Air India 787 crash probe roiled by competing theories on pilot vs. mechanical failure

A year has passed since Air India flight 171 lifted off from Ahmedabad airport on a June afternoon bound for London, and in that year, the investigation into why the plane fell from the sky 32 seconds later has become something far more contentious than a simple search for answers. Two hundred sixty people died in the crash, along with nineteen more on the ground. One person survived. The Boeing 787 carrying 230 passengers and a crew of ten simply hung in the air for a moment after takeoff, then descended gently before disappearing behind buildings. Seconds later, a column of flame and smoke rose into the sky.

What happened in the cockpit in those final seconds remains bitterly disputed. Captain Sumeet Sabharwal, a pilot with decades of experience, was at the controls alongside first officer Clive Kunder. According to India's Aircraft Accident Investigation Bureau, the flight data recorder showed that fuel cutoff switches—normally used only during engine startup and shutdown—moved to the cutoff position shortly after takeoff. The cockpit voice recording captured one pilot asking the other why he had cut the fuel. The other pilot denied doing so. That exchange, presented without transcript or clarity about who said what, ignited a firestorm of speculation. Newsweek reported the troubling possibility that the captain had deliberately doomed his aircraft. The Wall Street Journal, citing unnamed sources, claimed recordings suggested it was Sabharwal who had flipped the switches. Former NTSB chairman Robert Sumwalt told CBS News the evidence pointed to deliberate action in the cockpit, not a mechanical failure.

But within days, the investigation bureau condemned what it called selective and irresponsible reporting. The damage, however, had already taken root. Captain CS Randhawa, president of the Federation of Indian Pilots, argued that dead pilots cannot defend themselves, and that blaming them conveniently absolves regulators, operators, and manufacturers. He and Sabharwal's 91-year-old father took their concerns to India's Supreme Court, demanding a judicial inquiry. Former UK air accident investigator Tim Atkinson acknowledged the temptation to blame a deceased pilot—it lets everyone else off the hook—but he personally believes no other explanation fits the evidence. He calls it a homicide-suicide, and says investigating it as an accident will inevitably fail.

Yet safety campaigners, pilots' groups, and lawyers representing the bereaved families have pushed back hard against that narrative. They point to a history of electrical problems on the specific aircraft, registered as VT-ANB, which had been delivered to Air India in 2014. Documents show an incident of burning in one of the plane's main power panels in 2022. The aircraft was permitted to fly with a known fault in its core network—the framework linking all the plane's computers and electronics, sometimes called the central nervous system of the aircraft. One theory gaining traction is that a major electrical failure caused the main flight computers to reboot seconds after takeoff, creating a situation where the aircraft's systems briefly believed the plane was on the ground even though it was airborne. A safety system, detecting dangerous engine thrust levels, would have automatically cut fuel supply. Under this scenario, the fuel switches in the cockpit were never physically touched; the flight data recorder registered an electronic command, not a manual action.

Investigative journalist Rachel Chitra has documented inconsistencies in the preliminary report that support this theory. She points to the account of engine relighting after fuel was restored—the report suggests Engine 1 began recovering while Engine 2 attempted to relight. But Chitra's research, backed by engineering documents, indicates such a relight would have been physically impossible at the speed the aircraft had reached with the available power sources. Lawyers for the victims' families have focused on the Ram Air Turbine, a small propeller that deploys to provide emergency power when other systems fail. CCTV footage shows it deployed immediately after takeoff. The preliminary report claims it was providing hydraulic power within five seconds of the fuel cutoff. But simulator tests suggest it would need 14 to 18 seconds to generate that power, implying it had actually deployed much earlier—possibly while the aircraft was still on the ground, well before any fuel switch action.

The investigation system itself now faces scrutiny. Under international law, the country where an accident occurs bears responsibility for the official investigation, with manufacturers' technical experts participating as accredited representatives. In theory, this ensures impartiality and focuses solely on preventing future accidents. In practice, critics argue, national authorities investigating accidents within their own borders face pressure—political, corporate, or both—to protect local airlines and foreign manufacturers from blame. The Foundation for Aviation Safety, led by former Boeing whistleblower Ed Pierson, warns that the current system can trap investigations within local bureaucracies or allow manufacturers' experts to deflect corporate culpability while appearing to assist. The International Civil Aviation Organisation has acknowledged these vulnerabilities and announced reforms taking effect in late 2028, including the right to delegate investigations to third parties and improved transparency measures. But experts question whether such adjustments address the fundamental problem. Eckhard Jann, a safety consultant, argues that the current system is built on principles from 1944 and cannot adequately serve a globalized aviation industry. He calls for a global investigation authority with real power to demand changes. Others, including Atkinson, argue that what aviation safety truly needs is far greater transparency from the earliest stages of an investigation, with information released freely rather than withheld.

India's AAIB must publish some form of update by Friday, June 12—one year after the crash. There is widespread doubt it will be conclusive. The civil aviation minister suggested in May that the final report would come a month later. Whatever emerges, the wave of controversy and cynicism already surrounding the investigation seems unlikely to recede. Boeing cannot afford questions about the 787, a plane with an otherwise impeccable safety record until this crash. Air India, struggling financially and recently taken over by the Tata Group in hopes of a turnaround, cannot afford further damage to its reputation. The families of 260 people who died want to know what really happened. And the aviation world is watching to see whether an investigation system designed decades ago can still be trusted to tell the truth.