What was meant to be a journey of reunion became a flight into darkness

Ahmedabad: The whine of ambulance sirens pierced the silence that had descended on the trauma centre at Civil Hospital in Ahmedabad. One by one, the ambulances arrived — a grim procession carrying what remained of a dream gone horribly wrong. Inside were charred, mangled bodies — once ordinary passengers on an ordinary Thursday afternoon — now lifeless echoes of what could have been. Grandparents flying to meet an unborn grandchild; parents on their way to visit sons and daughters who live across oceans.

Air India Flight 171 had lifted off from Ahmedabad at 1:38 pm, bound for London Gatwick, carrying 242 people — 169 Indians, 53 British nationals, seven Portuguese citizens, one Canadian, and countless stories. Minutes after takeoff, those stories ended in fire and metal as the aircraft carved its final arc into the Atulyam building in Meghaninagar, housing resident doctors— a crash site now marked by wreckage, smoke, and unimaginable grief.

Nearly 2 km away, rescue teams worked tirelessly, pulling bodies from the broken skeleton of the building, each stretcher telling its own tragic story.

Outside the trauma centre, families waited — searching faces, pacing floors, making frantic calls, holding onto threads of hope.

Nirman Dabhi was one of them. His brother-in-law, Prashant Patel, a resident of Kathlal, was reportedly on the flight. Dabhi hadn’t known he was travelling — the news reached him like a thunderclap from a cousin. “I didn’t even know he had any travel plans. My cousin called me after seeing the news. I rushed here immediately. I just want to know he’s okay.”

Not far from him stood Jigar Barot, anxiety etched deep into his face. His brother, Gaurav, and sister-in-law, Kalyani Brahmbhatt, once Londoners, had returned to Gandhinagar three years ago but frequently flew back to visit friends and family. “They’ve done this journey so many times. I just hope this isn’t the last.”

Inside the hospital, frustration mingled with grief. Some relatives had waited hours without a word. Neha and Hemant Pandya's family was growing desperate. “At least tell us if they’re alive or not!” one relative snapped at hospital staff. “We didn’t come here to wait in silence.”

Among the silent watchers was Utsav Shah, holding vigil for his uncle and aunt, Pinakin and Rupa Shah, aged 58 and 55. The couple from Kalol had boarded the plane to see their son’s new home in London. “Our relatives had just dropped them off,” Utsav said quietly. “They hadn’t even reached home before they got the call about the crash.”

Dashrath and Dahi Gauri Patel were visiting England for the first time, to see their son Ketan. Dinesh and Krishna Patel had made similar plans to meet their son Vikram. The crash also killed Sombhai and Jyotiben Patel — parents flying to see their son in the UK — now remembered with choked voices and tearful prayers by neighbours.

What was meant to be a reunion journey became a flight into darkness. Now, all that remains is the waiting — outside hospital wards, at the crash site, on unanswered phone calls — as families cling to names and memories, praying for miracles, grieving the unimaginable.