India’s aviation sector has just suffered one of its worst public humiliations in years, and yet the one agency at the heart of the disaster—the Directorate General of Civil Aviation (DGCA)—remains curiously untouched. Instead, the Ministry of Civil Aviation has reached for its favourite crutch: punish the airline, scold the symptoms, and leave the disease undiagnosed. The recent meltdown involving IndiGo was not an “operational disruption.” It was a full-blown systemic collapse. Thousands of passengers were stranded, airports resembled chaotic bus stands, tempers exploded across terminals from Delhi to Bengaluru, and videos of distraught families trying to sleep on terminal floors went viral. This was not a one-off failure of a single airline. It was the predictable outcome of an aviation regulator that has repeatedly failed to enforce discipline, anticipate stress points, and ensure preparedness. And what did the Ministry do? It ordered a 10 percent cut in IndiGo’s winter schedule—an action so cosmetic that it borders on parody. A flimsy band-aids slapped on a festering wound. This is the question no one in power wants to ask, and the one every flier must: Why is DGCA never held accountable? IndiGo may have stretched its crews, misread staffing patterns, or ignored internal alerts. But airlines push limits everywhere—that is exactly why regulators exist. The DGCA’s core job is vigilance: monitoring rosters, scrutinising staffing levels, studying congestion patterns, and intervening before systems collapse. It is meant to be a watchtower, not a post-incident fire brigade. So where was this watchtower when the crisis was brewing? If DGCA officials were aware of systemic stress, they failed to act. If they were unaware, they failed at their most basic duty. Either way, the conclusion is the same: the regulator bears direct responsibility. Action against erring DGCA officials is not merely justified—it is necessary. The Ministry’s refusal to examine DGCA’s failures reeks of institutional protectionism, not professional governance. Aviation is not a toy industry. It is a sector where a single lapse can cost hundreds of lives. Yet India continues to treat DGCA like a clerical outpost, staffed largely with generalists more comfortable with files than with flight data.
Contrast this with global regulators like the FAA or EASA, which are staffed by aerospace engineers, professional pilots, air-safety experts, and former Air Force officers. Why shouldn’t India emulate this? Why can’t the DGCA be led by people who understand cockpit pressures, engineering tolerances, runway dynamics, fatigue science, or dispatch procedures? Competence is the foundation of accountability—and domain expertise is the foundation of competence. There is another uncomfortable truth the Ministry refuses to confront. If Indian airlines feel compelled to import CEOs and COOs from abroad, it raises a damning question: Is India short of aviation talent? Absolutely not. India has thousands of commercial pilots, retired Air Force officers, instructors, AMEs, dispatchers, and safety specialists. The real issue is that foreign hires rarely question promoters, challenge flawed SOPs, or resist political pressure. They are brought in to manage optics, not reform systems. Their commitment ends the moment their contract does. It is time the Ministry stopped applauding this revolving-door dependence and pushed airlines to invest in Indian aviation leadership—an admittedly long journey, but a critical milestone if the Atmanirbhar Bharat vision is to mean anything beyond speeches. None of this distracts from the elephant in the hangar: aviation in India is structurally hostile. ATF taxes bleed airlines even before takeoff. Airport charges fluctuate without explanation. Bureaucratic meddling slows decisions. Slot mismanagement creates artificial scarcity. Infrastructure has not kept pace with explosive passenger growth. Layer upon layer of inefficiency means Indian airlines operate permanently on the edge; one bad week is enough to trigger chaos. But precisely because the sector is so fragile, the regulator must be razor-sharp, independent, and uncompromising—not cosy, complacent, or invisible. Passengers suffered. Airports descended into anarchy. And the Ministry wants the country to applaud a token 10 percent route cut? The crisis was not merely IndiGo’s failure. It was the DGCA’s failure. Unless the Ministry finds the courage to hold its own regulator to account, this turbulence will become India’s new normal. India cannot dream of becoming a global aviation hub while tolerating a regulator that behaves like a paperwork office. If the Ministry will not act, Parliament must demand answers. The public must demand answers. Because in aviation, failure to regulate is failure to protect lives.
