Air India cabin crew Miss Nganthoi’s family in Manipur in tears, shock after crash in Ahmedabad

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A Father Waits: Between Hope and Silence After the Air India Tragedy

Ahmedabad, India – “We are devastated, but we still don’t have any confirmation.” Those were the broken words of a father standing outside the Civil Hospital in Ahmedabad, his eyes red from crying, his voice trembling from exhaustion and fear. His daughter, a 21-year-old cabin crew member on Air India Flight AI147, was on board the ill-fated flight that crashed shortly after takeoff. Now, all he has left is hope — fragile and fading.

He had come all the way from Rajasthan the moment he heard the news — not from officials, but from a friend who saw it on the news around 2:35 p.m. He remembered the exact moment. “We were devastated. But still, we hoped she might be safe… somewhere. Maybe in some corner. Maybe unconscious. Maybe just injured.” His hope was all he had because no one from Air India, no one from the government, had given him a word. Not a name, not a list, not a call.

“I have not received a single message from Air India yet. Nothing official,” he said, repeating it like a fact he could hardly believe.

The silence had become unbearable.

A Life of Service Just Beginning

His daughter had joined Air India in April 2023. “She was very young when she joined,” he said with a proud smile that flickered and died just as quickly. “She was only 21 years old. This job, this career… it was her dream.” She was his second daughter, the middle child in a family of five. “The eldest one stays with us. This one—she was different. Brave, ambitious.”

When she was younger, she used to dream of flying. She would draw airplanes in her notebook, watch flight documentaries, and mimic cabin crew announcements in the living room. Her father, a schoolteacher, always encouraged her, even if the thought of her flying so far from home filled him with worry. “It was hard for me. I missed her. But she was doing something great,” he said, his voice cracking.

He remembered her last message — a cheerful voice note telling her mother not to worry and that she’d call once she landed in London.

A Day of Darkness

On the morning of the crash, the family went about their day. It was a routine Thursday. Then, at around 2:35 p.m., a neighbor mentioned that a plane had crashed in Ahmedabad. “I didn’t think much of it at first. But then… the fear began.” He quickly checked his daughter’s flight number. It matched.

Panic set in.

They tried calling her mobile phone. It rang. “That gave us a little hope. We thought — maybe she’s okay. Maybe she dropped the phone in the chaos. Maybe she’s in a hospital.” But no one picked up.

He called Air India’s helpline repeatedly. He visited the airline’s office in the city. He tried reaching the trauma and emergency units of the Civil Hospital, where many victims were reportedly taken. But no one had answers. “They said the list of survivors would be released after 11:00 p.m. But it is long past that now, and we still know nothing.”

All he wanted was a name. A status. Anything.

“We understand accidents happen,” he said. “But what’s worse is this silence. This waiting. Why is there no communication?”

“Is She One of the Lucky Few?”

Rumors swirled around the hospital corridors. That there were survivors. That some crew members may have escaped. That a few passengers were still critical but alive. The father clung to these whispers like a drowning man to driftwood.

“People are saying 10–20 passengers may have survived. But nobody is confirming anything.” Some volunteers told him only one person — a man from London — had survived. Still, the father refused to let go of hope. “I am praying to God. If there is even a one percent chance, I want to believe she is safe.”

His eyes scanned every stretcher that was wheeled past, every ambulance that arrived, every nurse who passed with files. “We keep asking everyone — have you seen a girl in a cabin crew uniform? Is there a girl named [name withheld] here?” he said. “But no one knows.”

Even as hope faded, his belief in fate did not. “Maybe it is written in God’s book. Maybe this is a test. Maybe she is lying somewhere, just waiting to be found.”

A Growing Silence

As night fell, the hospital grew quiet except for the occasional sobs and whispers of other grieving families. Some had received confirmation of death. Others were like him — trapped in limbo. Their eyes were bloodshot, faces blank, hearts too weary to cry anymore.

“We tried contacting the airline. We tried calling the government helpline. But we have not received any help,” he said. “No one has come to talk to us. We are sitting on the floor in the hospital corridor, waiting for news that may never come.”

His daughter’s mobile phone still rang. “It rings, but no one picks up. We think maybe it’s in her bag, in the wreckage. Or maybe… she dropped it while helping others.”

Still, the father never turned off his phone. He kept the ringer loud. “Just in case,” he said, forcing a smile.

Remembering the Little Things

As the hours passed, he spoke less about the crash and more about his daughter. Her favorite color. Her favorite food — spicy chaat from a roadside stall. How she always wore her mother’s earrings when she flew, calling them her ‘good luck charm.’

“She used to call her mother every night, even if she had only five minutes,” he recalled. “That’s why we’re worried. She hasn’t called. Not even a message.”

He shared pictures of her — a bright, smiling young woman in a crisp Air India uniform, her hair tied neatly, her eyes full of promise. “She was going to come home next week. She promised to bring chocolates and stories.”

Now, the only stories they may receive are from strangers and officials — if they ever speak.

A Demand for Dignity

Above all, the father was angry at the lack of communication. “Why is Air India not telling us anything? Why is there no system? Why are we learning everything from TV and not the airline?”

He wasn’t asking for miracles. He wasn’t blaming the pilots. All he wanted was dignity — the dignity to know what happened to his daughter, and the respect of being informed like a human being.

“She was their employee. Doesn’t that mean anything to them?” he asked.

Hope, Until the End

As midnight approached, most of the families waiting outside the hospital had received confirmation. Some had broken down. Others sat in silence. A few, like him, still clung to hope.

“I will wait till morning,” he said. “I will not leave without knowing.”

He wasn’t alone. Other families were also still waiting — mothers looking for sons, wives looking for husbands, siblings calling every number they could find.

In the face of such grief, it was the absence of answers that hurt the most.

By morning, there may be answers. But for now, there is just the silence of a waiting father, the soft hum of hospital machines, and the cruel, constant ringing of a mobile phone that no one is picking up.

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