Reporter’s diary: Twin fires in Aravallis expose hidden waste economy
Fires broke out within 24 hours in December as illegal units burned plastic waste, while locals, police and workers watched helplessly.
Twin large waste fires spread over several acres within a one-kilometre radius alerted district authorities in Gurugram and Nuh during one of my final assignments of 2025. The fires, which broke out within less than 24 hours of each other on December 16 and 17, were traced by residents to a deserted plot inside a crusher zone (stone processing) near Naurangpur in Manesar. The sequence of events felt dramatic, almost cinematic, but there was no script. Only real people dealing with real consequences.
I reached Bar Gujjar village as smoke still hung in the air. Locals pointed towards the source of the blaze while continuing with their routines. Undulating hills stretched around us, coated in silica sand blown from stone crushers that lay like a silver blanket over rocky outcrops, abandoned buildings and faces creased by dust.
A small group of residents sat near the firesite, quietly puffing on a hookah, waiting for the blue beacons of police cordons to fade so they could resume daily life. By then, most workers had fled the remote site, leaving behind large woks, tools and their tiny living quarters.
A fireman on duty said, “Several such waste processing units operate with full impunity within the Aravallis range,” before directing me to a nearby police chowki. The chowki in charge, who had just finished washing up after helping douse another fire in Kota Khandewla village, echoed that assessment.
The police officer offered a desi ghee-made traditional sweet and said, in a hushed tone, that they were not aware of any karkhana operating inside the crusher zone. When pressed further, he hinted at suspected rivalries between local businesses, suggesting these could be behind the fires at a scrap dealer’s site. “In my 15-year career, I have never seen anyone enquire about fires. FIRs are launched when there’s a murder, theft, or someone dies,” he said, brushing aside environmental damage. He held up his police shoes, still covered in ash.
From a nearby hilltop, the scale of the operation became clear. The Aravallis rose in the distance, their rugged peaks a reminder of the region’s geological history. Below, a giant processing unit equipped with drums, crude furnaces and makeshift extruders was engulfed in flames. Tonnes of plastic and industrial debris burnt fiercely, sending thick smoke across the hills.
As the fires died down, labourers returned to segregate burnt waste and recover what they could. One worker told me it was “their small little world”, adding that the lack of employment opportunities and fear of authorities forced them to take refuge in nature. When I asked him about air pollution, he laughed and asked, “How many kilometres did you travel by bike to come meet us?” I had no response. He continued, “Does the law only apply to the poor who are trying to meet their daily needs?” Nearby, children were still collecting remnants of scrap. I sat there for some time, unsure of what to say.
Abhishek Bhatia is a correspondent with the Gurugram bureau, who covers crime, traffic, and road safety.
