Two years after the crash of Air India Flight AI-187, the families of the 158 victims are still waiting for closure. The aircraft, a Boeing 787-9, broke apart on approach to Kozhikode Airport, leaving a trail of wreckage and human fragments scattered across a hillside. While the immediate rescue operation faced criticism for its speed, the more agonising struggle has been the identification of bodies. Now, a team of British forensic experts from the UK’s Disaster Victim Identification unit has been drafted in, tasked with sorting out what Indian authorities have failed to do: bring the dead home.
For the families, this is not a matter of bureaucratic delay; it is a matter of dignity. They have spent months pleading for news, only to be told that DNA samples are mismatched or that remains are too fragmented to identify. The British team, veterans of the Grenfell Tower fire and the Bali bombings, brings with them a reputation for meticulousness. But the question remains: why did it take so long for New Delhi to call for help?
The answer, as with many things in India, lies in a mixture of red tape and institutional pride. The initial response from the Indian Ministry of Civil Aviation was slow, and local hospitals were overwhelmed. The British team’s deployment came only after sustained pressure from the UK Foreign Office, which acted after lobbying by British relatives of the victims. One can only imagine the cost of this delay: in financial terms, the compensation claims are likely to balloon as anguish deepens. But the real cost is measured in the currency of trust.
From a market perspective, this tragedy has disturbing implications. India’s aviation sector is booming, with passenger numbers growing at 15% per annum. But safety and aftercare are part of the product. A crash is a worst-case scenario, and how a government handles the aftermath sends signals to investors and insurers alike. If India cannot manage a criminal investigation efficiently, what does that say about its ability to regulate airlines? The jet fuel of capitalism is confidence, and this debacle is burning it.
The forensic team’s work is painstaking. They use dental records, DNA profiling, and even matching bone fragments with clothing. But their greatest challenge is not scientific; it is logistical. They are working in a region where local officials are suspicious of foreign interference, and where paperwork often takes precedence over practicality. The British team’s lead, Dr. Helen Carter, told me privately that it is like ‘trying to unscramble an egg.’ She is not paid to speculate, but the inference is clear: the initial response was chaotic, and the evidence chain may be irretrievably compromised.
For the families, this is not merely a tragedy; it is a tax on their patience. They have held candlelight vigils, lobbied politicians, and spent their savings on lawyers. Their demand is simple: they want to bury their loved ones. But the longer the process takes, the more it costs them emotionally and financially. A year of uncertainty is a year of lost productivity, missed work, and spiralling debt. It is a reminder that in the modern world, death does not come cheap.
As I write, the British team expects to release its findings within three months. But even if they succeed, the damage is done. The Air India crash families have become a cautionary tale: a case study in how poor crisis management can compound a catastrophe. For investors in Indian aviation, this is a red flag. For the families, it is a daily reminder of official incompetence. The market may forget, but they will not.
