Punjab’s forgotten families still living with bullet wounds

Some wounds never heal — they only live quietly within people. For Dr Ajay Bagga, a centurion blood donor, retired Civil Surgeon, and social activist, that wound dates back to a haunting moment in 1984 when he saw his father’s lifeless, bullet-ridden body. His father, late Principal Om Prakash Bagga, a former MLA and a man of strong socialist values, was killed during Punjab’s most turbulent years. That single moment changed the course of Dr Bagga’s life. With an idea that “blood should flow in veins not in drains”, he turned his grief into a lifelong mission of service through blood donation and humanitarian work. Today, he speaks not just for himself, but for nearly 30,000 Punjabi families who lost loved ones to bullets — and were slowly forgotten.

In this deeply emotional interaction with Sanjiv Kumar Bakshi, Dr Bagga opens up about pain, memory and a pressing need for compassion and justice.

Q: Your appeal feels deeply personal. What moved you to speak out now?

“For many of us, time has passed, but the pain hasn’t. I still remember that day in 1984, it never leaves you. But what hurts even more is seeing thousands of families carrying similar pain in silence. They lost fathers, sons, brothers… and along with them, their sense of security. Yet, no one really asks how they are surviving today. I felt it was time someone spoke for them,” says Dr Bagga.

Q: You often mention the figure of nearly 30,000 lives lost. Beyond numbers, what significance these losses hold for you?

These are not just numbers, they are stories that were never told. Each life lost meant a family shattered. Many were ordinary people, passengers, farmers, shopkeepers — caught in violence they had nothing to do with. Some were pulled out of buses and shot. Others died in crossfire or police action. Imagine the trauma their families still carry. And yet, they continue to live quietly, almost invisibly.

Q: What is the condition of these families today?

Many are still struggling. When a breadwinner is lost, the entire family collapses financially and emotionally. Children’s education suffers, elderly parents are left helpless. But beyond that, there is fear — a fear that silenced them for decades. They never marched, never protested. They just learned to survive alone.

Q: Do you feel their suffering has been overlooked?

Yes, very much. We talk about justice, we raise slogans for various causes, but these families are rarely part of that conversation. Their names are not remembered, their pain is not acknowledged publicly. It feels as if their loss didn’t matter enough. That silence is deeply unfair.

Q: What kind of response do you expect from the government?

I am not asking for sympathy, I am asking for responsibility. The government must identify these families through a proper survey and understand their current condition. There should be a dedicated system and financial support to help them rebuild their lives. Even a small step can restore dignity and faith.

Q: You also spoke about present-day violence. Does it remind you of the past?

Sadly, yes. Even today, we hear of young lives being lost to bullets, whether due to gang violence or encounters. It shows we haven’t fully learnt from our past. We need to ask ourselves why our youth are going down this path and how we can guide them back. If we ignore this, history may repeat itself in different forms.

Q: What is your message to society?

We need to become more sensitive. These families are around us, in our villages, our towns, but we don’t see them. Healing begins with acknowledgement. If we can stand with them, even emotionally, it will make a difference.

Q: Despite everything, you chose a path of saving lives through blood donation. Where does that strength come from?

Pain can either break you or shape you. I chose to turn mine into something meaningful. Every time I donate blood, I feel I am giving life where once I saw death. That is what keeps me going. And I believe if we come together with humanity and compassion, Punjab can heal, but only if we choose not to forget those who are still hurting.