Ahmedabad: Rameshbhai was rolling up the shutter of his small shop near Himalaya Mall in Gujarat last month when he heard it—the screech of tyres, followed by a loud crash. A white Thar had ploughed into a row of parked vehicles before he could even turn around.
“Bas dekhta reh gaya main (I watched it speechlessly),” he said later, his voice shaking.
But the real chaos hadn’t even begun.
The driver—24-year-old Haresh Thakor, shirt half undone, eyes glassy—stumbled out of the SUV not with regret, but with rage. He was wasted. According to Rameshbhai, he looked around like he owned the world and it had wronged him. Then he charged—at a teenager filming the wreck. People screamed and scattered.
“He was drunk, no doubt. And violent. Like he’d brought the bar fight to the street,” said Rameshbhai.
It was just another day of drunk driving in dry Gujarat. As such accidents rise, police watch helplessly. But the numbers won’t tell you that.
In the March incident, the SUV driver first collided with a two-wheeler, then rammed into three cars, including one belonging to Prerak Modi, who was traveling with his father and wife. Modi’s vehicle was badly damaged. When he confronted Thakor, the latter began hurling abuses and assaulting both him and his father, who lost a mobile phone worth Rs 15,000 during the altercation. As a crowd gathered, Thakor pulled out a knife, picked up stones from the street, and began attacking people nearby. In videos that emerged later, the crowd could be seen beating him before police arrived—but not before Thakor had injured several bystanders.
Gujarat is a prohibition state, but the people—and the crashes—tell another story. According to the state’s transport department, Ahmedabad recorded 2,081 cases of drunk driving in 2024. But the actual number is likely much higher. In just the first two months of 2025, 580 people were caught driving under the influence in Ahmedabad alone—an average of nine arrests per day, up from five the previous year. Vadodara, too, has seen a sharp rise in such cases, with 31 drivers booked in a single night during Holi.
And yet, after every crash, people go back to the age-old question: How many accidents will it take to realise that prohibition isn’t really working in Gujarat?
Also read: Gujarat is anything but a dry state. Decriminalise liquor, use tax revenue for development
Drunk and fearless ruining lives
In March this year, a law student in Vadodara, allegedly under the influence of alcohol and marijuana, drove a car into a crowd of two-wheeler riders in the busy Karelibaug area. A woman named Hemali Patel died on the spot; several others—including children—were badly injured.
As bystanders rushed to the scene, trying to make sense of the chaos and pull victims from under the wreckage, the driver, Rakshit Chaurasia, stepped out. He raised his arms, swayed slightly, and with a twisted grin shouted, “Another round!” He repeated it five more times, before proceeding to chant ‘Om Namah Shivay.’
What is the point of the ban if alcohol is still available? Why don’t they just sell it openly then? The big people make money, and people like us pay for it
The ‘another round’ wasn’t just a drunken slur. It was a toast. A declaration. A moment so chilling that even hardened witnesses stood frozen. In that instant, the road wasn’t just a crash site—it became a theatre of intoxicated arrogance, immune to consequence.
In another horrifying case from December 2024, a drunk truck driver in Ahmedabad crushed a man and his three-year-old granddaughter to death, a moment caught on CCTV.
Yet despite such grim incidents, not every drunk driving case is recorded under Section 185 of the Motor Vehicles Act. Experts say this results in a severe gap between ground reality and official data, allowing the true scale of the problem to remain hidden in plain sight.
“There is a possibility of misreporting or underreporting in alcohol-related accident cases,” said Dr Priyank Trivedi, an expert in road safety and transportation. “The available data does not always reflect the actual situation on the ground, especially in high-impact crashes.”
To address this, Trivedi suggests a technological fix.
“A mobile-based application can be developed, allowing citizens to report alcohol consumption, delivery, or evidence at accident sites. These reports can help build a more accurate data pool,” he said.
Lights out, nightmares in
Twenty-year-old Mizan sleeps through the day and wakes at night—his way of dodging the nightmares. But even in daylight, the dreams chase him. In them, he is standing on a road. A car comes hurtling toward him. Blinding lights. Screams.
“Bachao, bachao,” he yells, jolting awake, drenched in sweat—the taste of trauma still raw, even two years later.
“I hear screams in my dream. Sometimes it’s me, sometimes someone else,” Mizan said, sitting on the edge of his bed—the place he now spends most of his time. “Whenever I see news of a road accident, the dreams return. It feels like a curse—one that hasn’t left me, even after two years.”
I hear screams in my dream. Sometimes it’s me, sometimes someone else. Whenever I see news of a road accident, the dreams return
The accident he was referring to is one of Gujarat’s deadliest—the July 2023 Iskcon flyover crash. The accused, Tathya Patel, allegedly ran over his Jaguar on the Iskcon bridge, killing nine people on the spot and injuring ten others. Mizan was one of the survivors. He had been commuting for two days straight and was exhausted when Patel’s Jaguar, speeding at over 140 kmph, tore through a crowd gathered on the bridge to help victims of an earlier crash between a car and a truck. Mizan’s spine and legs were crushed. His family spent nearly Rs 10 lakh on surgeries and treatment. He was forced to quit school midway. Among the dead were two police constables. Witnesses at the scene alleged Patel was drunk.
“He left home with two friends and stopped to help people in an accident. Who knew that moment of kindness would become a curse for our family,” said Rehana, Mizan’s mother, wiping her tears as she sat cross-legged on the floor beside his bed.
Mizan’s friend Altas lives five minutes away, on the same narrow street in Dariyapur. The area is packed with tiny houses, mostly occupied by blue-collar workers. No car or autos usually make it into the lane. But one car changed everything for two families.
Rehana has two sons. Mizan is 20 now. He suffered four major fractures in both legs. The doctor visits stopped a few months ago. All of the family’s savings were spent on his treatment. Mizan was in 11th standard, about to enter 12th. Now, all he does is rest. His mother curses the alcohol, the driver, and the government every day.
“What is the point of the ban if alcohol is still available? Why don’t they just sell it openly then? The big people make money, and people like us pay for it,” she said.
Road, a symbol of middle-class fear
Every morning at 5 am, 62-year-old Ramesh Chandra steps out of his home in Ahmedabad for a 2-km walk with friends. It begins like any other routine—light stretches, talk about rising vegetable prices, jokes about politics. But lately, the morning banter has taken a darker turn.
“Earlier we spoke about cricket or our grandkids. Now we talk about which road to avoid because someone got hit there,” Ramesh said, shaking his head. “Every week there’s something in the newspaper—someone hit by a bike, someone driving under the influence.”
From WhatsApp groups to evening tea sessions, from kitty parties to Mata ki Chowkis, one headline dominates: the rise in road accidents—often involving drunk or intoxicated drivers. With new cases making it to the newspapers almost every week, concern in Gujarat’s middle-class neighbourhoods has shifted. It’s no longer just about potholes or speed bumps. It’s about whether it’s even safe to cross the road.
Earlier we spoke about cricket or our grandkids. Now we talk about which road to avoid because someone got hit there
Ahmedabad has seen a troubling spike. In February, a woman was killed and four others critically injured in a hit-and-run incident near Helmet crossroads. A white SUV mowed them down and sped off. In another case, a drunk man driving an Audi crashed into six vehicles in broad daylight—then was filmed casually smoking inside his car, showing no remorse. He was granted bail soon after, despite the severity of the crash.
These aren’t isolated incidents. In many cases, the accused are from affluent or well-connected families—and face little legal consequence.
“The enforcement is weak. Even when cases are filed, they’re not always booked under Section 185 of the Motor Vehicles Act,” a senior traffic officer said on condition of anonymity. “Many incidents are either settled quietly or filed under general rash driving sections.”
For families, these stories aren’t just headlines—they’re reasons to change routines. Chhaya Patel from Ahmedabad used to pick up her nine-year-old son from school every day on her two-wheeler. But three months ago, she stopped. The surge in reckless and drunk driving cases made her reconsider.
Now, her son travels in a school cab, squeezed in tight with 12 other children. The ride takes longer and is far from ideal, but safety, she said, has become non-negotiable.
“I used to love picking him up—those 15 minutes were our special time,” Chhaya said. “But now I’m scared every time I see the news. My husband and father-in-law heard about an accident that occurred on that route and said it’s better he comes home late than doesn’t come at all. I couldn’t argue.”
The situation is complicated further by Gujarat’s unique legal environment. Despite the prohibition, alcohol is easily available—through bootleggers, private parties, and informal networks. And while the Gujarat High Court has ruled that even trace amounts of alcohol are impermissible for drivers, enforcement on the ground remains inconsistent at best.
I used to love picking him up—those 15 minutes were our special time. But now I’m scared every time I see the news. My husband and father-in-law heard about an accident that occurred on that route and said it’s better he comes home late than doesn’t come at all. I couldn’t argue
What the statistics don’t capture
After every viral video of a drunk driver rampaging through Gujarat’s streets, fingers get pointed at the police: why wasn’t this prevented? But law enforcement officials paint a different picture: one of vigilance, enforcement, and improving statistics.
According to the Ahmedabad traffic department, road accident fatalities have dropped by 25 per cent. Between 2019 and March 2025, only 102 drunk driving accidents were officially recorded in the city—leading to 19 deaths and over 100 injuries.
“We have controlled numbers compared to other states,” said Joint Commissioner of Police NN Chaudhari. In cities like Mumbai, he noted, several sub-inspectors are deployed solely to tackle liquor-related offences. “Our data has improved, and we have been able to control accidents as well.”
Police officers also point to the reality of prohibition: in a dry state, black markets are inevitable. “For every banned thing, a black market emerges,” one officer said, requesting anonymity. “We conduct raids and seize liquor regularly. But even in normal accidents, people assume the driver was drunk. Legally, unless alcohol is detected in a breathalyser exceeding 30 mg per 100 ml, we cannot book someone under Section 185.”
The police maintain that their crackdown is strict—vehicles are seized, arrests are made, and licences are recommended for cancellation when the offence is confirmed. Yet the streets continue to tell a different story.
Many alcohol-linked accidents are never tested or disclosed. A non-addicted person reacts in one second, while an intoxicated person takes two to four seconds—that difference can cost lives
Experts say many drunk driving cases are either unreported or misclassified, or missed entirely—especially in the absence of breath analysers or when enforcement is inconsistent. The data may show control, but public sentiment—and a growing list of high-profile crashes—suggests a different truth.
“It’s quite depressing to see how many accident survivors struggle with trauma and identity loss. Our data often doesn’t reflect the ground reality,” said Trivedi. “Many alcohol-linked accidents are never tested or disclosed. A non-addicted person reacts in one second, while an intoxicated person takes two to four seconds—that difference can cost lives.”
According to Trivedi, India’s road safety system has a critical blind spot: the neuropsychological effects of alcohol are rarely acknowledged in legal or enforcement frameworks.
“In most severe accidents, we see high alcohol levels—but they are rarely documented. Even in public videos, it’s clear the person was under influence. The real question is—why isn’t this being solved?” Trivedi added.
Back in Dariyapur, Mizan lay on the same bed where he has spent most of the past two years, watching life unfold through the window he can no longer walk out of. His legs bear the scars, but it’s his voice that carries the weight of everything lost.
“People say it was just an accident. But it took everything from me—my school, my legs, my sleep,” he said. “And the man who did it? He was drunk. He just kept driving.”
Outside his room, the city moves—cars honk, sirens wail, and life goes on. But for Mizan and many like him, time hasn’t moved since the crash. It lingers, heavy and unresolved, like the silence after a scream.
(Edited by Prashant)