People’s Stories

Today, there are still hundreds of thousands of survivors in Bhopal who remember that fateful night of December 2nd, 1984. Amid the chaos and terror of that night are countless tales of courage and survival, as people sought to save themselves and their loved ones from the clouds of deadly gas. Some of those survivors have been kind enough to share their stories with us, and you can read their accounts below.

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People’s Stories

Today, there are still hundreds of thousands of survivors in Bhopal who remember that fateful night of December 2nd, 1984. Amid the chaos and terror of that night are countless tales of courage and survival, as people sought to save themselves and their loved ones from the clouds of deadly gas. Some of those survivors have been kind enough to share their stories with us, and you can read their accounts below.

"This is a pure and simple criminal deed...I think it is an insult to say 'we accept moral responsibility'... then you discharge yourself of moral responsibility with a bit of charity, it's simply not on."

Union Carbide Accepts Moral Responsibility - MN Buch - India Administrative Service Bhopal 1975

Aziza

At about 12.30 am I woke to the sound of Ruby coughing badly. The room was not dark, there was a street light nearby. In the half-light I saw that the room was filled with a white cloud. I heard a great noise of people shouting. They were yelling ‘bhaago, bhaago’ (run, run). Mohsin started coughing too and then I started coughing with each breath seeming as if we were breathing in fire.
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Laccho

Hearing our voices, Laccho turns and surveys us with empty eyes, then gives a toothless and unexpectedly sweet smile. To look at her, you would think she was in her eighties, not forty years younger.
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Mehboob Bi

When her daughters were small and there was no food Mehboob Bi used to give them water at night to fill their stomachs. ‘Afterwards I came to know that in many places the wells have been poisoned by that factory, the same cursed place that tried to kill us all with gas.’
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Saira

Our family has always been horribly poor. Besides tattooing, father massaged people with pulled muscles. The pittance he earned was gambled away. Sometimes we’d have meals, but mostly we went hungry. Our neighbours, pitying us, would sometimes send their leftovers.
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Sunil

Sunil, for much of your short life, you believed that people were coming to murder you. 'Nonsense,' we, your friends, would try to reassure you. 'The sky's blue. We are all here. You have done no harm to a soul, why should anyone want to harm you?' 'I guess I'm mad,' you'd say, who could see nightmares in sunlight and hear voices bellowing in his head. Mad? Maybe you were. If so it was hardly surprising.
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