Laughs and hopes Delhi blast stole: A family dinner missed, birthday bash that will never be, friendly catch-up cut short — stories of lives lost near Red Fort

A routine drive that turned deadly, a family outing that never happened, a reunion of two friends that proved short-livedDinner plan that didn't materialise, 34th birthday bash that will never be

Amar Kataria (33), co-owner of pharmacy | Resident of Sriniwaspuri, Originally from DelhiJagdish Kataria sat trembling outside his house in south Delhi’s Sriniwaspuri. A group of relatives gathered around, hugging and consoling him.His son Amar Kataria had called him around 6.45pm on Monday from his pharmacy in Bhagirath Palace. The two were planning to step out for dinner with the rest of the family later, excited to spend the evening with their loved ones. Jagdish, who runs a tailoring shop in east Delhi’s Mayur Vihar, had taken the day off while Amar was wrapping up work.

However, they could not connect on the call. Minutes later, when Jagdish called Amar back, a woman picked up, informing him that she had found his phone in the remains of the blast.

Jagdish frantically dialled his son’s alternative number, but there was no response. While they rushed to Red Fort, the family found out he had been taken to LNJP hospital.As the family waited for answers, they found out that Amar had suffered head injuries. Grappling with grief, the family waited for hours at the hospital. They finally received the news that he had been identified as one of the deceased -through a tattoo that said, “Mom my first love, dad my strength.”

Jagdish, who completed the last rites on Tuesday morning, told TOI, “My grandson just turned three in Sept.

My daughter-in-law Kriti is trying to hold herself together, but she doesn’t know how she will raise her son without his father.”The Katarias hail from Haryana, but Amar and his sister stayed in Delhi their entire lives. The family, which was eagerly looking to celebrate Amar’s 34th birthday on Dec 17, is now trying to cope with immeasurable loss.Final destination: Quick trip to stock up for shop ends in tragedyNoman Ansari (22), cosmetics shop owner | Resident of Shamli, UPOn Monday, Noman locked up his cosmetics shop in the crowded market of Jhinjhana and told his father he would be back by night. The stock was running low. He had planned a quick trip to Delhi with his cousin Aman Ansari (19), to buy supplies from the wholesalers near Sadar Bazaar. They left after lunch in a hired cab.He had opened the shop barely two years ago, naming it Noor Cosmetics after his mother. Business was modest but steady. Noman was the family’s mainstay: he supported his father Imran Ansari, a small-time farmer; paid for his elder brother’s kidney treatment; and was saving for the weddings of his two sisters. “He never kept a rupee for himself,” said his uncle Mehboob Ansari. “He said once his sisters were married, he’d think about buying a bigger shop.

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By evening, the cousins had reached Delhi. They parked near Red Fort and crossed the road toward the market, joking about how late they’d be by the time they got home. Aman remembers hearing a sound like a tyre bursting, only sharper. The air went white. When the cab driver couldn’t reach them, he called home.Imran dialled Noman and Aman in panic; neither answered. A man finally picked up Aman’s phone and told him they had been caught in the blast.

The family rushed to LNJP Hospital. They found Aman unconscious, and another officer led them to the mortuary, where Noman was identified by his red shirt.2 friends found time for each other, but destiny had other plansAshok Kumar (34), DTC bus conductor | Resident of Wazirabad | Native of Amroha, UP Lokesh Agarwal (52), fertiliser trader | Resident of Amroha’s Hasanpur villageAshok and Lokesh had not seen each other in months, but their friendship had stretched across years and cities — from the alleys of Hasanpur in Amroha to the scatter of lives in Delhi.

They stayed in touch — an occasional call, a festival greeting, promises to meet that rarely found time.On Monday, Lokesh was in the city to visit an ailing relative at Sir Ganga Ram Hospital. Before heading back home, he called Ashok to say he was leaving. Ashok, who was a DTC bus conductor, asked him to wait — just for a little while, just long enough to sit together and talk like they used to, even if only for 10 minutes.The cool air had thickened as the two sat talking on Ashok’s bike near Red Fort metro station, headed to Ashok’s home in Wazirabad.

Their conversation was likely mundane — work, children, the small complaints of middle age. Then, in the space between two sentences, the street tore apart. When police reached the site, the car was little more than its frame. Both men had died instantly.

By Tuesday afternoon, two white-draped coffins travelled the road back to Amroha — the same road they had taken together so many times before.In Mangrola village, where Ashok’s family lived, the air was heavy with smoke and disbelief.

His wife Sonam sat beside the bier holding their youngest child, Aarambh (3), while daughters Aarohi (8) and Kavya (5) stood beside her. His mother Somvati (85), a heart patient, kept whispering that he had just been home for Diwali. “He said he would come again soon,” said his brother Sompal Singh. “He kept his word — only not the way we imagined.

”Fighting back tears, Ashok’s relative Vijay said, “A tattoo of the word ‘Om’ on his hand and the DTC uniform he was wearing helped us identify his body… There’s no one left now to feed the family.

The blast has left them in complete darkness.”In Hasanpur, Lokesh’s courtyard was filled with relatives lighting incense and recalling his easy laughter. A widower for five years, he had raised three children — Saurabh, a scientist in Dehradun; Gaurav, an electrical engineer; and Divya, now married. “He never let a friendship fade,” said his cousin Bagish, who had dropped him near the Metro that night. “We told him it was late, but he said, ‘Bas ek mulaqat kar leta hoon — just one meeting.

” Hours later, the call came from Delhi Police.When both coffins reached Amroha the next morning, grief turned into protest. Villagers blocked the road with Ashok’s body, demanding compensation and a govt job for one family member. “Ashok and Lokesh were the only earning members in their families,” a relative said.Bihar cabbie made a life on Delhi roads. It ended at a red lightPankaj Sahni (22), cab driver, Resident of Kanjhawala | Native of Samastipur, BiharThe last time Pankaj Sahni’s friends and family saw him was around 4.30pm Monday, when he left his home in Kanjhawala to drop a neighbour to Old Delhi Railway Station.

Two hours later, news of the blast broke. “I kept calling him repeatedly, but his phone was switched off,” said his father Ram Balak Sahni.It was then that an image of a completely burnt and mangled white cab bearing the numberplate 6662 flashed on their TV screens, and their worst nightmare had come true. “The cab belonged to Pankaj, and we immediately informed his family,” Pankaj’s friend Bittu recalled.

Pankaj was on his way to pick up a passenger when the incident.

As he reached the signal near Red Fort metro station, his vehicle was hit by a fireball from the high-intensity blast, killing him instantly. A relative said they came to know his cab was just behind the vehicle that exploded.Ram Balak said after seeing the vehicle on the news, he immediately went to Kotwali police station and then to the hospital, but could not locate his son. Around 2am, he received a call from police asking him to come to the mortuary.A native of Bihar, Pankaj had completed his class XII education and was his family’s main breadwinner. “He used to work with a private company, but after losing that job, he started driving a cab. He worked tirelessly, supporting my treatment as I’m a heart patient and helping his younger siblings with their education,” said a grief-stricken Balak Ram, as he waited with some relatives at the mortuary to collect the body.The cab had been bought on loan, which Pankaj was repaying, he added.Between hope and despair, the latter prevailsMohammad Jumman (35), e-rickshaw driver | Resident of Shastri Park | Originally from DelhiFor the family of Mohammad Jumman (35), an e-rickshaw driver from Shastri Park in northeast Delhi, Monday night was one of agonising uncertainty. His phone location had last shown him stuck in traffic near Lal Qila, after which all contact was lost.Early Tuesday morning, the family reached the LNJP mortuary, their emotions swinging helplessly between hope and despair. His brother Chand showed TOI a screenshot on his phone of Jumman’s last-traced location, frozen amid heavy traffic. Beside him, their uncle Idris clutched a photograph of Jumman on his phone, waiting anxiously for confirmation of what they feared but refused to believe.

The family left the hospital premises with tear-stained eyes, still holding to a faint hope that there had been some mistake.

Jumman’s 10-year-old son clung tightly to his mother’s finger, trying to console her. A few hours later, their worst fears were confirmed: the body had been identified as Jumman’s. The news shattered whatever strength they had been holding onto, said Idris.Jumman, the family’s sole breadwinner, was the reason his three children, a son and two daughters, were able to attend school, studying in classes 5 to 7. His wife Tanuja has been specially-abled since birth and is unable to walk properly due to a deformity in one of her legs.

For years, Tanuja had depended on Jumman for every small need. Now, she is left grappling with the fragile conditions of the household.Idris recalled the last time the family spoke to him, his voice breaking. “He had spoken to his wife, who asked him if he would be having lunch at home. He told her that he would be coming home for dinner. He never came.”Dreams, kids’ future go up in smokeMohsin (32), e-rickshaw driver | Resident of Daryaganj | Native of Meerut, UPOn most mornings, Mohsin could be found idling at the mouth of Chawri Bazaar, one hand on the handlebar of his e-rickshaw, the other warming over a cup of sweet tea.

The first passengers — porters, clerks, women balancing vegetable baskets — would drift in as Old Delhi uncurled from sleep. He knew the streets by their smells: diesel, spice dust, the damp breath of the Yamuna nearby. Delhi, for all its noise and cost, had given him something close to steadiness — a roof in Daryaganj, regular customers, and school fees that were paid on time.

Mohsin had come to the city from Meerut two years ago. He’d left behind his mother Sanjeeda, who phoned every few days to ask if he was eating properly.

His wife Sultana and two children — Hifza, 10, and Ahad, 8 – had moved with him. He earned about Rs 400 a day and tucked away a few notes each evening for his children’s education. In the small ledger he kept folded in his shirt pocket, he marked every expense neatly in blue ink.On Monday, Mohsin was driving when the explosion tore through the traffic. His relative Nazim saw the video of the blast on his phone and recognised the spot.

He called repeatedly; no one answered. A cop finally picked up and said the phone’s owner had been taken to hospital. “I told him not to go to Delhi,” said Sanjeeda, her voice cracking. “He wanted to work hard for his children’s future.”Printing press staffer had just gone back to work after Diwali at homeDinesh Kumar Mishra (32), printing press worker | Native of Shravasti, Uttar PradeshTen days ago, Dinesh had travelled from Delhi to his village Ganeshpur in UP’s Shravasti to celebrate Diwali.

He spent the afternoon decorating the mud walls of his home with his daughters, Bitta, 7, and Srishti, 4, before joining the evening prayers. His eldest son, Himanshu, 8, clung to his hand, reluctant to let go when it was time for him to leave. “I’ll be back soon,” Dinesh had said. “Just after the next order.”He worked at a printing press in Chandni Chowk, earning enough to send money home every few weeks. The work was hard but steady, and Delhi had begun to feel familiar — a rented room near the press, tea from the same stall each morning.

His wife Reena Devi stayed back in Ganeshpur with the children, while his brothers Guddu and Rajesh worked as labourers elsewhere in Delhi. His father, Bhure Mishra, a farmer, called every Sunday to ask if he was eating well. “He always said the same thing,” Bhure recalled later. “Bas kuch din ki baat hai — just a matter of a few days.”On Monday evening, the blast near Red Fort ripped through that small certainty. For hours, the family tried calling.

When no one answered, Guddu rode his motorcycle through the city’s chaos toward Chandni Chowk. He was the one who found Dinesh at LNJP Hospital. “I want to appeal to the PM to help us,” said Bhure. “Whatever we receive, it will go to the children.”Villagers gathered outside the Mishra home, some holding small lamps left over from Diwali. Inside, Reena sat on the floor, her hands motionless in her lap. “He called every night,” she whispered. “He said Delhi was noisy but good for work.”