Was the Air India crash really a deliberate act by a suicidal pilot? Uncovers a troubling new theory

In the early hours of June 12, a routine international flight turned into one of aviation’s most harrowing tragedies. Air India Flight 171, a Boeing 787 Dreamliner bound from Ahmedabad, India, to London, lifted off the runway only to plummet back to earth in a catastrophic fireball mere seconds later. The crash claimed the lives of all 241 passengers and crew on board, along with 19 innocent people on the ground below, totaling 260 fatalities. What was initially presumed to be a mechanical failure or pilot error has now spiraled into a web of unanswered questions, with a preliminary investigation report suggesting something far more sinister: the possibility of a deliberate act by a suicidal pilot. This theory, examined in depth by investigative journalist Christopher Stevens, raises profound concerns about mental health in the cockpit and the vulnerabilities in airline safety protocols.

The sequence of events unfolded with chilling rapidity. Flight 171 had taxied to the runway without incident, receiving clearance for takeoff at approximately 1:30 AM local time. As the aircraft accelerated and became airborne, everything appeared normal—until it wasn’t. Just three seconds after liftoff, the fuel control switches for both engines were moved to the “cut-off” position, effectively starving the massive turbofans of the kerosene they needed to sustain thrust. The plane, now essentially a glider weighing over 200 tons, stalled and crashed into a construction site near the airport, erupting in flames that lit up the night sky. Eyewitnesses described a scene of utter devastation: twisted metal, billowing smoke, and the haunting cries of survivors on the ground who narrowly escaped.

India’s Aircraft Accident Investigation Bureau (AAIB) released a 15-page preliminary report on the incident, a document that has fueled more speculation than it has quelled. The report confirms the fuel cut-off occurred post-takeoff, as evidenced by the deployment of the Ram Air Turbine (RAT)—an emergency power generator that only activates once the plane is in the air. This detail rules out any pre-flight malfunction or oversight during ground checks. Yet, the report stops short of assigning blame or explaining how such a critical action could happen accidentally. The cockpit voice recorder (CVR) captured a brief, tense exchange: one pilot questioning, “Why did you cut off the fuel?” and the other denying any involvement. Frustratingly, the full transcript remains unreleased, leaving experts and the public to piece together fragments of a puzzle that may never be complete.

At the center of this enigma are the two men in the cockpit: Captain Sumeet Sabharwal, a 56-year-old veteran pilot with decades of experience, and his co-pilot, Clive Kunder, aged 32. Sabharwal was on the cusp of retirement, with only three flights left before hanging up his wings. He had expressed excitement about spending more time with his 90-year-old father, whom he planned to care for in his golden years. Kunder, on the other hand, was a rising star in the airline, known for his technical proficiency and calm demeanor. Neither had a history of disciplinary issues, but whispers from within Air India’s ranks have emerged, painting a more troubled picture of Sabharwal’s mental state.

Fellow pilots have anonymously claimed that Sabharwal struggled with depression and other mental health challenges in recent years. He reportedly took extended medical leave three to four years prior to the crash, citing unspecified health concerns. Despite this, Air India’s medical team cleared him to return to duty, deeming him fit to fly. These allegations, if true, echo a broader crisis in the aviation industry where mental health stigma often prevents pilots from seeking help openly. A Harvard University survey conducted after a similar incident found that 4.1% of airline pilots had experienced suicidal thoughts in the two weeks preceding the study—a statistic that underscores the hidden pressures of a high-stakes profession.

The troubling theory posits that the crash was no accident but a calculated act of mass murder-suicide. Proponents point to the deliberate nature of moving the fuel switches: these levers are designed with safeguards to prevent accidental activation. As aviation expert Captain Steve Scheibner explains, “The mechanism is built to withstand vibration or jolts—the levers must be tugged outwards before being manipulated.” Such a malfunction has never been recorded in the Boeing 787’s operational history, and experts dismiss theories of bumpy runways or computer glitches. Julian Bray, another aviation analyst, suggests sabotage could have come from an unexpected source: the jump seats in the cockpit, which are sometimes occupied by off-duty crew or authorized personnel. “If someone suicidal was in that seat, they could reach the switches,” Bray notes, adding a layer of intrigue about who else might have been present during takeoff.

This hypothesis draws inevitable comparisons to past aviation horrors. The most striking parallel is the Germanwings Flight 9525 disaster in March 2015, where co-pilot Andreas Lubitz locked the captain out of the cockpit and intentionally flew an Airbus A320 into the French Alps, killing all 150 on board. Lubitz had a documented history of severe depression and suicidal ideation, yet he was allowed to fly after concealing his condition from employers. The incident prompted global reforms, including stricter mental health evaluations and the “two-person rule” in cockpits. However, as Stevens points out, these measures vary by airline and region, leaving gaps that could be exploited. In the case of Air India Flight 171, if Sabharwal or Kunder harbored similar demons, the airline’s screening processes may have failed spectacularly.

Counterarguments abound, urging caution against jumping to conclusions. International aviation lawyer James Healy-Pratt emphasizes the emotional toll on victims’ families: “The difference between an accident and intentional homicide is vast—it’s about justice, insurance, and closure.” He warns that speculating on suicide without concrete evidence could exacerbate grief and lead to unwarranted stigma. Former pilot Marco Chan echoes this, noting the absence of the full CVR audio: “Without that, we’re missing a vital piece of the puzzle.” Technical experts also highlight that while rare, human error under stress—perhaps a momentary lapse or miscommunication—cannot be ruled out entirely. The AAIB report’s omissions, such as not addressing potential equipment failures explicitly, only amplify these doubts.

Delving deeper into the historical context, aviation has long grappled with the human element in safety. From the 1982 Japan Airlines Flight 350 crash, where a mentally unstable captain attempted to nosedive the plane, to the 1999 EgyptAir Flight 990 incident suspected of being a suicide by the relief first officer, patterns emerge of pilots using their positions to end lives en masse. These cases highlight systemic issues: the immense responsibility placed on individuals, the isolation of long-haul flights, and the reluctance to ground pilots for mental health reasons due to career implications. The Harvard survey’s findings are particularly alarming in this light, revealing that suicidal ideation among pilots is not an anomaly but a pervasive risk. Airlines like Air India, operating in a competitive global market, face pressure to maintain schedules, sometimes at the expense of thorough psychological assessments.

The implications of the Flight 171 theory extend beyond one airline or country. If proven, it could trigger a reevaluation of international standards, perhaps mandating anonymous mental health reporting or AI-assisted monitoring in cockpits. For Air India, already reeling from the tragedy, the report’s vagueness has sparked conspiracy theories ranging from corporate cover-ups to external sabotage. Families of the victims, many of whom were British nationals returning home or Indian expatriates visiting family, demand transparency. Memorial services have been held in Ahmedabad and London, but closure remains elusive as the full investigation drags on.

In the broader scope, this incident serves as a stark reminder of aviation’s fragility. Modern aircraft like the Dreamliner are engineering marvels, equipped with redundancies to handle failures, yet they are ultimately at the mercy of those who control them. As Christopher Stevens concludes in his analysis, the unanswered questions surrounding Flight 171 not only haunt the bereaved but also challenge the industry to confront its blind spots. Whether the crash was a tragic accident, a mechanical anomaly, or a deliberate plunge into oblivion, one thing is certain: the skies we trust with our lives may harbor darker secrets than we imagine.

The ongoing probe by the AAIB, potentially involving international bodies like the U.S. National Transportation Safety Board (given the Boeing involvement), promises more revelations. Until then, the theory of a suicidal pilot lingers like a shadow over the wreckage—a troubling possibility that forces us to question not just what happened on June 12, but how to prevent it from happening again. In an era where mental health awareness is growing, perhaps this disaster will catalyze change, ensuring that pilots’ inner turmoils are addressed before they claim innocent lives.