Grief of a Generation: Scholar Ishan’s Story from the Ahmedabad Plane Crash

I still remember the sound. Not of the plane crashing, it happened far from where I stood, but of the sudden shift in the atmosphere inside the hospital. I heard hurried footsteps, stretchers slamming against doors, and the rising voices of nurses and residents. It felt like the building itself was breathing faster.

I was posted in the surgery ward at BJ Medical College, Ahmedabad, doing what interns usually do: checking vitals, assisting seniors, and managing simple cases. It was a routine day. Then the news came, an Air India plane bound for London had crashed into the heart of the city, just minutes after take-off. The impact shook not just buildings but lives.

The injured began arriving almost immediately. Some were screaming in pain, others were silent, their faces pale under the hospital lights. The critically injured were rushed to the trauma centre. I, along with other interns, was assigned to those with less severe wounds. But even minor injuries in a disaster told a story of survival, cuts from broken metal, burns, bruises from the force of impact. And then, another piece of news reached us: the plane had crashed into our hostel.

My stomach dropped. My first thought was of my batchmates. Relief came only in fragments: not the hostel, but the mess; not empty, but full. Students and staff had been eating lunch there when the crash occurred. My batchmates were safe, we had all been on duty at the hospital. But our juniors, eager faces just beginning their journey, some of them were gone in an instant.

That was the day I understood, in a way textbooks can never teach, what it means to wear a doctor’s coat. Medicine isn’t only about science or procedures; it is about standing steady when the world collapses around you. It is about comforting as much as curing.

About holding a hand as life slips away, or offering words that feel too small but mean everything. Looking back now, that day feels like a threshold I unknowingly crossed. It taught me courage, not the loud kind, but the quiet courage born of necessity. Courage to face what we cannot control. Courage to keep going, even with grief heavy in your chest.

This experience continues to shape who I am, and it is also the reason why Vahani matters so deeply to me. Vahani doesn’t just give financial support; it gives us strength, mentorship, and the belief that our stories, no matter how heavy, can become our source of purpose. In moments of loss and despair, Vahani’s vision reminds us that leadership is not about titles, but about service, about stepping forward when the world needs you most.

That day in Ahmedabad left me with grief I will always carry.

But it also gave me direction, to honor life with compassion, to walk this path of medicine with humility, and to use my journey to serve others. And perhaps that is what being both a doctor and a Vahani scholar is truly about: transforming pain into purpose, and tragedy into a commitment to humanity.