We don’t look at the sky anymore: The Air India crash victims who were not on the plane

We don t look at the sky – One year has passed since the Air India plane crashed into the BJ Medical College hostel complex in Ahmedabad, yet the echoes of that day still haunt the city. For Prahlod Thakur, the tragedy is etched into his daily life, not through the airwaves or news headlines, but in the quiet moments when he glimpses the photographs that hang in his modest home. These images, of his wife Sarlaben and granddaughter Aadhya, are more than memories—they are reminders of a grief that refuses to fade. The two women were among the 19 victims who perished on the ground, their lives upended by the collision that claimed 241 passengers from the London-bound flight.

The Tragedy’s Aftermath

The hostel, once a bustling hub of academic activity, now stands as a haunting monument to loss. Its upper floors are exposed like an open wound, with jagged concrete slabs and a smoke-stained staircase leading into an abyss of dust and debris. The air carries the scent of soot, and the walls are streaked with the marks of a disaster that has become an inseparable part of the city’s fabric. Unlike other disaster sites where time softens the impact, BJ Medical College remains a place where sorrow lingers, unrelenting and visible.

Authorities have approved plans to tear down the damaged structure and replace it with a new hostel, but for now, the wreckage remains. Students pass by on their way to classes, their footsteps echoing over the same ground where a plane once struck. The sound of aircraft overhead, once a mundane part of the city’s rhythm, now triggers waves of anguish. Thakur, who lives just a short walk from the site, describes the sensation of hearing a plane as if it were a visceral reminder of the lives lost. “Whenever a plane passes by, we feel the same pain,” he says. “We don’t even look at the sky.”

A Family’s Unyielding Grief

Thakur’s family has been deeply affected by the crash. For 15 years, they operated a tiffin service for doctors across the medical campus, their lives intertwined with the routines of the hospitals. Their two-year-old granddaughter, Aadhya, spent much of her time in the vicinity, often accompanied by her grandmother, Sarlaben. The day of the disaster, lunch was being served at the mess when the plane descended. Sarlaben, who was working, took Aadhya to the washroom just moments before the impact.

“I see the photos and feel like crying,” Thakur recalls, his voice trembling. The images of his wife and granddaughter, once vibrant and alive, now serve as a bridge to a past that feels both distant and immediate. The family’s search for answers took them through hospitals, wards, and relief camps, chasing rumors and reliving the same questions over and over. Six days after the crash, they found Sarlaben and Aadhya in a hospital mortuary, their bodies still warm from the trauma that had severed their connection to the world.

Thakur’s memories of Aadhya are vivid, but tinged with sorrow. He recalls the way she would run into his arms, her laughter mingling with the scent of homemade biscuits. Sarlaben, he says, was more than a caregiver—she was a pillar of strength, known for her kindness and the way she brought people together. “Everyone got along with her,” he reflects. “She was a very good woman.” Yet, her absence has left an irreplaceable void, one that even a year later still feels raw.

Survivors’ Stories of the Crash

Meanwhile, the students who were in the mess that day have their own tales of survival. Arman Khan Pathan, who was late for lunch, remembers the moment the disaster unfolded. He had just settled into his seat when a thunderous explosion shattered the air. In seconds, part of the building collapsed around him, pinning his legs beneath a table. The chaos was overwhelming, with gas cylinders exploding and dust filling the room, blinding and suffocating.

“It was pitch black,” Pathan recounts, his voice steady but heavy with emotion. “I was suffocating.” His best friend, Aditya Dayal, who arrived a few minutes later, became a lifeline. As rescuers battled through the smoke and debris, Dayal helped pull Pathan free, carrying him on a mattress to an ambulance. The sight of the building, once a familiar place for meals and conversations, now looms as a symbol of the day everything changed.

Pathan’s experience is not unique. Survivors described the scene as a cacophony of screams, the deafening roar of metal and glass, and the eerie silence that followed. For days, the wreckage became a stage for hope and despair, with families searching for loved ones in the rubble. The city’s medical community worked tirelessly to rescue those trapped, but not all were saved. The hostel, once a place of study and rest, now stands as a relic of the tragedy, its walls whispering the stories of those who were never meant to be there.

Questions That Remain

As the investigation into the crash continues, the focus has shifted from the passengers to the people who were caught in the crossfire. The BJ Medical College area, once a tranquil corner of Ahmedabad, now bears the weight of a question that haunts the community: how does a place heal when its daily existence is shaped by loss? The demolition plans offer a glimpse of recovery, but for now, the hostel remains a stark reminder of the accident that changed lives forever.

Thakur’s reflection on the crash underscores the lasting impact. “I just miss them,” he says, his gaze lingering on the photographs. The sense of normalcy that once defined his life has been replaced by a constant awareness of the past. For the students who once filled the halls with energy and ambition, the hostel’s presence is a daily challenge. They move through the same corridors, their steps deliberate, as if avoiding a trigger that could pull them back into the memory of that fateful day.

Despite the passage of time, the tragedy continues to shape the city’s identity. The sound of planes overhead, the sight of the hostel’s damaged facade, and the stories of those who lost their lives in the accident remain intertwined with the lives of survivors. The grief, once confined to the immediate aftermath, has become a part of the community’s legacy—a testament to the resilience of those who endured and the sorrow of those who were not as lucky. As the investigation nears its conclusion, one question remains unanswered: how do you move forward when the sky itself seems to hold your pain?