Ahmedabad: Time has refused to move for the survivors and the families of the victims of the catastrophic Air India crash as their calendars remain permanently stuck on June 12, 2025. While the corporate machinery of aviation efficiently cleared the debris, settled immediate logistics, and reinstated flight schedules, it left behind a profound, invisible crisis of psychological trauma. One year on, an intimate look at those left in the wake of the disaster reveals that physical survival was merely the preface to a lingering mental purgatory.
For those who were closest to the impact zone, the psychological fallout manifests as a sensory prison. Dr Rushil Khatri, a third-year post-graduation student and a resident doctor, lived with his wife, Kalyani, at the BJ Medical College’s residential hostel building that was clipped by the descending aircraft. Kalyani, who was the only one at home during the time of the crash, miraculously escaped physical incineration, but the events of those 25 minutes have rewritten their daily lives.
Talking to The Free Press Journal, Kalyani said, "I tried to run down the stairs but the fire had totally engulfed the lower floors. I got burns on my face and my hand while trying to save myself. Once I realised I wouldn't be able to escape before the fire brigade rescued me, I ran to the balcony and stayed there until help arrived. When I look back, the memory is still entirely fresh."
Dr Khatri, accustomed to clinical environments, found that medical training offered no shield against post-traumatic stress. "The first two to three months were pure depression. Even now, whenever we hear the roar of an aircraft engine, the panic returns. While travelling, the fear is overwhelming, especially during takeoff and landing. Physical trauma heals, but the mental trauma is far worse. We are still trying to come out of it, but it is incredibly difficult."
The couple’s reality is shared by Rashmin Chauhan, a motorist whose car was struck by debris just 500 metres from his home as he drove past the hostel compound. He missed a horrific death by a fraction of a second. "I stopped the car as the blast occurred and bodies fell onto the road ahead of me. I only regained full consciousness an hour later from sheer shock. You cannot fathom that such a thing could happen. May God ensure no one ever has to witness what I saw,” he said.
While the psychological wounds of the Khatris are private, shared in the quiet of their home, others face a trauma that is violently public. Ajay Parmar, a gardener at the nearby Civil Hospital, was visiting the neighborhood for lunch as per his daily routine when the sky erupted in a firewall of aviation fuel. He survived, but his body and mind were left fundamentally altered. "I am completely psychologically broken. No one saw what I saw. I watched a small child burn to death right in front of me. If I had tried to save him, I would have died too,” Parmar said.
The trauma of survival was quickly compounded by societal rejection, as shortly after his discharge from the hospital, his wife of just one month left him, unable to cope with his disfigurement and erratic mental state. Soon after, he was told not to return to his gardening job. "People talk about me behind my back. They call me jalela (the burnt one). Even my employer told me not to come to work because others might get uncomfortable seeing my burnt skin,” he said, asserting that he will fight against Air India’s negligence.
For the families of those who died, the psychological trauma is inextricably linked to an overwhelming, disruptive grief. The suddenness of the aviation disaster ripped away the structural pillars of multiple households, leaving a void where guidance and stability once stood.
Vasubhai Patel’s father, Ratibhai Patel (73), had boarded the flight full of elderly excitement, eager to visit his eldest son in London for the first time in twelve years. "He couldn’t use mobile phones on his own, so once he settled in his seat, he called me from his co-passenger’s phone, happy, saying he was looking forward to the weather there," Patel says. "By the time I drove down the highway to Kalol, he was gone."
One year later, the patriarch's absence has plunged the family into an anchorless depression. "Without our elders, everything is a struggle. Every time I have to make a decision, I remember my father. We used to ask him before doing anything. Now, I feel completely helpless and despondent. Every night I close my eyes, his face is there. June 12 should be declared a black day,” he added.
On the ground, the economic and emotional toll on the marginalised communities living near the hostel wall is equally devastating. Mukeshbhai, an auto-rickshaw driver, returned from his shift to find the mud-and-brick hut he shared with his mother, Jeeviben (76), reduced to ash. His mother, who was inside cooking lunch, was killed instantly under the weight of the aircraft’s fuselage.
"When my mother was alive, life was good. We managed to get by. Now, the entire burden of survival falls on one person. Whenever I walk past this spot, the tears just come. We miss her constantly."
A few yards away, Sureshbhai Patni stands outside the hostel’s entrance, where once his wife ran a tea stall. His 15-year-old son, who went to deliver tiffin to his mother, had been resting on a cot in the shade when the aircraft's wing sliced through the trees, crushing and burning him. Sureshbhai had to shield his traumatised wife from the news of their son's death for twenty days while she was treated for her own burn injuries.
"I told everyone in the hospital to remain silent. When my own father passed away twenty days later, I finally told her. I told her that we had to weep for two people, not just one. Now, we cannot sleep. We cannot eat. My wife spends her days taking psychiatric medication. Whenever a plane flies overhead, she looks up and relives the moment. We cannot bear to look at that site anymore,” he said.
The psychological agony of the survivors is severely exacerbated by what they describe as a wall of institutional silence. While Air India and Boeing moved swiftly to restore commercial normalcy, the release of the official accident investigation report has been plagued by delays. For the families, structural answers are a prerequisite for psychological closure.
Patel said, "Our only demand is to know how this crash happened. Was it a maintenance failure by Air India? Was it a Boeing cutoff switch malfunction? We want the black box data released. The Aviation Minister promised a report within a month. We are still waiting. We will not sit quietly until we know the truth about why our fathers and children died."
