AI Generated Summary
- On June 23, 1985, a bomb planted in the cargo hold of Air India Flight 182 detonated mid-air over the Atlantic Ocean near the coast of Ireland, killing all 329 people on board.
- Meera, who was just a child when the bombing happened, now sits with her parents in their Saskatoon home, turning the pages of a family album.
- I didn’t open what was inside,” he says softly, fingers brushing over the edges of a second bag.
In a quiet Montreal office, Mahesh Sharma opens a clear plastic bag resting on top of his wooden desk. Inside are the final remnants of a life interrupted—clothes and belongings of his wife, two daughters, and mother-in-law, all of whom perished aboard Air India Flight 182 nearly 40 years ago.
“Whatever they gave me, I just put it inside. They gave it to me like that. I didn’t open what was inside,” he says softly, fingers brushing over the edges of a second bag. “This is my daughter ‘25.’ And this is ‘103,’ for my other daughter.”
On June 23, 1985, a bomb planted in the cargo hold of Air India Flight 182 detonated mid-air over the Atlantic Ocean near the coast of Ireland, killing all 329 people on board. It remains the deadliest act of aviation terrorism involving Canada, yet is still often referred to as a “foreign” tragedy.
Among the dead were 43-year-old Uma, a zoology PhD holder; her daughters, 14-year-old Sandhya and 11-year-old Swati; and Uma’s mother, 66-year-old Shakuntala. They were on their way to India for a summer vacation.
Mahesh never saw them again.
“Remember Them As You Saw Them”
Only 132 bodies were recovered from the sea. Uma’s was never found.
“I thought, the day they died, they could be cremated with me,” Mahesh reflects. “There’s no mathematical reason behind it. It’s just a feeling, you know?”
At the urging of his brother, Mahesh never looked at the bodies recovered. Instead, he clings to a photo in his wallet—one of the last times his family stood together. That picture would later help officials identify Sandhya and Swati.
The bombing of Air India Flight 182—plotted and executed on Canadian soil—also claimed the lives of doctors, engineers, students, and community leaders. Nearly a third of the victims were children.
Despite the loss of 280 Canadian citizens, most of whom were of Indian descent, many feel the tragedy was never fully recognized by their government or country.
A Tragedy Dismissed
“For so long, it was called an ‘Indian tragedy,’” says Meera Kachroo, whose grandmother, Mohan Kachroo, was among the victims. “It really calls into question the idea of Canadian identity.”
Meera, who was just a child when the bombing happened, now sits with her parents in their Saskatoon home, turning the pages of a family album. Her grandmother had embraced Canadian life—learning English, wearing Western clothes, and settling into a new sense of freedom.
“She loved trousers. My mom was making her dresses,” Meera says with a smile. “She really enjoyed that.”
Mohan was returning to India to share that newfound confidence with her extended family. She never arrived.
Like Mahesh, Meera’s family is still haunted not only by their loss but by the Canadian government’s slow and distant response.
A Deafening Silence
Dr. Bal Gupta, who lost his wife Ramwati in the bombing, remembers the cold reception in Ireland. “There were representatives from the Irish, British, American and Indian governments in the hospital. No Canadian government officials were there.”
Dr. Gupta would go on to become a key voice for victims’ families as coordinator for the Air India Victims Family Association. But even his son, Susheel, was left disillusioned.
“I lost a parent, and there was no recognition,” Susheel says. “No support, no condolences from elected officials.”
Anita Dhanjal, whose sister Indira Kalsi was only 21 when she died, recalls similar isolation. “There was no support for us. We just felt alone.”
The government’s inaction lingered for years. The trial for the bombing didn’t begin until nearly two decades later, becoming the most expensive and longest investigation in Canadian history—ending with acquittals and only one conviction.
A Systemic Failure
The inquiry launched by Prime Minister Stephen Harper’s government in 2006 revealed a string of institutional failures. It cited intelligence lapses by both the RCMP and CSIS that could have prevented the attack.
The mastermind, Talwinder Singh Parmar—leader of the Babbar Khalsa, a Sikh extremist group—was never tried. He was killed in India in 1992. Only Inderjit Singh Reyat, convicted of manslaughter and perjury, served time.
“They found so many errors,” says Dhanjal. “Why didn’t they act on those errors? They knew things were happening.”
Many believe the lack of urgency and visibility stemmed from the racialized identities of the victims. Meera Kachroo once discovered she knew more about the bombing than some Members of Parliament.
“It really shows the divide between immigrant communities and the broader Canadian public,” she says.
40 Years Later: Remembering, Still Waiting
June 23, 2025 will mark 40 years since the bombing. It’s recognized as the National Day of Remembrance for Victims of Terrorism in Canada—but for many families, the pain has not dulled, and justice still feels distant.
A digital memorial lists the names and faces of the 329 souls lost. It is meant to remind Canadians that the victims were not “others.” They were children, mothers, fathers, neighbors. They were Canadians.
“I don’t think we can ever fully heal,” Susheel says. “But we can learn. We can teach those who have the power to protect others, so this never happens again.”
OMNI News Punjabi will air a special commemorative program this June, reflecting on the aftermath, the silence, and the long struggle for recognition. It is a tribute not only to those lost, but to the enduring strength of the families left behind.
As Mahesh Sharma gently folds the bags back into his desk drawer, the weight of memory is palpable.
“I remember them as I saw them the last time,” he says. “And I always will.”
