Air India plane crash: Days after performing wife's last rites, man boards tragic flight
Patolia visited the Amreli district of Gujarat to fulfil his wife, Bharatiben's, last wish, who passed away a week earlier. Bharatiben's final wish was to immerse her ashes in her village. Patiolia travelled to Gujarat to perform the last rites along with his extended family.
A few days after the final rites, Patiola boarded Air India flight AI-171, expecting to return to his daughters, aged four and eight. Unfortunately, the flight crashed shortly after takeoff on Thursday, 12 June 2025.
The Boeing 787-8 Dreamliner, carrying 242 people, crashed in Ahmedabad's Meghani Nagar area near Sardar Vallabhai Patel International Airport at around 1:40 pm.
In a post on the social media platform X, Air India wrote, 'The aircraft crashed shortly after take-off. We regret to inform that, of the 242 aboard, there are 241 confirmed fatalities. The sole survivor is being treated in a hospital.'
The airline further informed, 'The passengers comprised 169 Indian nationals, 53 British nationals, 7 Portuguese nationals and 1 Canadian national. The survivor is a British national of Indian origin.'
Patiola's story is one among the several heartbreaking accounts that emerged after the tragic plane crash. Among the several stories shared, one was of Pratik Joshi, his wife, Kaumi Vyas, who shared a smiling selfie with their three young children on the Air India flight AI-171, just minutes before takeoff, ANI reported.
Kaumi Vyas worked as a physician at Pacific Hospital in Udaipur. She shared a photo on social media of the family aboard a plane, with the couple smiling as their three children sat behind them, facing the camera.
Joshi had lived in London for six years. His wife, Kaumi, resigned just two days prior to the trip to join the family abroad.
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Time of India
3 hours ago
- Time of India
Rakhsha Bandhan, protectors and repaying a debt of gratitude
Street Dogs are the biggest allies of women in a city where the biggest threat is Men A couple of years ago, as the Dhan Mill Compound in Chattarpur started to develop into this elite oasis of high art in the otherwise dark, Pataalok-esque neighbourhood, I found myself, after an art event, waiting for a taxi. It took almost 50 minutes for a cab to arrive, and it would have been terrifying except for one thing. Actually, two. Two brown-eyed Indies, unconditionally and instantaneously, became my besties for the hour, waited, demanded pets, all the time that I waited in that pitch-dark lane, a heartbeat away from becoming a crime file. I didn't have a scrap of food to give them; they had no reason to wait with me. No sooner had my cab come, they disappeared. Seeing me off to safety, back into that pitch darkness. These unconditional, instantaneous besties are the spirit of the Indian landscape. They will greet you in remote locations, lonely streets, offering their company, protection for absolutely nothing. If you're wondering why there is an overwhelming proportion of women in the street dog rescue movement, you will know how many of us have been offered their safety and guardianship, from the biggest predators on Delhi's streets — its men. Just a day before the shocking judgment of 11th August, I was talking to a friend about the whole 'dog' Rakhi trend, a big moment for pet-commerce. Animal lovers are laughed at for anthropomorphising our pets, and of course, some of it is comical — part of the whole giddy-cringe delightfest human-animal friendships bring out in us. But while putting a dress on your dog qualifies as genuine silliness (even if harmlessly fun) what is certainly not anthropomorphic, is our belief, our expression in the sacred nature of these friendships. Stray, community, pest or resource: The naming of dogs While the traditional term 'pet ownership', has been eased off in favour of 'pet parenthood', there are beautiful concepts across cultures. The Hawaiian term 'Kahu' meaning 'guardian' (of something precious), stands out for coming closest to capturing the essence of the relationship. Nepal famously celebrates Kukur Tihaar, an ode to the selfless friendship offered by dogs. And the mainstreaming of 'dog' Raksha Bandhan in the India of the 2020s, quite aptly includes our most fierce guardians/protectors. Most dog lovers would agree that such single-minded love and loyalty can, in no real measure, be returned. The little that we humans do in terms of food, shelter, treats, are just a minuscule fraction of repaying that debt. This is why the language of an animal hater (although they seldom own up to being one) is quite simply baffling. RWA uncles and several news media like using the term 'stray dog menace' with a poster of a dog, with blood dripping from its fangs, and bloodthirsty eyes, straight out of a Ramsay Brothers film. Some time back, a prominent media house featured a video story of a woman being 'attacked' by stray dogs in a parking lot. I saw the video. The dogs were wagging their tails, trying to play with her. They were also extremely young, about 8-9 months, fledglings, and this hulk of a woman shrieking at their playful pawing looked, quite frankly, comic. What isn't comic, however, is this building momentum of anti-dog bias, a certain kind of narrative that portrays stray dogs as killers and predators. An RWA personnel from our neighbourhood described a one-year-old baby-faced pet Bhutia dog as a 'wolf-like, vicious creature', when in fact it is a baby who jumps to hug anyone in sight. That people with a real phobia of dogs are now occupying positions of power, through RWAs, news channels, or city administration, means that this neurosis gets amplified to dangerous levels. What used to be a neurotic aunty in your neighbourhood, shrieking at the sight of a dog, is now the core of public debate. Earlier this week, a moderated discussion on a mainstream news channel had five journalists discussing the issue. Even the ones who purported to be 'animal lovers' were using the word 'pest'. One of them, who started out sounding very noble and animal-friendly, claimed that stray dogs try to 'hunt' you. Let's break down some things first. The current position of community dogs in Delhi is far from ideal. The unchecked population. The lack of a clear policy on aggressive 'biter' dogs. The neurosis machinery that feeds anti-dog bias. Most critically, this entire set of beings is invisibilised by the state. And— as I have written about elsewhere — by the development world. Their cause treated like zero priority, animal welfare activists have been reduced to caricatured feeders/rescuers. As I speak, our dog lovers colony WhatsApp group is circulating an Excel sheet recording the vaccination and sterilisation of all colony dogs. Every dog on that list is sterilised. Funded entirely from the pockets of those caricatured 'animal feeders'. Dogs in large numbers form packs and can look pretty intimidating, especially when they come charging at you threateningly. That's all it is, really. A warning. And an introduction. 'Hello, I this is my lane. Don't act smart.' One of those TV anchors claimed that she needs to be ushered from the parking lot to her home by a male member to protect herself from stray dogs. The same could be said about men. Only, the women of this city do not ask for its entire male population to be bundled up into non-existent shelters, mostly because there is no room for such a discussion. Or because some of us know that, because of the actions of some men, you cannot put the entire male population into pounds. How, then, is this logic not applicable to stray dogs? It is also this quality of vigilance that makes them the best guards. A friend of mine, a resident of Alaknanda, reported a robbery sometime back in their society. The thieves had figured out the alarms and locks of most houses on a particular block. They only left the one building, which was guarded by an army of stray dogs. The resident of one of those flats used to feed them. Some RWAs have used these qualities to their advantage. In 2004, when I was a cub city reporter, our paper had carried a story about the Golf Links RWA, training its stray dogs to become colony guard dogs. Even in the present day, there are RWAs in West Delhi that are taking care of their dogs, treating them as members of their community. The dogs offer their guard services in return. Depending on how you channel them, the 'strays' and 'pests' can also be converted into 'assets' and 'resources'. The other arguments in favour of 'streeties' are, of course, the ecological ones. That completely stripping our dogs off the streets will disturb the ecological balance, causing the population of rats, monkeys — and other 'rabies-causing' animals — to grow. A public health professor at Edinburgh reported that stray dog removal will reverse rabies gains made over previous decades. But outside of these utilitarian reasons, the real reason to keep dogs — besides the fact that humans, in fact, don't own the planet — is simply this: they are our greatest friends. Our street dogs are part of our fabric, in the same way our languages are; they are the essence and the spirit of the Indian street, with its chaos, confusion, and screeching horns. They are part of our stories and legends, starting from Yudhisthir, who was tested for his 'loyalty' to a street dog (and only thus allowed into heaven), to the 19th Century yogi Baba Lokenath, who came disguised as a brown mongrel to his disciple's home, to see just how kind hearted he truly was. In the last week, as dogs have been increasingly stripped off the Indian streets, partly by 'unofficial white vans' and partly by dog rescue groups, the streets are beginning to look so bare, so sterile. The pick-ups & the protests As I type, dogs are being illegally picked up by 'unofficial' white vans, with the help of hired stooges who are paid per dog. My friend in New Friends Colony woke up on Saturday morning to find her streeties had just disappeared overnight. 'The entire lane has gone quiet,' she texted. There are videos of multiple dog carcasses that have been hastily dumped into drains. It is clear where these dogs are going. Meanwhile, the MCD 311 app, which registers all civic complaints, has not acted upon potholes, bad roads for months on end given by several of my neighbours, is suddenly, within minutes, assigning case workers to complaints pertaining to street dogs. This stands in contrast to video footage of haunted ABC centres in Delhi, deserted and unused. The locks in some look like they haven't been opened in years. On the other side, a catacomb of dog rescue groups has emerged in the city. Dog groups always existed, of feeders, or rescuers, dog lovers, colony-wise. Now, the entire city is connected. Through various channels, protest groups, night patrolling groups, and those monitoring key legal information, proof of dog abductions. Our colony group is fundraising to put all our dogs in a private shelter. People of every age group, every dispensation are on the groups. They are spending sleepless nights on Delhi's streets, working on night shifts. It seems, for every animal hater, every entitled 'human being' who believes the earth is solely for them alone, there are others. People who are fighting for their very soul, who are not bullied by sanctimonious armchair op-ed writers who are telling them this is a middle-class obsession ('why not focus on Gaza instead?'). Because finally, when you have a chance to protect our friend, you take that chance. And repay a debt towards the oldest friendship known to man. Facebook Twitter Linkedin Email Disclaimer Views expressed above are the author's own.
New Indian Express
7 hours ago
- New Indian Express
A pinch of Tamil touch
I've noticed how something like pizza or momo tastes totally different here. I think it really comes down to the whole debate between authenticity and replicas. You can't really recreate something 100% authentically when you're not in its original place. The ingredients, the water, even the way people cook — it all changes things. We can notice this even in different regions in India. The spicy sambar in Tamil Nadu is completely different from the sweet sambar you get in Bangalore. And the iconic butter chicken in Delhi is nothing like the one you'd find in a restaurant in Mumbai. While we have excellent versions of these dishes available in other regions, you can't quite call them authentic if they're not from their origin. Ultimately, while the authenticity of a dish is integral, so is its adaptation. Sometimes, we might even find ourselves preferring the local version over the original. I'd honestly prefer my local spin on international cuisines over authentic versions of international cuisine. Why? Because the Indian flavours are richer and punchier — they hit right on the tongue. Westernised flavours are comparatively more subtle and mild in nature, so for someone like me who's loved and used to strong flavours, I'd find ways to make it more Indian to my liking. I think this is why so many of us who love Chinese food in India might not enjoy the authentic version abroad. I, for one, love it all: from 'chindian' chowmein and Schezwan noodles to masala pasta and tandoori paneer pizza. I absolutely think Tamil Nadu has a way of absorbing every food trend into its culture. And honestly, it's not just about Tamil Nadu — it's a characteristic of Indian culture as a whole. We have an amazing ability to take a food concept, completely make it our own, and in some cases, even revive practices that have been part of our history for decades. A great example is the success story of samosa. Its origins are actually in Central Asia, but we've completely absorbed and transformed it. What was once a simple pastry is now basically an Indian snack, with countless versions from spicy potato fillings to onion or meat. It's a perfect illustration of a foreign concept becoming a fundamental part of our culture. But here's the interesting part. While we absorb new trends, we're also bringing age-old practices back into the mainstream. For instance, the whole global focus on a plant-based diet and sustainable eating has always been a part of our heritage. Dishes like ragi dosa and millet adai are living proof that this isn't some new trend — it's just a rediscovery of our traditional way of life. I think this ability to adapt, absorb, and revive food is what makes the Indian culinary landscape so dynamic and rich. The reaction of international visitors perfectly highlights the dramatic difference in our culinary philosophies. A lot of international dishes, especially from the West, are all about letting one or two high-quality ingredients shine, which makes their flavours subtle and pure. A pasta in Italy, for example, is simple — it's about the fresh tomatoes, basil, or olive oil. In contrast, the Indian culinary philosophy is built on the art of layering a complex blend of spices to create a rich, powerful flavour profile. So, an Italian visitor who experiences a masala pasta is often stunned by both the sheer level of spice and the preparation method. To them, it's not even their food anymore; it's a completely new dish built on a different idea of flavor.
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NDTV
8 hours ago
- NDTV
Hong Kong Scientist Puts Up Nest Boxes To Save Endangered Cockatoos
China: Above the teeming shopping streets of Hong Kong's Causeway Bay district, a fight to save one of the world's most endangered species is unfolding high in the branches of a decades-old cotton tree. Nestled among its sprawling boughs is a nest box designed for the yellow-crested cockatoo, of which only 1,200 to 2,000 remain in the world. Although the birds are native to East Timor and Indonesia, one-tenth of those left are found in Hong Kong -- one of the "largest cohesive remaining wild populations" globally, according to Astrid Andersson, a postdoctoral researcher at the University of Hong Kong. Their future now hangs in the balance, due to habitat loss and, some suspect, a black market for the rare birds. The cockatoos' numbers have stagnated, with far fewer juveniles than when Andersson began monitoring almost 10 years ago. The birds don't make their own nests but depend on natural cavities in trees -- about 80 percent of which have vanished in recent years, because of typhoon damage and government pruning. The nest boxes set up by Andersson are an attempt to rectify this, designed to resemble the hollows sought out by the birds. She plans to place about 50 around the city. "Without the nest boxes, I believe that the cockatoos will have fewer and fewer opportunities to increase or replace individuals that die in their population," she said. The boxes will also allow observation of their reproductive behaviour, which has never been comprehensively studied. Human-wildlife coexistence The cockatoos' existence in Hong Kong has been "a very positive story about human-wildlife coexistence", said Andersson. The population in Hong Kong is an introduced one, with one urban legend recounting they originated from an aviary set free by the British governor of Hong Kong before surrendering to the Japanese in 1941. There is no evidence to support that story, however -- the modern flock's ancestors are in fact believed to be escaped pets. Hong Kong's urban parks, full of mature trees bearing fruit, nuts and other food, became a "sanctuary" for them, Andersson said. The cockatoos are now part of the city's fabric, their loud squawks echoing through the sky at nightfall. Perched on streetlights, they sit calmly observing the humming traffic along city flyovers. Many people don't realise they are looking at an endangered species in their neighbourhood. "We genuinely thought they were just like an average parakeet," resident Erfan, who lives near a flyover, told AFP. Yellow-crested cockatoos are often mistaken for sulphur-crested cockatoos, commonly found in Australia rummaging through bins. The two are genetically distinct though, and the Australian species is not endangered. Black market? Merchants at Hong Kong's bird market certainly know the difference. When AFP visited, sulphur-crested cockatoos were openly displayed, while yellow-crested ones were only shown upon request. A one-year-old bird was being sold for a whopping HK$56,000 ($7,000), while a two-month-old chick could sell for HK$14,000. It has been illegal since 2005 to trade wild-caught yellow-crested cockatoos. Selling ones bred in captivity is allowed, but the breeders must have valid licences under the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species (CITES). There are no such registered breeders in Hong Kong. Sharon Kwok Pong, founder of Hong Kong Parrot Rescue, believes there may be a "black market". "There have been people that find out where these birds are, they raid them," she told AFP. Captive-bred cockatoos should have a ring on their leg and documentation proving their origin, but these can be falsified. "I think we need a crackdown," Kwok said. "If you want to protect a species, so unique in this environment, I think a lot of things need to fall into place." 'A backup population' Andersson has developed a forensic test that analyses a cockatoo's diet to determine whether it was recently taken from the wild. She hopes this will help enforce the ban on illegal sales. In their native habitats, poaching, rapid habitat loss and climate change have devastated the cockatoos' numbers. The financial hub's birds may one day be able to help revive them. "Hong Kong's population could have genetic lineages that are now gone," she said. It could function "as a backup population for the wild Indonesian counterparts".
