At a time when our society is overwhelmed by daily concerns, chaos, and confusion, the Chinnaswamy Stadium tragedy in Bengaluru—like so many heartbreaking incidents before it—will soon fade into oblivion. As always, we will return to our routines, and the media will quickly move on to newer topics of debate and distraction. What will remain in the cricketing records, however, is Royal Challengers Bengaluru’s (RCB’s) long-awaited and well-deserved Indian Premier League (IPL) triumph.

A sobering truth: over 300,000 fans surged into a stadium built for only 35,000, leading to a deadly stampede caused by overcrowding and mismanagement. Eleven young lives were lost—most of them in their twenties—and more than 75 others injured. In response, each grieving family was offered Rs.15 lakh in compensation: Rs.5 lakh from RCB and the Karnataka State Cricket Association, and Rs.10 lakh from the state government.

This compensation comes against the backdrop of the IPL’s staggering growth—its top 10 franchises reportedly doubled their combined revenue to Rs. 6,797 crore in FY24, up from Rs.3,082 crore the previous year.

Stampede deaths are, tragically, not uncommon in our country—most often witnessed at religious gatherings. Each such incident reveals how desperately we lose ourselves in life’s lesser priorities.

The recent tragedy at the Bengaluru stadium is no different. A catastrophe born of misplaced priorities should shake us to the core. But will it?

Spectacle over substance

In truth, many of us understand that a life anchored in meaningful goals offers deeper fulfillment. Yet, in the end, it all comes down to priorities: spectacle over substance, fleeting euphoria over value-driven living, short-term gains over long-term vision, and emotional manipulation over true societal upliftment.

The culture of our land was once shaped by unquestioning obeisance to royalty—often at the expense of individuality. Though those days are long past, a significant section of our population continues to indulge in hero-worship.

This tendency plays out vividly across the three most popular arenas of public life: cricket, cinema, and—most of all—politics, the ultimate theatre of showmanship and hypocrisy.

Ironically, these very spectacles distract us from what truly matters. They push us to devote our time and energy to lesser priorities, drawing us into emotional pageantry while the real work of nation-building remains neglected.

Broadly speaking, human beings long for celebration. We seek joy, purpose, and collective euphoria to escape the monotony and burdens of everyday life. This longing is deeply human. That is why we have created rituals of celebration—festivals, ceremonies, and, in contemporary times, grand spectacles like the IPL.

Given all this, should we not pause and ask: What is it that we so eagerly celebrate—and what, in truth, does it cost us?

We might say there are two kinds of celebrations. The first is born of genuine effort—where sweat, discipline and dedication converge to yield success. A team’s triumph, for instance, is the result of unwavering commitment, strategic planning, and relentless training.

The second is what we call "substitute celebration" — a momentary euphoria borrowed from someone else’s achievement. It is a mass-manufactured high, served on a platter, requiring nothing from us but our presence and our frenzy. This is where the tragedy lies.

The massive crowd that descended upon the stadium contributed nothing to RCB’s 18-year-long struggle. They were mere supporters—spectators with no real stake, only a desire to bask in borrowed glory. Their connection was purely geographical. Their thrill comes without toil; their applause, without a trace of personal achievement.

Striking difference in our collective priorities  

While the nation’s gaze remained fixed on RCB’s celebrations, a moment quieter in spectacle yet far more significant—and deserving of national acclaim—unfolded in Karnataka around the same time. In a landmark moment for Indian literature, Kannada author Banu Mushtaq received the 2025 International Booker Prize for Heart Lamp, a luminous collection of short stories written in the language of her roots.

But where was the mass euphoria? The public frenzy? No rallies. Not even a ripple of excitement compared to the deafening jubilation over the IPL. The recognition was confined to a quiet state government felicitation, accompanied by a modest cash award of ₹10 lakh each to the author and her translator, Deepa Bhasthi.

This striking difference reveals a deeper, more troubling truth: we are being conditioned to applaud spectacles that bear little relevance to our lives, while ignoring achievements that hold the power to genuinely transform society.

This is not to diminish—even remotely—RCB’s well-earned achievement; they deserve their moment. However, what does this say about our collective priorities when we glorify such victories, yet overlook far more consequential achievements—achievements that bring far greater honour to the nation?

Here lies the hard truth: when life feels monotonous and insignificant, many seek borrowed glory, mistaking it for their own triumph. The more hollow life feels, the more desperate the urge to cling to something larger — even if it bears no relation to their own lived experience. Thus, substitute celebration becomes a balm for a bruised identity.

Asking uncomforbatle questions

Why has cricket become our national mania? It isn’t our indigenous sport. It was a colonial pastime, brought by our former rulers. And yet, it eclipses every other game — hockey, kabaddi, athletics, football, tennis. Why?

One word: money.

Because money has become the status-obsessed deity—lavishly worshipped and desperately invoked as life’s ultimate pursuit.

Cricket—especially the IPL—is a multi-billion-rupee industry. In 2023 alone, IPL revenue touched Rs.11,770 crores, with the BCCI posting a surplus of Rs.5,120 crores. Over three years, its cumulative profits crossed ₹15,000 crores. And yet, the world’s richest sports body pays no tax—shielded by a “charitable” status. In stark contrast, research labs and educational institutions are taxed.

As cricket-loving masses erupt in cheer, India’s research laboratories quietly scramble for funds. India’s national spending on research and development reportedly remains at a modest 0.6 to 0.7% of GDP—well below the global average of 2.6%. In comparison, the United States allocates 3.5%, China 2.4%, and South Korea a remarkable 5%. Strikingly, more than half of India’s R&D expenditure continues to come from the government, with only minimal contributions from the private sector.

What message does this send? It’s time we ask the uncomfortable questions.

With all due love and reverence for sport, we must still wonder: has cricket—so often exalted to the skies—become a grand distraction in disguise? Why are cricketers deified, their every gesture imitated? Because they sell dreams. They sell brands. They sell products. They sustain illusions. But illusions—however dazzling—do not build nations. They may soothe us, but they do not strengthen us.

The cultural void, intellectual neglect

The manufactured euphoria surrounding India’s most popular sport claimed 11 lives—not of the rich or powerful, but of the nameless, faceless, and easily forgotten. A fulfilled individual does not perish in a stampede—nor joins a frenzy that feeds on illusion.

So yes, let us grieve. But let us also reflect—and change.

It’s not enough to mourn 11 deaths. We must mourn the deeper tragedy: a society where lives are lost over spectacles that add no real value.

Let us grieve the cultural void—the misplaced priorities, the intellectual neglect that keeps us cheering from the sidelines of borrowed games while our own potential lies unexplored.

To every Indian reading this:

Let’s not be passengers on a joyride to nowhere. Let our lives be our celebration. Let our achievements be personal, rooted, and real. Only then can the true light of our shared destiny shine.

India’s greatness is undeniable. But are we ready to be responsible custodians of her greatness? Let this be our moment of reckoning.

(Dr. Valson Thampu, Author & Former Principal, St. Stephen’s College, Delhi. Debasish Bhattacharyya, Author, Whispers of an Ordinary Journey, Former Deputy General Manager, India International Centre, New Delhi, Former General Manager, International Centre Goa. Views expressed are personal. They can be contacted at db.bhattacharyya@gmail.com )