Tejas crash underlines high risks of display flying

Air show displays involve unforgiving conditions; they are complex tasks that allow minimal leeway for recovery.

The crash of the Indian Air Force’s Tejas aircraft during the display routine at the recent Dubai Air Show, which claimed the life of ace fighter pilot Wing Commander Namansh Syal, has cast a sombre shade over a moment meant for pride and public engagement. For most people, an aircraft falling out of the sky is a shocking anomaly in itself. Across the globe, for those like me — who have lived a major portion of their professional lives inside fighter plane cockpits, it is a reminder of an age-old but unchanging adage, that military flying carries risks that can be managed, reduced, and understood, but probably never eliminated.

The instinctive comparison the public draws is with commercial aviation, where fatal accidents have become exceedingly rare. That comparison, however, obscures more than it illuminates. Modern airliners are built for stability, redundancy and predictable flight profiles. They spend their working life far from performance limits and are flown through highly regulated environments with large margins for error. The entire system is designed to avoid surprises.

Military aviation, especially fighter aircraft, on the other hand, operates on the opposite principle. A combat aircraft is expected to manoeuvre violently, react instantly, and perform with precision under stress. Pilots spend much of their time at the edges of the flight envelope, enduring high G forces, rapid altitude changes, steep climbs and dives. The aircraft must respond quickly, and the pilot must make judgments in literal split seconds. This is not a flaw in the system; it is the system. A fighter pilot’s world is built around the management of uncertainty.

Modern fighters amplify this reality through aerodynamic instability in their design philosophy. Counterintuitive as it may seem, instability is a deliberate design choice. A naturally stable aircraft resists manoeuvring, whereas an unstable one can pivot, roll, and turn far more sharply. To make this possible, the aircraft depends on fly-by-wire computers that constantly adjust control surfaces to keep it in controlled flight. Without this electronic scaffolding, jets like the Tejas, the Gripen or the F-16 would be difficult, if not impossible, to fly. This is the price paid for agility, and whilst it offers unmatched performance, it compresses the margin for recovery.

Air-show displays add a layer of difficulty. A display routine is a choreographed sequence flown in a not-so-flexible, pre-defined “box” close to the ground. The crowd sees grace, the pilot feels the tight geometry. Every action is scripted, down to the minutest detail. Speeds, altitudes, roll rates, and pull-outs must match the brief exactly, with absolute minimal latitude for adjustment. A slight miscalculation in entry speed, a marginally late roll, or an unexpected gust can erode the space available for recovery. Mechanical failures, though rarer, are also far less forgiving at low altitude. The result is a flying task that is more complex, more compressed, and less tolerant of deviation than most operational missions.

None of this, however, makes air shows a reckless exercise. Display flying is a professional discipline with high thresholds for training and practice and a stringent selection process. But it is inherently unforgiving, and even an aircraft with an excellent safety record is not immune to the physics of low-level aerobatics.

The Tejas accident deserves to be viewed through this wider lens. India’s Light Combat Aircraft programme has logged decades of developmental and operational flying except for a single accident, an achievement unmatched by many global programmes. The F-16, the Gripen, the Eurofighter, the Rafale, and several earlier MiG designs all saw developmental losses. Even mature, frontline fleets occasionally record mishaps linked to flight-control issues, sensor failures, or human factors.

So, where does this leave us? As a former IAF fighter pilot, I offer this reflection not to judge, but to contextualise.

Learning from the setback

Tejas accident must not be allowed to revive outdated narratives about the incompetence of the Indian aviation industry. India, today, fields a modern training ecosystem with an increasingly sophisticated industry base and a rigorous safety culture. The Tejas itself has matured from an experimental programme into a frontline fighter with an enviable reliability record. The pilot who lost his life in Dubai belonged to a generation of highly trained professionals who have constantly pushed the aircraft’s envelope with confidence born of experience.

Aviation safety investigations are designed to be methodical and emotionally neutral. Speculation, especially in the public domain, rarely helps. The real task for investigators is to reconstruct the chain of events, understand what failed, be it mechanical, procedural, aeromedical or human, and embed those lessons into Standard Operating Procedures. Air Forces around the world have grown safer by treating every accident as both a tragedy and a source of knowledge.

Fighter pilots are trained to respect risk, not deny it. Whether in combat or during a ceremonial display, they operate machines that stretch the boundaries of physics. When things go wrong, the consequences are immediate and harsh. Yet these same machines, flown with precision and purpose, give nations deterrence, strategic reach and at times, a sense of collective national pride.

The Tejas loss is a moment for sorrow but also for perspective. It does not diminish the professionalism of the pilot, the capabilities of the aircraft or the progress of Indian military aviation. It reminds us, instead, of the fundamental truth that flying fighters, especially in public demonstrations, is a demanding craft where excellence is achieved through preparation and training. As the investigation proceeds, honouring the pilot’s memory requires focusing on facts, strengthening the system and continuing to uphold the ethos of those who take to the skies knowing exactly what is at stake.

(The writer is a former spokesperson of the IAF and a decorated combat pilot with three decades of experience flying various variants of MiG fighter jets)

Disclaimer: The views expressed above are the author's own. They do not necessarily reflect the views of DH.