The crisis in the modernisation of the Indian aviation industry is starkly reflected in the global context, where the inefficiencies of the Tejas programme and the continued reliance on outdated MiG-21 aircraft expose deeper structural failures. These shortcomings suggest that national pride has often overridden accountability, leaving India operationally vulnerable when technological ambition is not matched by institutional rigour.
Modernisation, when pursued uncritically, can obscure systemic decay through the rhetoric of technological self-sufficiency. This paradox is evident in India’s aerospace narrative, which once relied on Soviet jet fighters during the Cold War and now insists on indigenous combat aircraft in the twenty-first century. Yet safer skies are not created by newer airframes, larger cockpits, or expanded production lines alone. Both civil and military aviation in India remain excessively centralised, opaque, and focused on symbolism rather than substance.
The 2025 Dubai Airshow tragedy brought these issues into sharp relief. The crash of the Indian-made HAL Tejas fighter, which killed Wing Commander Namansh Syal, revealed not merely a technical failure but a systemic tendency to equate aspiration with achievement. HAL described the crash as an isolated incident, yet it reflected continuity rather than coincidence. In the same year, the crash of Air India Flight 171, a Boeing 787-8, alongside repeated MiG-21 incidents, underscored patterns of systemic fatigue, limited transparency, and the evasion of responsibility.
The MiG-21 was celebrated as a symbol of modernity when inducted in 1963, but by the 1980s it had become emblematic of institutional decay. Since the 1970s, over 480 MiG-21 aircraft have crashed, resulting in hundreds of pilot fatalities. With approximately 1.5 million flight hours logged and an accident rate of 26 per 100,000 flight hours, the aircraft earned its reputation as a “flying coffin”. Rather than retiring it decisively, India extended its service life, often disregarding engineering advice and framing losses as acceptable operational risk. Dependence on Soviet-era designs, Russian spare parts, and limited domestic innovation continued to define HAL’s production model.
The Light Combat Aircraft Tejas was intended to end this reliance, yet it largely replicated it. Conceived in the 1980s and inducted only in 2016, the Tejas relies on the GE F404-IN20 engine, Israeli radar systems, and foreign avionics. In November 2025, India signed a contract for 113 additional GE engines, while domestic content remained capped at around 60 per cent and no indigenous engine had materialised. The Dubai crash again highlighted reliance on foreign engines and electronics, delaying the operationalisation of the Tejas Mk-1A.
India has prioritised contracts and prototypes over systems and processes. Tejas production continues at roughly one aircraft per month, while issues related to composite fabrication, quality assurance, and supply-chain coordination persist. Accident inquiries remain opaque, findings are rarely disclosed, and institutional learning is weak. Accountability across HAL, the Defence Research and Development Organisation, and the Indian Air Force remains fragmented. The Dubai crash exemplified the consequences of prioritising publicity over due diligence, undermining HAL’s ambitions to export the aircraft.
Pilot training has also suffered. MiG-21 cockpits are rapidly converted into Tejas and Rafale simulators within months, yet simulator hours remain below NATO standards. Responses to crashes often follow procedural checklists rather than addressing deeper issues such as pilot fatigue, training gaps, and political pressure to sustain readiness at all costs.
Maintenance and regulatory oversight remain inadequate. Civil aviation is regulated by the Directorate General of Civil Aviation under CAR-145 norms, yet fewer than 200 personnel oversee a fleet of over 700 aircraft. HAL and Indian Air Force maintenance depots continue to rely on manual audits and outdated inspection systems, while political pressure to meet delivery timelines frequently overrides safety standards. Although advanced diagnostic technologies exist, spending on hardware has not been matched by institutional reform.
Unlike other states operating ageing aircraft fleets, which rely on transparency, independent investigations, and public reporting, India has adopted a culture of secrecy. Flight safety reports are classified, crash findings are rarely disclosed, and public scrutiny is limited. This self-imposed opacity deters potential international partners and constrains meaningful reform.
The Tejas fighter and the Gaganyaan space programme illustrate a broader pattern in which ambition outpaces process. Prototypes are showcased years before reaching operational maturity, government narratives emphasise self-reliance, and failures remain concealed. In this environment, accidents become predictable outcomes rather than aberrations.
India’s airpower modernisation remains suspended between aspiration and denial. The Indian Air Force operates only 29 fighter squadrons against a sanctioned strength of 42, creating persistent operational gaps that the Tejas was meant to fill. The prolonged obsolescence of the MiG-21 and continued dependency within the Tejas programme reflect a national culture that normalises risk rather than confronting it. Protecting pilots and passengers remains an unresolved challenge. Speed is not progress, and in India’s aviation sector, haste has too often proved fatal.
