At first, I assumed it involved a small aircraft or a misunderstanding. But as calls began coming in, the grim reality emerged. Air India Flight AI-171, a Boeing 787-8 Dreamliner bound for London Gatwick, had crashed just 32 seconds after takeoff from Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel International Airport.
The aircraft was carrying 242 people.
I immediately left for Ahmedabad.
At the Crash Site
By the time I reached Meghani Nagar around 2:45 pm, thick black smoke still hung over the area. The aircraft had plunged into the BJ Medical College resident doctors’ hostel, a densely populated complex located less than two kilometres from the airport runway.
Police, firefighters and emergency responders flooded the scene.
A senior government official told me preliminary reports suggested the aircraft had clipped a tree before crashing into the hostel building. Casualty figures remained unclear.
As I looked around, I realized I was standing on a section of the aircraft’s wing.
Rumours quickly spread among journalists that former Gujarat Chief Minister Vijay Rupani had been on board. No confirmation was available at the time.
Nearby residents described hearing an explosion so powerful that many initially believed it was a bomb blast. Considering the area's history, including the 2008 Civil Hospital bombing, the confusion was understandable.
The fully fueled Dreamliner had been carrying nearly 125,000 litres of fuel for its journey to London. The resulting fireball could be seen from kilometres away.
Firefighters battled the blaze while ambulances continuously transported victims from the wreckage.
The Hospital of Grief
As rescue operations continued, Ahmedabad’s Civil Hospital became the epicentre of the tragedy’s aftermath.
Hundreds of distraught relatives gathered outside wards and morgues searching for information. The atmosphere was overwhelming—sirens, cries, and desperate questions filled every corner.
Near one ward, a middle-aged woman and her husband approached me in panic, asking where crash victims were being treated.
Doctors directed them to lists posted outside hospital wards.
When the woman failed to find her sister’s name among the injured, she was told to check the morgue.
She collapsed in tears.
Moments later, I encountered Sailesh Mandliya, former aide to Vijay Rupani. I had been trying to reach him all afternoon.
The moment he saw me, he broke down.
After regaining composure, he explained that he was moving from ward to ward searching for the former chief minister.
“If you find out something, let me know,” he said quietly before disappearing into the crowd.
Later that evening, Rupani’s death would be officially confirmed.
Survivors on the Ground
Inside the trauma ward, most patients were victims from the hostel building.
One young nurse had survived by jumping from the third floor moments before impact. She suffered multiple fractures. Her friend escaped unharmed by taking a different route out of the building.
Nearby lay an autorickshaw driver who had been thrown to the ground by the explosion while dropping off passengers in the area.
The scale of devastation was becoming clear. The aircraft had not only killed those on board but also numerous doctors, nurses, staff members and civilians who happened to be inside the hostel mess during lunchtime.
Authorities were increasingly convinced that no one aboard the aircraft could have survived.
The Man in Seat 11A
In a corner of the ward lay a young man with minor injuries.
He was wearing shorts and was bare-chested. An intern informed me that he had suffered injuries to his chest, eyes and feet but was otherwise stable.
Then the doctor added something extraordinary.
“He was on the plane.”
I approached him carefully.
At first, he declined to speak. His head was spinning, he said.
A few minutes later, after borrowing my iPhone charger to charge his phone, he began sharing what he remembered.
About 30 seconds after takeoff, he heard a loud noise.
Then the aircraft crashed.
The next thing he remembered was finding himself outside the wreckage, surrounded by debris and bodies.
Terrified, he stood up and ran until someone grabbed him and placed him in an ambulance.
He told me he had been seated in **11A**.
When doctors later asked him to empty his pockets, he removed his wallet, passport and boarding pass.
That was when I knew his story was real.
His name was **Vishwash Kumar Ramesh**, a 40-year-old British national originally from Diu who had lived in London for nearly two decades with his wife and child.
He allowed me to photograph both his boarding pass and himself.
Against all odds, he had survived.
One Survivor Among 242
As we spoke, Vishwash repeatedly asked me the same question.
“Can you find my brother?”
His brother, Ajay Kumar Ramesh, had been travelling with him but was seated in a different row.
“I don't know where he is,” Vishwash said. “Please find him. I am waiting here.”
I promised to check.
Soon afterward, Ahmedabad Police Commissioner G.S. Malik publicly confirmed that there was indeed one survivor from Flight AI-171.
One survivor out of 242 people on board.
I wanted to return and tell Vishwash that he had become the miracle everyone was talking about.
But doing so would also have meant telling him something else—that his brother had not survived.
By then, it was becoming clear that all 241 other passengers and crew members had perished.
Many people on the ground had died as well.
The woman searching for her sister would soon learn the truth. Families across India, Britain, Portugal and Canada were beginning to receive devastating calls.
Standing outside the hospital, surrounded by grief that was only beginning to unfold, I could not bring myself to go back inside.
The noise of ambulances continued.
The cries of families echoed through the evening.
And somewhere in the trauma ward, the man from seat 11A waited for news that would change his life forever.
