'If I give up searching, I might never recover': Families of air crash victims cling to hope

Imtiyaz Ali Sayed refuses to grieve. Not when the news first broke - that his younger brother Javed, along with Javed's wife and two children, had perished in the devastating Air India crash in Ahmedabad on Thursday afternoon. Not even now, more than 10 hours later, as the clock strikes three in the morning and he paces the sterile corridors of the hospital where their bodies lie, refusing to sit, refusing to accept. Authorities have confirmed that only one of the 242 people aboard the London-bound flight survived. DNA testing is now underway to identify the victims. Mr Sayed, a Mumbai-based businessman, is one of dozens of families awaiting closure after one of India's worst aviation disasters. He says that until he sees his brother's body - or "whatever remains of it" - with his own eyes, he will keep looking for him. "You don't understand. They were my life - if I give up now, I might never be able to recover," he says. Then he swipes through his phone, showing pictures of his niece and nephew, including some that were taken just moments before they boarded the flight. Mr Sayed recalls how their elder sister was meant to travel to London with Javed but couldn't get a ticket. Then he falls silent. Outside, the night deepens, the sky darkening by slow degrees. Minutes later, he picks up his phone again - this time to show a series of messages he sent Javed after hearing about the crash. "Look," he says, holding out the screen. "They're still getting delivered. That has to mean something, right?" The tragedy had unfolded in seconds: a Boeing 787-8 Dreamliner burst into flames shortly after takeoff from Ahmedabad's Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel International Airport, crashing into a medical college in a densely packed residential neighborhood. "There was a loud roar, a deafening screech and then suddenly, fire, iron and steel began to rain from the sky," said Mukesh, a driver who lives about 15 minutes away from the site of the crash. At least eight people who were killed on the ground, a senior health official in Ahmedabad has told the BBC. When rescuers first arrived, they found fragments of the aircraft shattered with such force that it was hard to tell the pieces apart from human remains, two members of the disaster force told the BBC. Since the crash, a foul, acrid smell has hung over the area as smoke billowed from the wreckage late into the night. Authorities say they're working to identify victims, but the scale of destruction has made the task immensely difficult. A volunteer at Civil Hospital told the BBC, on condition of anonymity, that many bodies are so badly charred and mangled, physical identification may be impossible. "It's like trying to tell ashes apart from ashes." For families, the wait has been excruciating. Many have camped outside the hospital- in cars or on the streets - their anguished cries echoing through the corridors. Sameer Shaikh's wife can't stop crying. Their son, Irfan - an Air India crew member - didn't call often, but always messaged before takeoff and after landing. So when the airline called that afternoon, Mr Shaikh was confused. Irfan was supposed to be en route to London. "But instead, we found out he died in a crash." Shaikh, who lives in Pune, flew to Ahmedabad with his family to collect his son's body. An Air India official at the Civil Hospital helped him with the identification process. "But the police didn't let us take my son back," he says. "They asked us to come back in three days, after the DNA sampling of all the victims was completed." Devastated, the couple have been searching for help - and answers. "What are we to do?" he asks, pointing to his wife, sitting on a street corner, sobbing. "How can we wait three days when we know it's our son?" The Shaikhs are not alone in their anguish. Just across the city, another tragedy is still unfolding - this one at the very site where the plane went down. BJ Medical College Civil Hospital, one of Ahmedabad's most respected institutions, became ground zero when the aircraft crashed into its hostel on Thursday. Casualties have been reported, but the full toll remains unclear. Payal Thakur paces anxiously, searching for any news about her mother, Sarla, who worked as a cook at the hostel. She was in the back of the building - the very spot where the aircraft struck. Recounting the day's events, Ms Thakur says her family, who work at the hospital, had left for work around 13:00 local time. "The plan was to serve lunch to the doctors and return home. But when my mother saw students arriving at the mess hall, she decided to stay back and make rotis (flatbreads) for them," she says. That was the moment the plane slammed into the hostel and tore through the building's first floor. In the chaotic minutes that followed, confusion and grief hung heavy. "There was so much black smoke pouring out of the building. People were running, trying to save their lives. We've been searching for our mother since morning, but we haven't found any trace of her," she adds. Her father, Prahlad Thakur, says Sarla wasn't alone - "My brother's daughter was with her," he says. Both are missing. They searched the top floor, where the kitchen was, but found nothing. "I went there twice, hoping to find something - anything. But there was only water and debris," he says. The crash didn't just shatter a building - it shattered a normal afternoon on campus. "There was a loud noise. All the doors and windows of the classroom began to tremble. Everyone ran outside to check what had happened," a student, who preferred to remain unnamed, said. As the news spread and it began to become increasingly clear that many students had been injured - possibly even killed - panic rippled across the campus. Some began to run, others, too dazed by what they had witnessed, froze on the spot, their sobs mingling with the screams. "A student just stood there with tears in his eyes, unable to move, while others were so badly hurt they had to be carried to the hospital. Many are now being treated for severe wounds, a few of them are in the ICU," the other added. By evening, the badly damaged corridors stood silent. Backpacks and half-eaten meals lay abandoned on tables where students had fled. The air was still thick with smoke, sirens, and the weight of what had just unfolded. Additional reporting by Kalpesh Kumar Chavda in Ahmedabad