India’s skies are no longer safe. Not because of storms or mechanical odds, but because of ministerial neglect. Civil Aviation Minister Ram Mohan Naidu has turned one of the most sensitive portfolios into a chamber of horrors. In just a year, his tenure has seen accidents rise by 14% and over 320 deaths. This is not a statistic—it is a damning charge sheet.
When Naidu entered the Cabinet, there was cautious optimism. He had pedigree, polish, and the promise of carrying forward Jyotiraditya Scindia’s relatively efficient tenure. Instead, he has turned into aviation’s weak link, presiding over chaos and complacency.
The latest near-disaster—a SpiceJet aircraft whose wheel detached during takeoff in Mumbai—was not an accident averted by vigilance. It was sheer luck. Flyers cannot depend on luck to get home alive.
RTI data paints a chilling picture. Between 2020 and 2025, India logged 53 air accidents. The worst came on June 12, 2025, when an Air India Dreamliner crashed into an Ahmedabad medical college hostel, killing 260 people—241 passengers and crew, plus 29 innocents on the ground. Only one survivor walked away.
The financial wreckage is equally severe: ₹4,000 crore in damages, half of it from Ahmedabad alone. But no sum can cover the grief of families robbed of loved ones in disasters that could—and should—have been prevented.
Kedarnath has turned into a graveyard for helicopters, recording three fatal crashes in five years. Mumbai, India’s busiest hub, has seen a string of training flight and small aircraft accidents. Yet the Ministry appears content with bureaucratic statements while the bodies pile up.
The Bureau of Civil Aviation Security (BCAS)—the nation’s aviation watchdog—runs with a 38% staff shortage. Out of 598 sanctioned posts, 227 remain vacant. This has been the case for four years, and it worsened in the last six months. How can security and safety be enforced when the watchdog is toothless?
The Ahmedabad crash exposed systemic rot. Investigators believe both engines lost fuel supply seconds before impact. Was it human error, technical failure, or oversight negligence? The fact that such basic questions even arise is proof of a broken system. Weak pilot training for high-risk routes, a regulator that fears airlines more than it reins them in, and decades of corner-cutting have all combined into a deadly cocktail.
Other ministries in the Modi government are showing results. Aviation, under Naidu, has become a blot. His English fluency and overseas education may impress TV panels, but flyers need action, not accents. Today, even his own Telugu base feels let down.
The Minister must stop sleepwalking. He must discipline private airlines, hold DGCA accountable, and sack complacent officials. If need be, set up an independent inspection authority of aerospace engineers to clear every flight before take-off. Airlines can help fund this body, because restoring passenger trust is not optional—it is existential.
Cheap tickets cannot mean cheap lives. The Prime Minister’s dream of making flying affordable must not become a nightmare of body counts and crash investigations.
Mr. Naidu, you are not presiding over a department—you are guarding the lives of millions. Flyers are not test subjects for a failing system. Compromising passengers is unforgivable. If you cannot deliver urgent reform, then step aside and let someone else take the controls. India’s skies cannot wait.
