The front door of the Sharma home no longer bursts open with laughter. It used to, especially when Nganthoi came home unannounced. But now, the silence in this modest house in Thoubal town speaks of a grief too vast for words.
Twenty-one-year-old Nganthoi Sharma Kongbrailatpam, a cabin crew member with Air India, was aboard the ill-fated Dreamliner that crashed en route to London, killing all 242 on board. Her parents are yet to receive an official confirmation, but in their hearts, they already know.
“She called at 11:30 am that morning,” her father, Nandesh Kumar Sharma, recalls, his voice barely above a whisper. “She said she wouldn’t be able to call again till she returned on June 15. That was the last time we heard her voice.”
Three hours later, their world began to fall apart. News alerts flashed that an Air India flight had crashed soon after takeoff. His elder daughter let out a sharp cry as she scrolled through her phone.
“We just knew,” Sharma says. “But no one has told us anything official. We are living in shock, glued to news reports, hoping, dreading.”
Nganthoi was the middle child — a vibrant presence who had joined Air India at just 19. In 2023, still a student at DM College in Imphal, she tagged along with friends to a cabin crew interview. She wasn’t even planning to apply. But she got selected.
“She wasn’t looking for a career just yet,” Sharma says, managing a faint smile through tears. “But when Air India called, we all thought — it’s a good job, secure. She could come back later and work here in Manipur.”
From their Mumbai base, she and other Manipuri airhostesses lived like a close-knit family, constantly in transit, yet rooted deeply in home. Her most recent visit was just three months ago — an unexpected arrival timed around her father’s hospital treatment.
“She never told us in advance,” Sharma says. “She would plan everything with her elder sister. Suddenly she’d be at the gate, grinning. That’s the kind of girl she was — full of warmth, always putting us first.”
Now, the gate doesn’t creak open in surprise. The house she once lit with energy and love has been swallowed by a silence that won’t lift.
Her room remains untouched, her voice echoing in memory: “I’ll call after June 15.”
