Vivek Vihar Fire Tragedy: Nine Dead in Delhi Blaze as Birthday Plans End in Grief and Stories of Loss Emerge

What should have been a cheerful morning in Manesar — a six-year-old’s birthday, a family gathering, quiet celebrations — turned into a day of unbearable loss.

Deepak Jain had left a day earlier with his wife and two young sons to make arrangements for his elder son Anant’s birthday.

Back in their home in Vivek Vihar, the rest of the family stayed behind in their third-floor apartment in Building B-13 — his parents, Arvind (60) and Anita (58), his younger brother, R Nishant (35), Nishant’s wife, Anchal (33), and their one-year-old son,n Akash.

They were meant to join him the next day.

They never did.

In the early hours of Sunday, a fire broke out in the four-storey residential building, rapidly spreading through the structure and filling it with dense, choking smoke.

Residents had little time to react. By the time help arrived, it was too late for many.

Nine people lost their lives in the blaze.

Among them were all five members of Deepak’s family who had stayed behind. Arvind Jain, a retired small business owner who once ran a speaker shop; his wife Anita; their son Nishant, a chartered accountant; Nishant’s wife Anchal, a bank manager; and their infant son Akash — all died inside their home.

What awaited Deepak later that day was not a birthday celebration, but the grim task of identifying loved ones at the mortuary — moving from one formality to another as the plans he had carefully made in Manesar quietly dissolved into grief.

The tragedy did not end there.

On the fourth floor lived another Jain family.

Nitin Jain (50), who ran a restaurant franchise at Cross River Mall, his wife Shailey (48), and their son Samyank (25) were also among those killed.

Their bodies were found on the staircase, indicating they had tried to escape, possibly making their way to the terrace. Relatives later said the terrace door was locked.

Their younger son, Prasuk (20), survived only because he was out of town. He had travelled to Ujjain to offer prayers at the Mahakaleshwar temple.

Called back after the incident, he returned to a reality few can imagine — the loss of his entire immediate family.

“Nitin sir used to handle everything,” one of his employees said, standing outside the charred remains of the building. “We still can’t believe he’s gone.”

A relative added in a subdued voice, “We don’t know how Prasuk will bear this… losing everyone at once.”

Amid the devastation, another story unfolded — one marked by courage in the face of chaos.

Shikha Jain (45), who lived on the second floor, was among the first to confront the fire. Her husband, Naveen (48), now lies in critical condition with severe burn injuries, while their daughters, Rakshita (22) and Priyal (1, 5), survived after jumping from the building.

Family members recount that when the fire broke out, panic spread quickly. Neighbours rushed in to help, laying out mattresses below as residents tried to escape from windows and balconies.

Inside her home, Shikha moved swiftly. She first helped her elderly parents, who had been staying with her following her mother’s knee treatment, to safety. She ensured the domestic helpers left the house.

Even as the smoke thickened and the fire spread, she continued trying to get others out.

By then, the staircase had begun to fill with smoke. With no safe exit, Naveen broke open a window and urged their daughters to jump. Both girls leapt and were rescued, sustaining minor injuries.

Naveen followed and was pulled out, badly burned.

Shikha came out to the window.

“She was about to jump,” a relative recalled. “But for a moment, she turned back inside… and she never came out.”

Her body was later found on the second floor, where the fire is believed to have started.

“She saved everyone she could,” a family member said quietly. “But she couldn’t save herself.”

As the day wore on, the scale of the tragedy became painfully clear.

Outside Guru Teg Bahadur Hospital, the courtyard was filled with grieving families. Cars pulled in one after another, carrying relatives who broke down even before stepping out.

Some sat in stunned silence, others clung to each other, trying to make sense of what had happened.

Near the mortuary entrance, a woman’s cry cut through the air before she was gently helped aside. “Himmat rakho,” someone whispered — words that seemed too small for the grief that surrounded them.

Neighbours said the families had lived in the building for nearly a decade — sharing everyday moments, building quiet routines, never imagining such an end.

Back in Manesar, a child’s birthday remained unfinished — decorations set, plans made, but no one left to celebrate.

“He had gone ahead to prepare,” a relative said of Deepak. “Everyone else was supposed to join him later.”

They never did.

By Sunday afternoon, Deepak stood not among balloons and candles, but among forms and signatures, identifying those he had lost — a father, a son, a brother.

“They were all living happily,” said Rekha, the family’s domestic help, her voice breaking. “I don’t know what tragedy struck them like this.”