In Memory Of 242 Lives

I noticed a text message on my phone yesterday that said something about a plane crash—just a couple of words on the screen. I did not connect. I told myself I would look later. You know, it's strange, the power of some words can numb us. "Crash." "Casualties." "Survivor." They seem serious, but to someone else, someone I don't know, they seem far away, as if something were taking place in a different universe. I have no idea why this one affected me. Perhaps it was because there was more to it than "a crash." People were involved. Those who were travelling somewhere. Those with plans. Perhaps it was the term "survivor" that caught my attention. Just one. That's when it hit me. Out of everyone onboard… just one survived.

I read more after that. Not because I was curious. Almost out of guilt. I realised, suddenly, I had no sense of distance. It was too close. Some disasters are simply things you read about in the news, but some stop you. You reflect. You mourn. You think. This one was one of those. Although the Ahmedabad plane tragedy occurred kilometres away, the sorrow it caused is universal. I've been shaken by the Ahmedabad plane tragedy in a way I wasn't expecting. The news was devastating, even though I didn't know anyone on board. Some were on their first flight in life, while others were travelling to pursue their aspirations or to be with loved ones.

Life just ended that way. So abruptly. So unjust. How "Just took off" or "See you soon" could have been the last text someone sent.

What if a mother's food was ready and waiting? How about a sibling who didn't yet know how to check the flight status? Even if the horror is not yours, there is still a sinking grief you can feel in your belly when it is so close. You feel small and sick, helpless. I keep playing the video of the explosion in my head. The sound. Cacophony. The silence. I can visualise the uncertain moments of anxiety, the muffled prayers, and the fruitless dialling. I saw young doctors who are students burned, running, screaming or worse, silenced forever in the dorm.

Everyone discusses hard work, chasing dreams and shaping futures, and that has been weighing on my mind. As if the days are clocked in, we plan months. That life can halt everything, as you put in the hours studying, working and going home. So, with this knowledge, what do you do? Knowing that even a regular day could be the end of you, how do you live? Maybe you just hold a little longer. Perhaps you respond to your friend's SMS message from an hour ago.  

Even if saying "I miss you" is unpleasant, you might do it. Life doesn't care about your plans or your promises since it doesn't wait for the right moment. I don't know how to make sense of this feeling of weight. No one died for me in the crash, but it feels like the world died. And maybe that's enough reason to grieve. It feels too heavy. And just scrolling by, doesn't feel right.

By weekend, though, I hope this isn't just another headline we've forgotten by then.

These were lives.

They were people.

Someone's mother. Someone's best friend. Someone's baby. I don't know your name, the survivor. But I hope you are being held with gentle hands. Although hundreds did not come from the fire, you did. It must weigh on you. But what you did do is a miracle.

I can't find the words to describe how crushed I feel for the families of those at the hostel and in the plane tragedy. I will say that we do see you, I promise you. We mourn with you. We will remember your loss. So, I am writing this out of an emotional reverie, rather than to report or provide an explanation. To say that I feel bad for people I will never meet.

I need to remind myself that there is no reason for feeling this sort of empathy. Even further, it can perhaps break your heart sometimes, even if a headline is not yours to bear. I hope you can try to reach out to your loved ones by phone. Hold them close and tell them how important they are to you whenever you have the opportunity. This crash was more than just Air India. Ahmedabad will share the cost of this human tragedy for a long time.

I will, too.

Views expressed by the author are their own.