A Lament of Fire in the Skies of Dubai: The Tejas Tragedy Leaves the Air Heavy with Sorrow

The Dubai Air Show was shaken from its usually immaculate rhythm when an Indian Air Force Tejas light combat aircraft plunged from the sky in a near-vertical fall and exploded into a towering fireball beside the runway. What had begun as a polished solo display transformed within seconds into a scene of chaos as emergency crews raced across the tarmac and the flying programme was suspended. By evening, the Indian Air Force confirmed the pilot’s death and announced a formal investigation. For a platform that has for years symbolised India’s ambition for aerospace self-reliance, the shock of this loss was immediate and far-reaching.

Tejas had arrived in Dubai with a strong strategic purpose. India sought to demonstrate that its indigenous fighter had matured into a reliable, export-ready platform, capable of standing alongside global competitors. Its presence at the show was a centrepiece of the “Make in India” defence initiative, aimed at signalling technological confidence to both domestic audiences and foreign buyers. Instead, the accident redirected global attention toward the aircraft’s history, developmental hurdles, and the safety culture surrounding its operation.

The Light Combat Aircraft programme began in the early 1980s, when India recognised that its ageing MiG-21 fleet would soon have to be replaced. The Aeronautical Development Agency was formed in 1984, partnering with Hindustan Aeronautics Limited to design a modern, lightweight fighter incorporating fly-by-wire controls, composite structures, advanced radar, and a flexible weapons suite. Although various foreign consultants provided limited guidance, the project remained firmly in Indian hands. The first Tejas prototype flew in 2001 after years of delays. It would take another decade before the aircraft achieved operational clearance and the first squadrons were formed.

By the mid-2010s, Tejas was inducted into active service, with units established at Sulur and later Naliya. Powered by an American F404 engine and built with extensive composite materials, the aircraft became central to India’s long-term fleet modernisation. Orders for more than 200 aircraft, spanning the Mk1 and Mk1A variants, eventually followed. With the retirement of India’s final MiG-21s, Tejas evolved from a symbolic development effort to an operational backbone of future Indian air power.

The programme maintained an enviable safety record until 2024, when a Tejas crashed in Rajasthan due to an engine oil-system failure. After inspections and corrective measures, the fleet resumed flying. That background inevitably shapes the scrutiny placed on the Dubai crash, even though no conclusions about causation can yet be drawn.

Complicating matters was the controversy that erupted days before the accident. Videos circulated on social media, particularly among Pakistani defence commentators, showing liquid dripping from a Tejas on the Dubai tarmac. Some engineers and analysts claimed that this was an engine-oil leak persisting over several days. Indian officials firmly rejected the allegations, stating that the liquid was condensed water discharged from environmental and oxygen-generation systems, a routine practice in humid climates. The disagreement quickly grew into a regional narrative battle, with each side interpreting the footage in ways aligned with long-standing political rivalries.

The question now dominating discussion is whether any early technical warning—if one existed—was ignored. There is no publicly verified evidence that a formal engineering alert from Pakistani personnel was delivered to officials at the air show. Yet, visible fluid beneath an aircraft scheduled to perform high-stress manoeuvres naturally raises concerns. Aviation history includes many tragedies preceded by minor anomalies. Having already experienced an oil-related failure in 2024, a more conservative approach might have been expected.

The video of the crash itself shows the aircraft losing altitude sharply during a manoeuvre from which it never recovered. This pattern could indicate engine power loss, flight-control malfunction, pilot incapacitation, spatial misjudgment, structural failure, or a combination of factors. Only a comprehensive forensic analysis will determine the chain of events. Any connection between earlier fluid observations and the crash remains speculative, but investigators will be expected to thoroughly explore the possibility.

The implications extend beyond this single tragedy. Tejas remains central to India’s aspirations for defence manufacturing independence, and its export campaigns targeting several nations may face renewed scepticism. International customers will closely watch how transparently India handles this investigation and how honestly it addresses whether organisational, cultural, or commercial pressures influenced decisions prior to the flight.

The answers will emerge only after investigators reconstruct the aircraft’s final moments, examine maintenance procedures in Dubai, revisit lessons from previous incidents, and evaluate whether any overlooked warnings could have prevented the disaster. For now, the fireball over Dubai stands as a stark reminder that the credibility of India’s flagship fighter programme hangs on the thoroughness and candour of the inquiry that follows.