But once the smoke cleared and the media moved on, another tragedy began to unfold, that of the survivors. Many were left disabled, widowed, or jobless. Compensation came slowly, and justice even slower. For Randhawa, it was a turning point.

From survivor to advocate

In the months that followed, Randhawa began visiting hospitals and government offices to assist the injured and the families of the dead. Realising that the state had no permanent structure to support terror victims, he decided to create one.

He founded the South Asian Forum for People Against Terror (SAF-PAT), an organisation aimed at ensuring victims received compensation, medical care, and rehabilitation. Over the years, he became the point of contact for dozens of families navigating Delhi’s bureaucratic maze.

“The pain doesn’t end when the news ends,” he told The WEEK outside the Maulana Azad Mortuary. “For many, the struggle only begins after the cameras leave.”

Under SAF-PAT, Randhawa has organised annual memorials every October 29 at Sarojini Nagar, bringing together victims’ families, survivors, and residents to remember those lost. The ceremonies, often attended by local leaders, serve as a reminder that memory and justice cannot be separated.

An uneven fight for justice

While Randhawa’s dedication has remained unwavering, the institutional response has been anything but consistent. The investigation into the 2005 blasts dragged on for years. In 2017, a Delhi court convicted one of the accused, Tariq Ahmed Dar, but acquitted two others, citing lack of evidence. Dar was sentenced to 10 years in prison, a verdict that survivors described as a betrayal.

He also highlighted how many victims never received full compensation, and those who did were often trapped in bureaucratic formalities. In some cases, families could not access relief funds because they were locked in fixed deposits. Others said they were still waiting for a job or education assistance for their children.

Randhawa’s recurring demand, one he continues to press is that the government reserve 2 per cent of jobs for families of those killed or permanently disabled in terror attacks. “Such a step would not erase the pain,” he says, “but it would help rebuild lives destroyed by something they had no part in.”

Each year, as Diwali lights return, Randhawa and a small group of survivors gather near the spot of the first blast. They light candles, offer prayers, and read out the names of the dead. Many passersby stop for a moment, some with tears, others with vague recognition.

“People forget,” Randhawa says quietly. “But we can’t afford to. Because when a city forgets its victims, it becomes easier for tragedy to repeat itself.”

2025 Red Fort Metro blast: Old wounds reopened

On the evening of November 10, 2025, a car exploded near the Red Fort Metro station. Flames engulfed nearby vehicles, killing at least eight people and injuring several others. The blast has once again plunged Delhi into shock, reviving memories many believed were buried in the past.

For the families who lost loved ones in 2005, the news was more than a headline. Randhawa, too, has been reaching out to the new victims’ families, offering guidance on how to access immediate medical and financial support. “The system still moves slowly,” he says. “We learned that in 2005. If we don’t act quickly, people will be left waiting again.”

For Delhi, the return of a blast after two decades is not just a matter of national security, it is also a test of institutional memory. The capital’s response in the coming months will show whether lessons from 2005 were truly learned.

Randhawa believes the first step must be empathy. “We cannot treat victims as statistics,” he says. The 2005 blasts shaped a generation’s idea of vulnerability; the 2025 explosion threatens to reopen that chapter. In the middle of both stands Ashok Randhawa, a man who has refused to let Delhi forget its dead, or its duty.