Stars and Stampedes: The Price South Pays for Its Hero Worship and India’s Endless Tragedy of Crowds

The price of fandom paid in a suffocating crush of bodies. The recent tragedy in Karur, Tamil Nadu (Sep 27, 2025) — where a political rally for actor Joseph Vijay Chandrasekhar turned into a death trap — is a horrifying testament to a culture of unchecked adoration, catastrophic planning, and crowd mismanagement. What was meant to be a display of political strength became a scene of chaos, desperation, and, ultimately, death.

For context: TVK (Tamilaga Vetri Kazhagam), Vijay’s fledgling political party, was launched amidst much fanfare in February, 2024. By many estimates he is the highest-compensated Tamil actor. He announced he would act in his last feature film (yet to be released) and become a full-time politician. At 51, many political pundits in Tamil Nadu saw this as a courageous move for someone at the peak of a safer, high-paying career—politics is rarely grateful.

This context matters: here was an actor who relied on his on-screen popularity (not the first to do so) and crowd pull, and extrapolated it into electoral strength — toward becoming the next Chief Minister of Tamil Nadu in 2026.

The Karur incident is more than a headline; it’s a mirror we refuse to look into. It forces uncomfortable questions. Why does the worship of stars — be they in cinema, politics, or holy places — so often lead to disaster on Indian streets? Is this fervor a unique national trait, or a global phenomenon with a uniquely Indian expression?

A Disclaimer

This essay is not written to personally criticize Vijay or his party (TVK), though circumstantial evidence points to a party that appears immature and a leader not yet ready to make difficult choices. Reports suggest that no one from his party visited the hospital where the injured were admitted. And no one from the party had visited the bereaved families even 48 hours after the incident.

I recognize this is not the time to point fingers — families are mourning, and grief must take precedence. But politics has already entered the room. TVK members online have indulged in a slew of conspiracy theories. The BJP sees an opportunity to attack the ruling DMK and also court TVK for its own gains. The weakened AIADMK sees an opening to break out of the BJP alliance, strengthen its base, and face DMK head-on in the upcoming elections. And the ruling party DMK, in turn, is aware that TVK and BJP cadres will do everything in their power to accuse it of “intentionally” causing the tragedy.

From the Chief Minister to the local MLA, DMK leaders have been swift in providing assistance to affected families. Against this backdrop, my intent is not to play politics but to examine the cultural, psychological, and systemic issues that make such tragedies a recurring feature of Indian life.

With that said, we must examine Karur not as an isolated misfortune but as part of a troubling pattern — one where devotion, spectacle, and negligence repeatedly converge.

The Anatomy of a Man-Made Disaster

The Karur tragedy was not a random accident or an act of fate; it was built brick by brick through reckless decisions and a profound failure of responsibility.

It began with a deviation. Karur was not on actor-politician Vijay’s original schedule, but a last-minute addition (with about a week’s notice to local authorities). This change set in motion a cascade of choices that prioritized optics over public safety. The party, still new to the ground-level logistics and complexities of Tamil Nadu’s political culture, has only one thing giving it a sense of invincibility: crowd size.

According to firsthand accounts, Vijay himself seems intoxicated by the size of his crowds. His close circle within the party appears to feed that ego. So it’s not surprising that Karur is not the first rally where his ‘fans’ were put at risk. Reports of hundreds fainting at the party’s inaugural conference in Vikravandi in October 2024 have circulated for months. There were also reports of a few casualties at two other big rallies in the last year.

Back to Karur.

For seven agonizing hours, the star’s arrival was delayed. The stop was scheduled for 12 noon; Vijay’s convoy arrived at 7 p.m. Critics argue this was a deliberate strategy to let the crowd swell from a couple of thousand into an unmanageable sea of people. Bigger crowds always look impressive in photographs, and certain leaders seem obsessed with that.

As numbers multiplied under the hot sun, the infrastructure to support them remained dangerously absent. There were reportedly no party members organizing the crowd, no clear safety protocols, and only about 500–700 policemen to de-escalate rising tension. These officers were provided by the Karur SP’s office, based on estimates for a midday event.

People arrived with small children despite repeated warnings from police and government authorities prior to the rally. The actor’s own convoy contributed to the frenzy, with vehicle lights flashing to energize an already volatile atmosphere — and eventually refused to stop at the police-designated spot, halting about 50 feet further ahead.

When the crush finally happened, the chaos was absolute. The response was even more telling. In the immediate aftermath, eyewitnesses reported a shocking lack of leadership. The star allegedly left the scene within thirty minutes. No official address was made to the media or the distraught public. The only initial communication was a sterile tweet — after he reached home — worded as if the tragedy had occurred at a distant, unrelated event.

The vacuum of leadership was filled with horrifying scenes. Overwhelmingly young crowds — some with infants and pregnant women — ignored police barricades and climbed onto private property, trees, and flimsy scaffolding. When an ambulance arrived to help the injured — a moment acknowledged by the actor during his brief speech — it was reportedly attacked by party members who feared it was part of a conspiracy. The very people who needed help denied its entry, descending into paranoia as dozens lay dying.

One thing led to another and, after a point, nothing was in anybody’s control. 41 people lay dead, including 10 children. This wasn’t just mismanagement; it was a collapse of civic sense and humanity, where protecting a leader’s image became more important than saving lives.

The Psychology of Adoration: Why We Worship Our Stars

The intense connection fans feel for celebrities isn’t random; it’s rooted in a complex interplay of psychology, social context, and cultural norms. At its core is the parasocial relationship — a one-way bond that a person forms with a public figure. At low levels, this is normal; at extremes, it can be harmful. Studies show that high celebrity worship correlates with drivers like social anxiety and problematic internet use.

But psychology alone doesn’t explain why star devotion in India — especially film-star devotion in South India — reaches such feverish intensity. 

Several forces converge:

• Identity & Aspiration: Stars embody moral courage, righteous justice, and triumph over adversity. For millions, they’re aspirational figures, not just entertainers.
• Collective Pride: Regional film industries (Tamil, Telugu, Kannada, Malayalam) are tightly bound to linguistic and cultural identity. Worshipping a star often doubles as asserting community pride.
• Escapism: Cinema is an immersive escape where heroes win and justice prevails. Tamil and Telugu cinema in particular delivers this with unmatched fanfare, often tackling inequality head-on — a theme that resonates powerfully in societies where injustice is both lived and openly acknowledged.

It’s here that poverty and socioeconomic status become part of the picture — not as the root cause, but as one context in which fandom thrives. For some, devotion offers relief from daily hardship; a larger-than-life hero becomes a source of hope.

For many young men in this part of the country, fandom itself becomes a form of socializing. Organizing events to honor their heroes, celebrating every film milestone, or waging fan wars with rival associations — sometimes even turning violent — are activities that fill their days. Unsurprisingly, most of these young men come from a particular social stratum.

This is why lower socioeconomic status often correlates with higher media addiction and peer pressure — both of which deepen parasocial attachments. It’s not that poverty makes people star-struck. But it can create an environment where fandom deepens, especially when reinforced by cultural tradition and nonstop media saturation.

Are Indians Uniquely Star-Struck?

Globally, studies using tools like the Celebrity Attitude Scale (CAS) show that celebrity worship exists everywhere. From Hollywood superfans to Iranian pop idols, high fixation tends to correlate with personal factors like anxiety and escapism, not nationality.

What makes India distinctive is the form of expression: ritualized devotion and public displays that resemble religious practice. From “milk abhishekams” for giant cutouts to all-night vigils at film releases, fandom in India is visible, loud, and deeply collective — mirroring the intensity of the country’s religious celebrations.

If the psychology is universal, South India offers perhaps the most vivid example of how cinema, politics, and culture fuse into something larger than life.

South India: When Cinema Becomes Politics

Nowhere is this star-struck devotion more visible than in South India, where the line between cinema and politics has long been porous.

• M.G. Ramachandran (MGR): Worshipped as a demigod in Tamil Nadu, his films of moral virtue flowed seamlessly into his political career, culminating in his role as Chief Minister.
• J. Jayalalithaa: Protégé of MGR and herself a leading actress, she became one of Tamil Nadu’s most powerful Chief Ministers, combining charisma with formidable political acumen.
• N.T. Rama Rao (NTR): A screen god in mythological roles, he turned that aura into political capital, founding the Telugu Desam Party and sweeping Andhra Pradesh.
• Rajkumar: Though he never entered politics formally, his stature in Karnataka was such that his abduction once brought the state to a halt and wielded immense clout in state politics.
• Vijayakanth: “Captain,” who rode his popularity into politics, making his DMDK briefly a formidable force.
• Pawan Kalyan: A Telugu megastar whose Janasena Party thrives on charisma and caste networks. He is now the Deputy Chief Minister of the state of Andhra Pradesh.
• Kamal Haasan: The outlier — an actor-intellectual who has emphasized social consciousness and disciplined rallies, showing what organized fandom can look like. He is still an active politician who has quickly understood the limits of his ambitions.
• Rajinikanth: Like Rajkumar in Karnataka, he flirted with entering active politics before deciding against it for health reasons — though he played an influential role in at least one state election.
• Vijay: The newest entrant, whose Karur rally turned tragic — underscoring how volatile this fusion of cinema, politics, and spectacle remains.

And it’s not just these marquee names. Across South India, cinema and politics have been entwined for decades. In Tamil Nadu, beyond MGR, Jayalalithaa, Vijayakanth, Kamal Haasan, and now Vijay, several actors have entered politics (like R. Sarathkumar who founded a party and also was elected). In Andhra Pradesh & Telangana, NTR, Chiranjeevi, and Pawan Kalyan followed similar paths. In Karnataka, actors like Ambareesh and Upendra took political plunges. In Kerala, actors such as Innocent, Suresh Gopi, and Mukesh have contested and held office. Together, they represent a uniquely South Indian phenomenon: film stardom as both cultural calling card and political launchpad.

South India’s political imagination has always flowed from its movie screens. The cinema hall is not just entertainment — it is a crucible of identity. When actors step off screen and onto the stage, frenzy follows, often uncontained.

Crowd Crushes: A Global Tragedy with Local Failures

The horrific images from Karur can suggest that such tragedies are uniquely Indian. They are not. From the 2022 Halloween tragedy in Seoul to recurring disasters during the Hajj in Saudi Arabia, history is filled with mass gatherings turned fatal.

What sets India apart is the sheer frequency. The country hosts an endless stream of colossal religious festivals, political rallies, and film-related events, each drawing enormous crowds. The country’s vast population, high density, weak safety protocols, and deficit of civic discipline ensure tragedies recur with depressing regularity.

Notably, an estimated 80% of these stampedes in India are linked to religious gatherings. This staggering figure reflects the central role of faith in public life, where millions converge on ancient pilgrimage sites that are often spatially constrained, with inherent bottlenecks and poor infrastructure. These are not acts of God; they are failures of planning. Common culprits include dangerously inadequate entry and exit routes, the disruption caused by VIP movements that halt crowd flow, the brutal effects of heat and dehydration, and a pervasive institutional amnesia where lessons from past disasters are never truly learned. And perhaps most of all, a lack of civic sense.

A grim, incomplete ledger:

• 1954 Prayag Kumbh Mela: A crowd surge on the bathing day led to deaths of 500 to 1000 people.
• 2008 Naina Devi Temple (Himachal Pradesh): A landslide rumor on a steep path triggered panic, killing over 140 people.
• 2010 Sabarimala (Kerala): Pilgrims returning from the hill shrine were trapped on a narrow forest road; over 100 died.
• 2013 Ratangarh Temple (Madhya Pradesh): A bridge-collapse rumor during Navratri killed more than 110.
• 2016 Varanasi (Uttar Pradesh): A religious procession stampede killed 24.
• 2017 Elphinstone Station (Mumbai): Heavy rain and panic on a footbridge killed 22 commuters.
• 2019 Barabanki (Uttar Pradesh): A funeral procession turned deadly, killing 18.
• 2022 Morbi Bridge (Gujarat): A suspension bridge collapse during a festival killed 141.
• 2024 Hathras (Uttar Pradesh): A temple gathering left over 120 dead.
• 2025 Prayag Maha Kumbh Mela: A crowd surge on the bathing day led to dozens of deaths.
• 2025 Bengaluru IPL Trophy Celebration Ceremony: A crush outside M. Chinnaswamy Stadium killed 11 fans waiting to enter.
• 2025 Karur (Tamil Nadu): A political rally for Vijay claimed 40 lives.

From temples to train stations, from cricket stadiums to city bridges, the common thread is unmistakable: overcrowding, poor infrastructure, inadequate exits, VIP disruptions, and a lack of professional crowd management. Each tragedy is framed as an accident, but in truth they are preventable — symptoms of systemic neglect compounded by a widespread erosion of civic sense and personal responsibility.

Why India Can’t Seem to Fix It

Karur is not the first tragedy, and heartbreakingly, it won’t be the last unless India confronts its structural failures head-on.

• Institutional Amnesia: After each tragedy, compensation is announced, political photo-ops are completed, inquiries are held, reports are filed — and then forgotten.
• VIP Culture: Crowd flows are halted for leaders, motorcades, and last-minute delays meant to swell numbers.
• Spatial Constraints: Ancient temples, riverbanks, and old cities cannot simply be re-engineered for modern crowds.
• Lack of Professionalization: Police and volunteers are rarely trained in crowd dynamics or crisis response.
• Regulatory Weakness: Capacity limits are ignored. Permissions are given freely. Accountability is minimal.
• Gap in Civic Sense: Regardless of how often such tragedies occur, the gap in basic civic sense persists and deters social progress.
• Fatalism & Fervor: Faith and fandom override caution. The urge to see, to touch, to be close overwhelms rational risk assessment.

Among film-heroes-turned-politicians, there have been exceptions in Tamil Nadu. The rallies of Vijayakanth and Kamal Haasan, for instance, have often been lauded for their orderliness. Their examples show that alternatives exist — but they require political will, leadership by example, professional training, and cultural change.

From Fandom to Accountability: A Call That Will Go Unheard

The Karur tragedy is a painful reminder of the cost of unaccountable power and unchecked devotion. It was not a freak accident but the predictable outcome of a system that prioritizes spectacle over safety.

For organizers and leaders: the era of treating human beings as props should end. Crowd science, infrastructure planning, staff training, strict enforcement, and accountability should be non-negotiable.

For fans: devotion should not demand a body count. True strength should lie not in blind faith but in demanding safety and dignity. Political rallies and large gatherings are not safe spaces for the elderly, children, pregnant women, or the disabled — yet they are often drawn into them. Exercising basic civic sense could save lives, but it is too often absent.

But here is the bitter truth: none of this is likely to happen. After every stampede, finger-pointing begins, political games are played, independent commissions are formed, reports are written, and rituals of mourning play out. And essays like this get written.

Then, with time, the memory fades. The cycle resets. The same failures return.

41 lives were lost in Karur. They will not be the last. Unless India learns to value human life over pageantry — and nothing suggests it will — we will read this story again.

Another city. Another religious gathering. Another leader. Another grieving crowd.

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Ganpy Nataraj is an entrepreneur, author of “TEXIT – A Star Alone” (thriller) and short stories. He is a moody writer writing “stuff” — Politics, Movies, Music, Sports, Satire, Food, etc.