Dr. Anil, a resident doctor at BJ Medical College in Ahmedabad, stood before the media, his voice breaking as he pleaded for time. The devastating Ahmedabad plane crash on June 12, 2025, which claimed 274 lives, had turned his world upside down. The Air India Boeing 787 Dreamliner, en route to London, crashed into the college’s hostel, killing students, doctors, and their families. Among the survivors were Dr. Anil’s daughter and their housemaid, both hospitalized with severe injuries. Yet, amidst this personal tragedy, Dr. Anil faced an unimaginable demand: vacate the hostel immediately.
His tearful appeal captured the nation’s attention. “My daughter is admitted in the hospital. I should be there, not here packing,” he said, his voice choked with emotion. Dr. Anil, an assistant professor alongside his wife, was on duty when the crash occurred. Their daughter and maid were rescued by a guard and rushed to Ahmedabad Civil Hospital. The couple’s four years of service at the college, where they earned their degrees, made the hostel their home. Now, they were being asked to clear out overnight, a task Dr. Anil called impossible under such traumatic circumstances.
The crash left BJ Medical College in ruins, with four hostel buildings evacuated for safety. At least five MBBS students, one postgraduate resident, and a doctor’s wife perished, while over 60 students were injured. The Federation of All India Medical Association (FAIMA) reported that many victims were charred beyond recognition, adding to the anguish of identification processes. Dr. Anil’s plea wasn’t just personal—it echoed the collective pain of a medical community grappling with loss and displacement.
The video of Dr. Anil, sobbing and begging for two to three days to relocate, went viral, sparking outrage over the lack of empathy shown to frontline workers. “Please, show some humanity,” he implored, highlighting the insensitivity of expecting immediate compliance from those already stretched thin by grief and duty. Social media posts reflected public sentiment, with many praising his courage to speak out despite his vulnerability. The Gujarat government later responded, ensuring support for affected doctors, but the initial directive left a bitter mark.
This tragedy underscores broader issues in crisis management. Resident doctors, often hailed as heroes, face immense pressure even in normal times. The Ahmedabad plane crash amplified their vulnerabilities, exposing gaps in administrative compassion. Dr. Anil’s story is a reminder of the human cost behind headlines—fathers, mothers, and caregivers who bear the weight of systemic demands while nursing personal wounds. His plea for time wasn’t just about moving belongings; it was a cry for dignity in the face of overwhelming loss.
As Ahmedabad heals, Dr. Anil’s emotional appeal will linger, urging us to prioritize humanity over haste. His daughter’s recovery, like that of many others, depends on a community that listens and acts with empathy. The Ahmedabad plane crash is a stark lesson: in times of crisis, compassion must lead the way. For Dr. Anil and countless others, it’s not just about surviving—it’s about being seen and supported as humans first.