Ahmedabad Plane Crash: A BJMC Student’s Harrowing Account of Survival and Loss

In the shadowed corridors of a student hostel near Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel International Airport in Ahmedabad, a young BJMC (Bachelor of Journalism and Mass Communication) student, still reeling from the trauma of June 12, 2025, recorded a raw, emotional video message to his followers. His voice trembled as he tried to explain the inexplicable—the catastrophic crash of Air India Flight AI-171, a tragedy that obliterated not just a Boeing 787 Dreamliner carrying 242 passengers but also the lives of countless students in his hostel’s mess building. What was meant to be a routine day for these young dreamers turned into a nightmare of fire, explosions, and unbearable loss. With the wreckage still smoldering, the death toll climbing, and rumors of negligence or sabotage swirling, this student’s firsthand account—shared through tearful pauses and haunting silences—paints a chilling picture of survival amidst chaos. “I can’t even say hello right now,” he begins, his words heavy with grief. “Some of my closest friends are gone. If I had gone to the mess today, I’d be in a hospital… or worse.” This is not just a story of a plane crash; it’s a gut-wrenching tale of shattered futures, a community in mourning, and a desperate plea for answers in India’s darkest year.

A Day That Began Like Any Other

The student, who we’ll call Rohan for anonymity, is a second-year BJMC scholar at a college in Bhavnagar, residing in a hostel near Ahmedabad’s bustling airport. Like many of his peers, he’s accustomed to the roar of planes taking off and landing—a constant backdrop to late-night study sessions and laughter-filled meals at the hostel mess. On June 12, 2025, Rohan woke up to a seemingly ordinary day. The hostel mess, where students gathered for meals prepared by cooks they affectionately called “Maasi,” was closed. “Our Maasi told us she couldn’t come today,” Rohan explained in his video, his voice cracking. “She said, ‘I’m not cooking today.’ So, we didn’t go to the mess. If we had… I don’t even want to think about it.” That small twist of fate—Maasi’s absence—saved Rohan and his immediate group of friends from a horrific end. But for dozens of others, including juniors and seniors, there was no such luck.

Around 1:39 PM, as Rohan lounged in his hostel room scrolling through social media, the world outside erupted. Air India Flight AI-171, having just taken off from the nearby runway, encountered a fatal flaw. “It lifted off, climbed a little, and then something went wrong,” Rohan recounted, his eyes distant as if replaying the horror. “It started sinking, lower and lower, until it slammed into our hostel’s mess building. There was a deafening blast—a fireball that swallowed everything.” The impact was catastrophic. The plane, carrying 242 souls, tore through the mess hall where students were likely gathered for an impromptu snack or chat. The collision triggered secondary explosions—gas cylinders in the kitchen detonated, sending shrapnel and flames ripping through the building. “The whole structure turned black, charred beyond recognition,” Rohan described, pointing to the ruins visible from his hostel window. “Students were injured, burned, trapped under debris. And so many… so many didn’t make it.”

A Personal Loss Too Heavy to Bear

As Rohan spoke, his words faltered, choked by emotion. “I can’t even tell you how many died. I’ve heard numbers, but I won’t say them until it’s confirmed. You’ll see it on the news soon enough. But I know this much—some of my own people, my friends, my juniors, my seniors… they’re gone.” He paused, unable to continue for a moment, the weight of personal loss crashing over him. “People I studied with, laughed with, shared dreams with—they were in that mess hall. I keep thinking, what if I’d gone there to borrow a plate or just say hi? I’d be in a hospital right now… or I wouldn’t be here at all.” The rawness of his grief struck a chord with his viewers, many of whom had flooded his comments asking, “Are you safe? What happened? Tell us everything!” Rohan’s video wasn’t just an update; it was a cry from the heart, a desperate attempt to process a reality too brutal to accept.

The hostel, once a vibrant hub of young ambition, now stood as a grim monument to tragedy. From Rohan’s vantage point, he showed his followers the devastation—the blackened skeleton of the mess building, the eerie silence where laughter once echoed, and the distant hum of cranes and emergency vehicles still combing through the wreckage. “Look at this,” he said, panning his camera across the destruction. “This is our hostel. That mess hall right there—that’s where it hit. The blast was so powerful, it set off the cylinders. That’s why so many got hurt… or worse.” His voice trembled as he debunked exaggerated rumors circulating online. “If you’re seeing news saying 300 or 400 students died, that’s fake. I’ll tell you the exact number when it’s official. But even one death is too many when it’s someone you know.”

A Community Shattered, a Nation in Shock

Rohan’s group of friends from Bhavnagar, thankfully, escaped unscathed, a small mercy in an otherwise bleak day. But the broader hostel community—hundreds of students pursuing their dreams in journalism, media, and communication—was shattered. “Our juniors and seniors, some of them didn’t make it,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t even know what to say anymore. Everything you’re seeing on the news, it’s all true. The pain, the loss, the chaos—it’s all real.” Beyond the hostel, the crash claimed nearly 300 lives in total, including passengers, crew, and ground victims, marking it as one of the deadliest incidents in India’s aviation history. The nation, already battered by a string of disasters in 2025—from Mahakumbh to Pahalgam—watched in horror as footage of the burning wreckage dominated headlines. Families wept outside hospitals, clutching photos of loved ones, while online forums buzzed with outrage and conspiracy theories. Was this another case of Air India’s alleged maintenance failures? Could dual engine failure, as suggested by early evidence like the RAT deployment, point to sabotage? Or was it sheer, unforgivable negligence?

For Rohan, such questions felt distant compared to the immediate ache of loss. “I don’t have all the answers,” he told his followers. “If you have doubts, ask me in the comments, and I’ll try to explain what I know. But right now, I just… I can’t process this. People close to me are gone. Our hostel isn’t a home anymore; it’s a graveyard.” His words painted a haunting image: young students, full of potential, reduced to statistics in a tragedy that could have been prevented. The mess hall, once a place of shared meals and late-night debates over journalism ethics, now lay in ruins—a charred tomb for dreams cut short. As emergency crews worked tirelessly to identify victims, Rohan and his surviving peers clung to each other, grappling with survivor’s guilt and the terrifying randomness of fate.

A Call for Truth Amidst the Ashes

As Rohan ended his video with a quiet “bye-bye,” his exhaustion and sorrow were palpable. But beneath his grief lay a simmering need for accountability. “I hope someone answers for this,” he muttered, almost to himself. “These weren’t just numbers. These were people—my people. Why did this happen? Who let this happen?” His questions echoed the cries of a nation tired of mourning, tired of unanswered tragedies. Early reports, bolstered by a viral 17-second video from another local teen named Aryan, pointed to a chilling possibility: both engines of Flight AI-171 failed shortly after takeoff, forcing the deployment of the Ram Air Turbine in a desperate bid for control. Yet, no amount of emergency measures could save the plane from its fatal descent into the hostel mess. Was it mechanical failure, ignored maintenance warnings, or something darker—a deliberate act meant to cause maximum devastation?

As cranes sift through the debris and investigators comb through black box data, Rohan’s account stands as a raw, human testament to the cost of this disaster. His video, shared with thousands online, isn’t just a personal story; it’s a rallying cry for justice. “I’ll keep updating if I learn more,” he promised his viewers, his voice steadier for a moment. “But for now, pray for us. Pray for those we lost. And pray that someone, somewhere, tells us why this happened.” In the shadow of a blackened mess hall, amidst the ghosts of laughter and ambition, Rohan and his fellow students wait for answers. For the nearly 300 souls lost on Flight AI-171 and in its fiery aftermath, for the survivors haunted by what they’ve seen, and for a nation on edge in 2025’s “Year of Doom,” the fight for truth is a battle that cannot be lost. Will justice prevail, or will this tragedy become another footnote in a year of unrelenting sorrow? Only time—and unrelenting pressure—will tell.