The Violence Before the Crash
India’s road-rage problem is a data blind spot, obscuring how traffic disputes turn violent.

On September 12, a 70-year-old man died on Lucknow’s Sitapur Road after his motorcycle scraped another vehicle near a country liquor shop in Madiyaon. Madan Bihari Tiwari and his 19-year-old grandson Sankalp were on their way to pay an electricity bill. The other rider stabbed both of them. Tiwari died at the KGMU Trauma Centre. Sankalp remains in critical condition. Police have identified a suspect and are searching for him.
Two days earlier, on Gurugram’s Golf Course Road, a car rammed a woman biker named Sia from behind. She was riding an Aprilia RS 457 with a group of friends when a white sedan began following her. Cameras mounted on the motorcycles recorded her asking the driver to keep his distance, then the car closing in and striking her bike. She fell. The car fled. Gurugram Police took suo motu cognisance of the video and registered an FIR at Sector 56 police station. The car’s registered owner denies he was driving, saying he had lent the vehicle to a friend. Whoever was behind the wheel disputes that the collision was deliberate.
Beyond Collision
Both cases get filed under one label: road rage. That label hides the real policy problem, which is not why drivers lose their temper. It is that the state has almost no way to see the sequence of events between a traffic dispute and the violence that follows it.
A cut in traffic, a verbal exchange, pursuit, a collision, a stabbing. Different parts of that sequence land with different institutions. Traffic police log the violation. Local police take the complaint. A hospital treats the injury. A court weighs intent. No single record connects the stages into one escalating event.
India recorded 4,87,707 road accidents and 1,77,175 deaths in 2024, the Ministry of Road Transport and Highways reported. Fatalities rose 2.5 percent over 2023, meaning close to 485 people died on Indian roads every day. Two-wheeler riders accounted for 46.2 percent of those deaths, the largest single category.
Those numbers say nothing about which crashes began as arguments. In a reply to the Lok Sabha on March 6, 2018, the Ministry of Home Affairs gave the last detailed government figures on road rage as a distinct crime category. The National Crime Records Bureau recorded 3,782 road rage cases in 2015 and 1,643 in 2016, causing 1,388 and 788 deaths respectively. The ministry noted that 2017 data had not yet been compiled. No comparable NCRB series on road rage has surfaced in public government reporting since.
Missing Pattern
Set that against what a different ministry counts under a similar name. In March 2022, Road Transport Minister Nitin Gadkari told the Lok Sabha that 2,15,328 cases of road rage and rash driving were logged in the government's centralised traffic database for 2021 alone, up from 1.55 lakh in 2019. That figure runs nearly 130 times higher than the last NCRB road rage count, because it measures a different thing through a different database, one built for challans, not crime records.
The law already covers most of this ground. The Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita’s Section 281 penalises rash or negligent driving, with a fine that tops out at Rs 1,000. Section 106 covers causing death by a negligent act, with a longer sentence if the driver flees the scene without reporting it. Section 109 covers attempt to murder, but only where prosecutors show intention or knowledge, not merely a bad outcome.
That distinction is why the Gurugram case turns on the footage. Whether the driver steered into Sia on purpose or lost control while trying to overtake changes which section applies and what sentence follows. Video from bike-mounted cameras settles that kind of question in a way competing statements do not.
India has already built some of the machinery this problem needs. The Inter-Operable Criminal Justice System links the police database CCTNS with courts, prisons, forensic labs and prosecutors, and it draws on the Vahan and Sarathi vehicle and licensing databases, according to the Ministry of Home Affairs. What it does not yet do is treat a chase or a threat on the road as one recorded event rather than a string of disconnected entries.
Four changes would close that gap. Traffic and local police should log the behaviour before the collision, not only the collision, recording pursuit, threats or blocking as their own fields. Cities should map junctions where disputes escalate more than once, since a badly designed merge does not excuse assault, but it does explain repetition. CCTV near collision sites should be preserved as routine practice, the way it was in Gurugram, rather than as an exception. And a driver’s pattern of aggressive complaints should count in enforcement the same way a pattern of speeding tickets already does.
None of this needs a new offence called road rage. The offences already exist. What is missing is the record that lets police tell a single bad-tempered swerve apart from a driver who does this often.
One more fact deserves stating plainly. Sia was riding alone within a group, followed by men in a car, on a road she uses often. That is a different kind of risk from simply sharing a lane with a stranger. Road safety data sorts people by vehicle type. It rarely sorts them by whether they were being followed.
Tiwari and his grandson were on their way to pay a bill when a stranger’s knife ended one life and nearly ended a second. Sia is alive because a friend’s camera caught what happened before the car reached her. India still cannot say, in any consistent way, how many of them began as an argument several minutes earlier, or whether anyone had a chance to step in before the first blow landed.
(The writer is an independent public policy researcher. Views personal.)






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