Operation Sindoor: A "Dog's Breakfast" Unpacked

 

https://theprint.in/national-interest/indian-pakistan-air-force-doctrines-1965-1971-kargil-op-sindoor/2722096/

Among the well-worn tales of the 1965 Indo-Pak war, one stands tall: Lal Bahadur Shastry’s fearless call to cross the International Border in Punjab, defying both diplomatic and military counsel (especially diplomatic), to relieve pressure in Kashmir or then LoAC. It was a rare moment in history when Delhi’s political leadership took a risk for the soldier in the trench. But during the recent monsoon session of Parliament, Narendra Modi, in what can only be described as his “Blames, Boasts & Bullshit — Volume Whatever,” introduced a new villain into his perpetual “blame-the-past” series. Nehru the usual punching bag, Manmohan Singh gets a usual swipe, Rajiv Gandhi a mention sometimes, and even Indira in a rare moment. But Shastry? Yes, Shastry. Accused, by insinuation, of “squandering” the chance to reclaim Haji Pir Pass and Kartarpur Sahib.

Why? Because Op Sindoor has been a dog’s breakfast, and someone must take the fall — preferably someone who can’t reply. For that, multiple propaganda channels have been running overtime — some shouting “historic success” from the rooftops, others underplaying losses and exaggerating gains, and then a third category: weaving romantic military myths out of selective memory. Shekhar Gupta’s latest column published in Business Standard falls into this last bucket — the “Emperor’s New Clothes” variety. It reads like a war epic, but the truth is hiding in the margins.

The piece opens with a trick question: “If in a war one side lost 13 aircraft in combat and the other five, who won?” Clearly aimed at making the reader believe numbers don’t matter if objectives are achieved. But that’s sleight of hand. Losses matter — especially if they were avoidable, and especially if the so-called “objectives” were, at best, afterthoughts. The three objectives listed are

Objective One: Destroy Lashkar-e-Taiba’s HQ at Muridke and Jaish-e-Mohammed’s base at Bahawalpur.
Now, anyone who thinks terrorism is a function of real estate is welcome to buy ocean-view plots on the moon. 9/11 was planned in caves with men equipped at best with box cutters, not regimental headquarters. And yet could get the sole superpower of the day to its knees. 26/11 was launched from a dinghy, not a corvette. Blowing up buildings is good optics, but terrorism is a war of hearts, minds, and grievances — not bricks and mortar.

Objective Two: Deter Pakistan from counter striking.
Result: Pakistan counterstruck. End of deterrence theory. Efficacy of the counter strike only history will decide, especially in an era of sparse information and fog of war.

Objective Three: If Pakistan still persisted, deliver “counterforce punishment.”
This was essentially Objective Two with a fake moustache — because “two objectives” sound limp in a press conference.

To declare success, or achieving deterrence, is like borrowing a page from Field Marshel Ayub Khan’s play book, showcasing a stalemate as a victory. Meanwhile, the Pakistan Air Force dominated not the skies, but the story. The IAF’s strikes — on hangars, command centres, and radars at Sargodha, Rahim Yar Khan, and Sukkur — might have been useful in a war aimed at decisive results. But hangars are cheaper to rebuild than a €500-million fighter jet. And yes, we lost five of those.

Why did India lose those jets? It’s not a mystery. Captain Shiv Kumar, then defence attaché in Jakarta, has openly said pilots were ordered not to attack military assets. That was a political decision, not a military one. In other words: Indian pilots walked into a fight with one hand tied and then boasted about not knocking the other guy out.

Shekhar asks whether the PAF can claim victory just because it lost fewer aircraft. The answer to the question is older and simpler: “Wars are fought by soldiers and generals — but won or lost by politicians”. And history will record that Narendra Modi became the first Indian Prime Minister to lose seven aircraft in combat with no tangible strategic gain.

Operation Sindoor joins Balakot in the hall of chest-thumping misadventures. In Balakot, a MiG-21 flown by Wing Commander Abhinandan was shot down, and a helicopter was lost to friendly fire along with six air warriors. In Sindoor, we add five frontline jets to the bill. The “acceptable losses” narrative spun by Gen Chauhan in an interview in Singapore is just a polite way of saying “we knew it was coming, and we let it happen anyway.”

And finally — the logo. Ah yes, the pot of sindoor. There is a difference between a military insignia and a Gujarati soap opera prop. War operations deserve grit and steel, not a name better suited to a melodrama about marital discord. Whoever signed off on it clearly thought morale was built with cosmetics, not competence.

Call it whatever you like — doctrine, deterrence, divine destiny — but to the outside world, Pakistan told a sharper story and looked less bloodied. Inside India, Modi’s government will spin it as a triumph. Outside India, it will be remembered for what it was: a costly, confused, and cosmetic exercise.