Air India Flight 171 Crash: A Case of Engine Starvation, Not Pilot Error

So, here we are again — another air crash, and before the engines even stop smoking, people are blaming the pilot. Air India Flight 171, a Boeing 787 Dreamliner, went down under circumstances that are way too complex to be chalked up to “low-time pilot error” or “flap mismanagement,” as a few keyboard commandos and even some aviation YouTubers have rushed to claim.

Let’s unpack what really happened — based on the hard clues we already have, the physics of flight, and, yes, a little bit of common sense.

Sluggish Takeoff: The First Red Flag

The takeoff roll said it all.

The aircraft used nearly all of the 11,000 ft runway. That’s unusual, even on a hot day with a heavy load. The 787 doesn’t need anywhere near that much if both engines are functioning normally.
Eyewitnesses called it a “muddy takeoff” — the kind of slow, almost reluctant rotation you see when something isn’t right under the hood.
The aircraft barely lifted off, struggled to climb, and was sluggish from the get-go. Something was robbing it of thrust, and it wasn’t flap settings or atmospheric conditions.

Let’s be real: experienced crews notice this kind of thing immediately. But if both engines are on paper working, you still rotate and hope to clear the perimeter, because aborting at that point could be just as deadly.

Loss of Thrust Within 15 Seconds — Pilot Said It Himself

“Loss of thrust” — those were the pilot’s actual words before the Mayday.

Not “bird strike.” Not “engine fire.” Not “I made a mistake.” Just “loss of thrust.”
That’s not speculation — that’s a direct cockpit transmission.

And here’s the kicker: if you lose all meaningful thrust right after wheels up, you’re in the worst possible place — too low to turn, too slow to recover, too high to land back.

So why did the engines lose thrust? They didn’t explode, they didn’t catch fire, and there’s no debris trail. This wasn’t an engine “failure” in the classic sense. The engines were starved.

RAT Deployed = Major System Failure

The RAT (Ram Air Turbine) popped out. That should be screaming alarms for anyone who knows their aircraft systems.

The RAT only deploys when both main power sources fail, or the aircraft’s computers detect a serious power loss.
And that happened immediately after takeoff.

That means something catastrophic hit the aircraft’s electrical or hydraulic systems just as it tried to get airborne. We’re not talking about some minor warning light here — this is emergency backup power literally being thrown out into the airstream to try and keep the jet alive.

Funny how some folks online spent hours blaming flap positions, only to have Day 1 crash site photos show flaps fully deployed. That’s the internet for you.

The Landing Gear Theory? Lazy and Incorrect

Yes, the landing gear was never retracted. But that’s not what caused the crash. Here’s why:

Drag from extended gear definitely slows you down. But it doesn’t crash a 787.
Boeing 787s are certified to climb on a single engine with gear extended. It’s not ideal, but it’s doable — and trained for.
If even one engine was putting out proper thrust, this aircraft could’ve kept going.

Saying “the gear wasn’t retracted, so the plane crashed” is like saying your car stalled because the trunk was open. You might look ridiculous, but the engine still runs.

Loud Bang = Something Broke — Fast

One of the survivors heard a loud bang immediately after takeoff. That’s one of the most telling pieces of the whole puzzle.

No fireball, no explosion — just a mechanical or electrical rupture somewhere deep in the aircraft.
Could’ve been a fuel pump fracture, a blown electrical bus, even a battery surge (787s use massive lithium-ion packs, let’s not forget).
But something gave out hard and fast, and that sound was likely the moment the system began to unravel.

Honestly, a lot of failures on aircraft are quiet and invisible — this one wasn’t. It had an audible signature.

Engine Starvation, Not Engine Failure

Let’s be precise. These engines didn’t explode, disintegrate, or throw fan blades across the tarmac.

They didn’t fail — they were starved.
No smoke. No fire. No debris. No signs of catastrophic internal damage.

This means the engines were probably fine, mechanically speaking. They just weren’t being fed — with fuel, commands, or stable power.

Which brings us back to systems upstream of the engines:

Fuel control computers
Electronic distribution centers
Broken or tripped software logic

The aircraft tried to fly. It was denied what it needed — and not because the pilot forgot to press a button.

The Pilot Had 8,000 Hours. Let That Sink In.

Another favorite scapegoat: the pilot.

People claimed he was “low-time.” In reality, he had over 8,000 hours on the 787, and possibly more in total across multiple other aircraft. I present no research here as there is none. There is no conclusive evidence so far is there was more, but I would like to find out.
If that’s low-time, then most regional captains shouldn’t be allowed near a yoke.

It’s lazy and cowardly to blame a professional pilot before the data is in. And it’s a deflection — a way to avoid asking what systems really failed, and why.

So What Really Happened?

Let’s connect the dots — not based on guesswork, but on everything we know:

The aircraft takes unusually long to lift off — engines clearly not giving full power.
Within seconds, a loud bang — something breaks inside, not outside.
Loss of thrust is declared by the cockpit.
RAT deploys, confirming massive electrical or hydraulic disruption.
Aircraft tries to climb — gear still down, yes — but it doesn’t matter, because thrust is gone.
Plane loses lift and control, and crashes. No fire, no smoke, no engine parts flung across the crash site.

This points to a software, electrical, or fuel subsystem cascade failure, not a “pilot forgot the checklist” moment.

Let’s Shut Down the Lazy Theories

Let’s do some cleanup here:

No bird strike: No remains, no ingestion, no radar hits.
No fire: No plume, no burnt wreckage from the nacelles.
No flap error: Photos proved flaps were correctly deployed.

Final Word: This Was Deeper Than Human Error

What happened to Flight 171 wasn’t about a missed step or an inexperienced crew. It was about a modern aircraft, packed with layers of interdependent systems, having one of those systems silently implode at the worst possible time.

And if we’re being brutally honest? Until the builders – and the regulators start owning up to how software, electrical, and fuel logic interlock, we’ll keep having crashes like this — and keep blaming the people who went down with the plane.