Goodbye MiG-21
For 62 years, a sleek silhouette has streaked across India’s skies, first heralding a modern Indian Air Force and then emerging as a symbol of endurance in the face of a fast-changing world-tech. The MiG-21, inducted in Chandigarh in 1963, became not merely India’s first supersonic fighter but the very backbone of the Indian Air Force. More than 870 of these Russian-origin aircraft were inducted, and for decades they shaped doctrines, tactics, and the very imagination of air combat in South Asia. They held the skies during the wars of 1965 and 1971, playing decisive roles in shaping battle outcomes, and returned to service with lethal purpose during the Kargil conflict in 1999 and even in the Balakot airstrikes of 2019. Generations of pilots cut their teeth on this nimble warhorse, mastering its unforgiving controls and making it an instrument of both deterrence and daring. With every roar of its engines and thunderous climb, the MiG-21 gave India confidence that it could stand tall in a turbulent neighbourhood. Its supersonic capabilities, which seemed futuristic at the time of induction, became the defining feature of India’s air strategy for decades. The sheer number of variants—FL, M, Bis, and Bison—spoke of its adaptability and the IAF’s ingenuity in keeping the platform relevant. The MiG-21 was never just metal and machinery; it was a symbol of India’s determination to master the skies at a time when the nation was still carving out its strategic independence. Its retirement, therefore, is not a mere technical formality but a national moment of remembrance—a full stop in the sentence of India’s military aviation history that carries with it the weight of sacrifice, innovation, and resilience.
Yet, even as the MiG-21 etched its name in legend, its service was shadowed by tragedy and controversy. The ageing fleet became notorious for its safety record, with multiple crashes over the past three decades giving it the grim nickname of “flying coffin.” Each accident was a reminder that heroism in the cockpit could not forever compensate for obsolescence in the hangar. The aircraft’s longevity was a paradox: it was testimony to the IAF’s skill at squeezing relevance from a Cold War design, but it also reflected delays in modernisation and the slow pace of indigenisation. Pilots who flew the MiG-21 often spoke of its sheer agility and speed but also of its punishing demand for precision, where the slightest error could prove fatal. The Indian public, reading reports of accidents with increasing regularity, came to associate the fighter not with its glorious combat record but with images of wreckage strewn across fields. These perceptions were unfair to an aircraft that had given so much, but they highlighted the pressing need to replace ageing platforms on time. That urgency was blunted by successive delays in the Light Combat Aircraft Tejas project, which took over three decades to mature into squadron service, and by the complicated procurement processes for foreign aircraft. The result was that the MiG-21 endured far beyond its intended life, often carrying burdens it should no longer have borne. The costs were measured not only in material loss but in the lives of young pilots who had barely begun their service. Their sacrifice underscores the urgency of avoiding such prolonged dependence in the future. Defence planners must treat this farewell as more than a ceremonial send-off; it is a warning etched in smoke trails that India must match ambition with delivery in defence modernisation, ensuring that today’s Tejas or tomorrow’s Advanced Medium Combat Aircraft do not follow the same path of chronic delay.
As the last MiG-21s of the 23 Squadron “Panthers” thundered over Chandigarh in their final formations—Badal and Panther—the nation saluted not just an aircraft but an era. The water cannon salutes, the Surya Kiran aerobatics, and the presence of veterans who once flew these machines gave the farewell a poignancy few machines ever command. The sight of six MiGs cutting the blue skies one last time was both nostalgic and sobering, a reminder of what has been achieved and what must now be secured. While nostalgia rightly filled the air, the gaze must now turn forward. The IAF is entering an age of Tejas fighters, Rafales, and the promise of fifth-generation projects. The challenges are immense: contested skies with more technologically sophisticated adversaries, the rise of unmanned aerial systems, and a strategic environment where the speed of innovation matters as much as sheer numbers. India’s task is to ensure that the next sixty years of its air power are not about stretching machines beyond their limits but about fielding cutting-edge capabilities on time, every time. The MiG-21 departs with honours earned in both glory and grief; its legacy should be a spur for a future where Indian pilots fly the best not because they have no choice, but because their nation has chosen to give them nothing less. In that sense, the final thunder of the MiG-21 engines is not just an ending—it is also a call to action, a reminder that pride in past achievements must now be matched by resolve to secure the future of India’s skies.
