At around 1 PM, the sky above Churu district split with a sound that didn’t quite feel like thunder. Seconds later, a ball of fire came crashing into the fields near Bhanoda village. A Jaguar fighter jet, flying a routine training mission out of Suratgarh Air Force Station, had just gone down.

What followed were scenes that no drill, no protocol, no training could prepare you for. Scattered wreckage. Smoke choking the sky. A barely recognizable diary, a boot, some scorched ID cards. The kind of aftermath that looks like a warzone but with no enemy in sight.

Two Lives, One Last Act of Bravery

Both pilots onboard the jet were reported fatally injured. Later identified, one of them was Squadron Leader Lokender Singh, a father who had welcomed a baby just one month ago.

Now pause. Take that in.

A new father. On a training sortie. Doing what he’d sworn to do: serve the nation, even if it meant not coming home.

And here’s the part that’ll stay with you: he tried to steer the crashing jet away from populated areas. Witnesses say he avoided colliding into homes and aimed for open land. That wasn’t part of any flight manual. That was instinct. Duty. Humanity.

Behind the Metal: The Man, The Mission, The Missing Conversation

We talk about jets like machines, weapons, and assets. But there’s a heartbeat behind every cockpit.

Singh wasn’t just a pilot; he was a son, a husband, a brand-new dad. His story isn’t a line in a crash report, it’s a symbol of what we often forget:

Every ‘training mission’ is also a life risked in service of a system that sometimes gives too little back.

Let’s be real. The Jaguar isn’t new tech. It’s a vintage warbird from the 1970s, developed jointly by Britain and France. The IAF first inducted them in 1979. Today, in 2025, they’re still flying—and still crashing.

Quick Crash Course 

  • March 2024: Jaguar crashes in Ambala

  • April 2025: Another crash in Gujarat’s Jamnagar

  • July 2025: Churu becomes the latest entry

That’s three Jaguar-related crashes in under 16 months.

At what point do we stop calling this “unfortunate” and start calling it negligence?

We Need to Talk About Modernization, Not Just Mourning

Every time something like this happens, a default press statement rolls out:

“The Indian Air Force has ordered a Court of Inquiry…”

And that’s fine. We need inquiries. We need black box data. We need answers.

But what we really need is action.

India has long flirted with modernizing its fleet, Rafales made a glamorous entry, and Tejas jets got photo-ops. But at the grassroots level, many IAF squadrons are still dependent on ageing MiGs and Jaguars that belong in museums, not in active service.

Here’s a gut punch: The UK retired its Jaguars in 2007. France followed soon after. And we? We’re still patching up 40-year-old jets and sending young dads into the sky in them.

Imagine buying a car from 1982, slapping on a new stereo, and sending someone to drive it at 900 km/h. Now make that driver a national asset. Now add bombs under the wings. That’s where we’re at.

The Villagers Who Saw It All

Back to Churu. Locals say the crash shook the ground. One farmer said:

“We were working in the fields when the jet came down like a missile. There was a loud blast, then fire everywhere.”

Some rushed toward the wreckage to help. Some stood in stunned silence. A few captured the aftermath on their phones videos now circling online. But the emotion? That wasn’t shared. That was personal. Raw. Heavy.

And while the media spotlight will move on, the villagers of Bhanoda will never forget the moment their skies turned deadly.

What The Nation Should Be Asking Right Now:

  • Why are 50-year-old jets still frontline trainers in 2025?

  • What safety upgrades have actually been done to ageing aircraft?

  • How much longer before we replace vintage warcraft with modern systems that don’t treat our pilots like expendables?

We’re not just losing machines, we’re losing lives, families, potential futures.

And let's not forget the emotional toll on the Air Force itself. When you lose a colleague during a routine mission, the definition of "routine" changes. That lingers.

Let’s Not Glorify What Could’ve Been Prevented

It’s easy to wrap this tragedy in patriotic phrases: “He died a hero.” “Martyr of the skies.” “Supreme sacrifice.”

But heroes also deserve safety. They deserve modern machines, not flying coffins. They deserve policies, not PR.

So yes, salute the pilots. Mourn with the families. Share their bravery.

But also ask the tough questions. Demand change. Because the next crash shouldn’t be inevitable. It should be unthinkable.