I
still remember the moment vividly. It was June 23, 1985 and I was a
plane crazy 8 year old boy in Bombay. We were just sitting down to
Sunday lunch at my uncle's house when the telephone rang. It was the Air
India office calling for my father, and immediately the atmosphere
tensed. If they had tracked him down here on a Sunday then something had
gone horribly wrong.
He took the phone and I watched as his face turned white. His first
words were "How bad?". I remember seeing him wince as he heard the
answer of THREE HUNDRED AND TWENTY NINE. My mother sensed the tension as
well and held me close as dad hung up the phone and gave us the news.
"One of our planes has gone down off the coast of Ireland. I have to
go." and then to my uncle, "Can you drop them back home?"
We drove home in silence and turned on the Television. It was another 2
hours before the Television station interrupted the programming with
Breaking News about the events. The depth of the tragedy was so immense
that the state-run station actually pre-empted their weekly Sunday movie
for news reports for only the second time in history (the first was
after Indira Gandhi's assination the previous year). Throughout India,
millions sat in silence and waited for more news.
Soon, my dad telephoned from the office. He told us that it was the
Toronto flight (initial news reports had said that it was the New York
flight) and gave us a list of the crew. I saw the names of many family
friends on the list. I crossed my fingers, praying that some folks may
have survived.
I slept uneasily that night as my dad helped organize flights for the
crew families to Ireland. Every single family was visited by at least
one fellow crew member to assist them to get things order. At some
point, my dad came home and napped, but he was gone again by the time I
woke the next morning.
That morning, at the bottom of the front page, the newspaper carried the
news that a bomb had gone off at Tokyo airport as it was being unloaded
from a Canadian aircraft. The editorial speculated whether the Ireland
crash might be an act of sabotage, a suspicion confirmed later that day.
As the week progressed, rumors circulated in the media and through the
airline grapevine. The airline family mourned the loss of not just 21
crew, but also their families who were accompanying them on this summer
weeklong layover in Canada. We learned that Sunil Shukla had his
pregnant wife with him on the flight, a wedding that I had attended the
previous year. We learned that Sampat Lazar had his entire family with
him save for one son. We learned that Dara Dumasia was on his last
flight and due to retire at the end of the month. The papers were full
of stories about the victims, but you don't appreciate the impact of
those until it is someone you know in the flesh.
The Air India wall calendar that year consisted of ladies modelling
saries in front of aircraft. The November picture featured "Emperor
Kanishka", the aircraft that had gone down. I remember waking up every
day that November and crying when I saw her on the wall.
The months and years passed and the story faded away into the collective
subconscious of the nation. Periodically I would be reminded of the
tragedy by something small. Cleaning out my closet, I found a small
keepsake candle from Sunil and Irene Shukla's wedding. Updating my mom's
telephone index, I had to remember to remove Kanu Thakur's number from
the list. Going through an old photo album, I found a picture of my mom,
Capt. Narendra and the rest of their 707 crew in Europe somewhere. Real
people. Real friends.
Once I started college as an Aerospace Engineering major, I made AI 182
my obsession. I wrote to the agencies involved with the investigation
and obtained copies of the accident report. All of them replied with the
documents I requested except for the RCMP who sent me a polite letter
saying that they could not comment as this was still an active criminal
investigation. Every year, I wrote them to ask for information and every
year the Air India Task Force sent a polite letter back signed by
Inspector G.D. Bass expressing their regrets but thanking me for my
support. Every June, I pulled the box of papers out of storage and read
through them again.
Twice, I made plans to visit the AI 182 memorial near Cork in Ireland,
but twice those plans fell through. The legal process meandered and
stopped and stalled and restarted and 18 years passed. Finally, today on
10 February 2003, Inderjit Singh Reyat pleaded guilty to 329 counts of
manslaughter and agreed to provide evidence against 2 of his fellow
defendants.
Due process has taken its course and the first of the culprits will pay
the price for his crimes. One day in the future, the others will be
convicted and the case will be closed. Inspector G.D. Bass will be able
send me the box of papers I have been requesting for almost 10 years. I
will walk to the waters edge at the Air India memorial in Ireland and
finally be satisfied that justice has been served. And somewhere, 329
souls will rest easier for it.
The Crew
Capt. H.S. Narendra
F/O S.S. Bhinder
F/E Dara Dumasia
IFS Sampat Lazar
FP Sunil Shukla
FP Inder Thakur
FP Kanu Thakur
FP S.P. Singh
AFP N. Vaid
AFP B.K. Sena
AFP N. Kashpiri
AFP K.K. Seth
AFP J. Dinshaw
A/H P. Dinshaw
A/H S. Ghatge
A/H R. Bhasin
A/H S. Raghavan
A/H L. Kaj
A/H E. Rodricks
A/H S. Gaonkar
A/H S. Lasrado
A/H R. Phansekar |
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