India has steadfastly refused American fighter jets, even as the United States has pitched nearly every model in its arsenal over the past two decades. From F-16s to F-35s, the offers have come thick and fast, yet New Delhi has turned them down each time, wrote Shiv Aroor a respected defence analyst of NDTV web portal.
Consider the current spectacle over Iran. F/A-18 Super Hornets launch from nuclear-powered carriers. F-15E Strike Eagles prowl from Gulf bases.
F-16s maintain combat air patrols. F-22 Raptors debut in combat from Israeli soil. B-2 bombers streak through the night, while F-35s weave through dense defences, claiming their first air-to-air victory.
This represents the largest US airpower deployment in a generation—a stark demonstration of American might. Remarkably, almost every jet type involved has been marketed to India at some stage.
The roots trace back to the Cold War. Washington armed Pakistan generously, supplying not just rifles and tanks but advanced fighters like the F-86 Sabre, F-104 Starfighter, F-86D, and A-37 Dragonfly.
Later came the F-16 Fighting Falcon, a pinnacle of multirole fighters, combat-proven and lethal. Pakistan deployed these against India in conflicts, searing the memory into Indian strategic thinking.
India responded by pivoting eastward. Soviet MiG-21s filled the skies, followed by MiG-23s, MiG-29s, and the Sukhoi Su-30MKI, which remains the Indian Air Force’s (IAF) backbone today.
Western options supplemented this: British-French Jaguars for ground attack, French Mirage 2000s for air superiority, and Hawker Hunters in earlier eras. Generation after generation, India’s fleet avoided US dependency.
Post-Cold War, Indo-US ties warmed in the 1990s. Shared democratic values, economic growth, and regional concerns fostered optimism for deeper defence collaboration.
That changed abruptly in May 1998. India’s Pokhran-II nuclear tests triggered swift US sanctions under the Clinton administration. Technology transfers halted; diplomacy froze.
The message was clear: act independently, and face consequences. India endured the isolation but internalised a profound wariness of US reliability.
This distrust lingers in India’s procurement patterns. Billions have flowed to American platforms like C-17 Globemaster transports, C-130J Super Hercules, P-8I Poseidon maritime patrol aircraft, AH-64 Apache helicopters, CH-47 Chinook lifters, and soon MQ-9B Predator drones.
Yet fighters remain off-limits. The rationale boils down to combat autonomy—a fighter jet embodies a nation’s sovereign control over its airspace.
A fighter jet is viewed by New Delhi as the ultimate expression of national sovereignty. Integrating an American fighter means integrating American software, American spare parts, and American political oversight. India has watched closely as Turkey was removed from the F-35 programme and as Pakistan’s F-16 fleet was periodically hobbled by spare-parts embargoes. For India, a grounded fleet is not a fleet at all.
The American attempt to rebrand the F-16 as the “F-21” specifically for the Indian market was largely viewed in Delhi as a transparent marketing ploy. It failed to address the core issue: India has no desire to fly the same platform as its primary adversary, nor does it wish to be beholden to the Pentagon for the “codes” required to operate its own aircraft in a crisis. Defence circles mocked the transparent marketing. India rejected it outright, prioritising strategic independence.
The Indian Navy later evaluated the F/A-18 Super Hornet for carrier operations. It performed well on paper—impressive specs, carrier compatibility. Yet when the IAF selected Rafales, the Navy followed suit.
Official reasons cited technical merits, but the subtext was unmistakable. France demands premium prices yet imposes no strings—no queries on Russian buys, no sanction threats.
The 2019 Balakot airstrike crystallised this stance. India hit a terrorist camp in Pakistan; aerial clashes ensued. A Pakistani F-16 fell to an Indian MiG-21 Bison—a Soviet relic downing a US frontline jet. The symbolism was potent. It debunked any notion that India required American fighters for parity, rendering such acquisitions politically untenable.
Undeterred, Despite the setback, Washington persisted in its sales efforts. A year following the Balakot incident, it proposed India’s acquisition of the latest F-15 variant, the Eagle-II—a substantially enhanced iteration of one of history’s most formidable air superiority fighters.
More recently, in his second term, President Trump signalled readiness to offer the F-35 Lightning II—America’s guarded fifth-generation stealth jewel, reserved for inner-circle allies.
India engaged minimally, if at all. Reports now suggest the IAF favours Russia’s Su-57 as a bridge to indigenous stealth, defying Trump’s explicit warnings against Russian arms.
Washington kept pitching anyway. A year after Balakot, it offered India the newest variant of the F-15, called the Eagle-II, a genuinely impressive, massively upgraded version of one of the most lethal air superiority fighters ever built.
This choice underscores a broader pattern. India embraces US transports, rotors, and sensors—platforms enabling interoperability without ceding frontline sovereignty.
France and Russia fill the fighter gap, with indigenous projects like the TEJAS MK-2 and Advanced Medium Combat Aircraft advancing apace.
The fighter line represents India’s red line. Crossing it risks handing Washington—or any supplier—the keys to its skies. Cold War betrayals, nuclear sanctions, and observed precedents have etched this lesson deep. As US jets dominate Iranian airspace, they symbolise power India admires but will not inherit. New Delhi’s governments, across decades, have chosen self-reliance over seductive offers.
This calculus shapes not just procurement but alliances. India joins Quad exercises with US F-35s overhead yet flies Sukhois at home. It is pragmatic diversification, not isolationism.
Critics argue this forgoes cutting-edge tech, but proponents counter with resilience—Rafales outmatch Super Hornets in some metrics; Su-30MKIs hold their own.
Balakot proved the point: vintage airframes, piloted boldly, can triumph over shiny imports. India’s path prioritises autonomy over alliance lock-in.
Even the recent “crown jewel” offer of the F-35 under the Trump administration appears to have hit a wall. Reports suggesting India is leaning toward the Russian Su-57 as a stealth stopgap signal a definitive preference for a partner that offers “no-strings-attached” hardware. It is a bold statement of intent, issued at a time when Washington is more vocal than ever about punishing those who buy Russian.
Ultimately, India’s refusal is a calculated bet on its own independence. It will continue to be a partner, a buyer of drones, and a host for joint exercises. However, it refuses to hand over the keys to its airspace. In the high-stakes world of global defence, India has decided that the only way to truly own its sky is to ensure the planes flying in it do not come with a “Made in USA” kill-switch.
Looking ahead, US overtures persist amid China threats. Yet without addressing historical distrust—via ironclad end-user guarantees—fighter sales remain elusive. India’s skies stay sovereign, patrolled by jets of its choosing. That is the unyielding legacy of lessons learned the hard way.
Agencies
