There is a line between assertive leadership and reckless provocation. For most responsible leaders, it is a threshold they are careful not to cross. But in Narendra Modi’s India, that line no longer exists. It has not simply blurred—it has been obliterated by a man whose sense of invincibility grows in proportion to his disregard for the costs of his actions. What should have been the considered judgment of a statesman has been replaced by the impulsive posturing of a man whose politics now increasingly resemble the theatrics of a demagogue. As Modi fans the flames of militarism, nearly two billion people across South Asia are left to live under the growing shadow of nuclear uncertainty. At the heart of this crisis is not a calculated security strategy but a cynical election campaign.
India’s saber-rattling in recent weeks comes not from a place of strength or necessity, but from a manufactured sense of superiority that plays well with voters whipped into nationalist fervor. In his attempt to look strong, Modi is inviting global scorn. Far beyond the echo chambers of hyper-nationalist Indian media, international analysts and defence experts are expressing deep unease. Even in India, especially among educated citizens and security experts, alarm bells are ringing. There is a growing recognition that this government’s infatuation with military theatre has left little room for actual strategic coherence. The recent failures of the Indian Air Force have added a new layer of embarrassment to this unfolding crisis. The confirmed loss of multiple fighter jets, including a Rafale—a jet Modi had once presented as the crown jewel of India’s defence modernization—has exposed fundamental weaknesses.
The government’s attempts to suppress news of these losses only underscores its panic. When an €8 billion deal becomes the centerpiece of both defence policy and public propaganda, the stakes are high. And when the product of that deal falls from the sky, the humiliation is greater still. French publication Le Monde did not mince its words in questioning the standards of Indian pilots and the performance of the Rafale jets themselves. While the aircraft was sold to India as a symbol of cutting-edge deterrence, its poor showing in combat has forced both allies and adversaries to reevaluate India’s military readiness. The truth is sobering. High-end weapons do not guarantee success in battle. They require training, cohesion, and intelligent leadership—qualities that India’s current military-political apparatus seems sorely lacking.
India’s own Auditor General, in a 2024 report, warned of recruitment shortfalls, logistical gaps, and inadequate training across the air force. Those warnings, evidently, were not taken seriously. Meanwhile, Pakistan, often dismissed in Indian political discourse as an inferior power, has demonstrated a level of discipline and preparedness that stands in stark contrast to the chaos in New Delhi. The Pakistan Air Force, seasoned by years of high-pressure operations in the mountainous tribal areas, appears to have responded with calm professionalism. Its deployment of Chinese-made J-10C fighter jets, designed specifically to counter threats like the Rafale, was not an impulsive purchase, but a strategic investment. It has paid off.
In a revelation that rattled defence circles, two senior U.S. officials confirmed that at least two Indian aircraft were brought down by a Pakistani J-10C during a recent skirmish. For Beijing, it was a vindication of its aviation technology. For Islamabad, it was validation of its tactical planning. For India, it was a crushing blow—one that pierced the illusion of invincibility long cultivated by Modi’s administration. In these rare moments of real combat, where jets are tested under the harshest conditions and missiles make their case not in simulations but in the sky, it becomes clear who has prepared for reality and who has merely staged it.
But the greatest danger lies not in jets or weapons. It lies in the personality cult that now defines Indian politics. Modi has surrounded himself not with strategic minds but with sycophants. He is cheered not for prudence but for defiance. He is no longer a leader consulting advisors; he is a performer commanding applause. This shift from leadership to spectacle is not a harmless transformation—it is a geopolitical hazard. With each provocative act, India drifts closer to the edge of a conflict that cannot be contained. One miscalculation, one stray missile, one overreaction could trigger a chain of events with irreversible consequences.
It is naive to believe that Pakistan, forever accused of restraint or inaction, will continue to absorb provocations without eventually responding in full. The region has already seen too many wars. It cannot survive a nuclear one. Modi’s assumption that nationalism will shield him from accountability is a dangerous delusion. His rhetoric may win elections, but it risks sacrificing peace. And when peace is lost, it is not his inner circle that will pay the price—it is the ordinary people of South Asia, from Kashmir to Kerala, from Lahore to Lucknow.
This is not an issue to be viewed through the prism of regional rivalry alone. The international community can no longer afford to look the other way while India plays with fire. The pretence that this is just domestic posturing must end. When a nation with nuclear weapons begins to base military decisions on political popularity rather than strategic need, it becomes a global concern. The longer world powers tolerate Modi’s brinkmanship, the more likely they are to witness a tragedy unfold on their watch. South Asia is on a knife’s edge. It is being held there not by necessity, but by choice—Modi’s choice. And unless that choice is challenged, called out, and condemned by the international community, the region will continue to lurch toward catastrophe.
