A week on Sunday my mother, Nuzhat, 52, was one of the 127 people who boarded a Bhoja aeroplane in Pakistan. She was returning home to Islamabad after spending a month in Karachi looking after my grandfather, who'd had a stroke. Alongside the other passengers she had fastened her seatbelts in preparation for landing when the plane crashed into wheat fields.

I was there at the airport, anxiously waiting to see her emerge from the arrivals lounge with a big smile on her face. Instead, 24 hours later, I received her remains after a frantic search and multiple visits to the morgue. The body was identified through her fingerprints; I did not have the heart to open the casket.

I visited the police station responsible for keeping the deceaseds' items a week after her death. I found that all of her luggage had been stolen. I only found a few pieces of clothes along with her national identity card and the front casing of her mobile phone. It was a long process to claim these items as I had to run between the city courts and the government authorities to obtain relevant certificates.

Details are still emerging about the incident. There are conflicting reports; some say the plane caught fire midair and exploded. Others that it hit the ground and disintegrated into a million of pieces. After burying my mother, I visited the crash site and did not see signs of a major inferno. While looking for her remains I was told by the authorities to open each coffin. There was no other way given the haphazard rescue and identification process, but I didn't see visibly charred bodies.

There are reports that the plane was running low on fuel, which might explain the lack of conflagration at the crash site. Some critics are even questioning the process under which the aircraft was given flight clearance. According to reports, the plane was almost 30 years old, had clocked in 46,933 flying hours and had been stored for over a year. The licence of Bhoja Air, the airline my mother was travelling with, had been cancelled 11 years ago. The company was in debt of more than 80m rupees. It was regranted the license last year.

Despite the fatal crash, the airline's licence has not been revoked. A newspaper reported this week that the defence ministry and Civil Aviation Authority (CAA) had been ordered by a Pakistani high court three months ago to conduct safety audits of all private airlines without delay. This was the third major aircraft accident in less than six years. In 2010, another aeroplane crashed into the Margalla hills near Islamabad, killing all 152 onboard. In 2006, a crash near the central city of Multan claimed 45 lives. PIA, the national aircraft carrier of Pakistan, has also faced bans from the European Union and seems to be heading for further conflict with the EU. The New York Times recently described the airline as "a bloated, poorly managed company rife with nepotism and corruption".

The air traffic controllers in Pakistan say they are overburdened; their working hours have not been adjusted to international standards – and they warned about the grim consequences of this. The government and the opposition, however, are busy turning the death of my mother and her fellow passengers into a point-scoring game.

After the crash valuables were stolen before the military arrived and cordoned off the area. The city government handed over the voice data recorders to the concerned authorities after 24 hours. The aviation regulator itself has been marred by corruption scandals. How can we be sure it ensures safe flight operations?

While my mother and others killed in the crash can't return, I don't want others to go through the pain we have suffered. Something must be done to improve the safety of Pakistan's aviation industry before another disaster takes place.

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