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Correspondent

23 August 2024 at 4:29:04 pm

Faltering Flight

The tragic death of Wing Commander Namansh Syal during an aerial display in Dubai has pierced the celebratory haze around India’s rising aerospace ambitions. The Tejas Light Combat Aircraft, meant to headline India’s growing prowess and self-reliance, instead nose-dived into the ground during a negative-G turn. A grief-stricken Indian Air Force (IAF) and a shocked nation now face questions that go beyond a single aircraft or accident. While the IAF has launched an investigation, the symbolic...

Faltering Flight

The tragic death of Wing Commander Namansh Syal during an aerial display in Dubai has pierced the celebratory haze around India’s rising aerospace ambitions. The Tejas Light Combat Aircraft, meant to headline India’s growing prowess and self-reliance, instead nose-dived into the ground during a negative-G turn. A grief-stricken Indian Air Force (IAF) and a shocked nation now face questions that go beyond a single aircraft or accident. While the IAF has launched an investigation, the symbolic damage is immediate. For a country keen to advertise indigenous capability, the incident could hardly have come at a worse moment. With 38 aircraft in service, nearly 200 more on order, and a growing role in India’s future fighter fleet, the Tejas had become a poster child of self-reliance. The Dubai crash has now dimmed that glow, even if temporarily. Airshows, by design, flirt with risk. They are spectacles meant to compress an aircraft’s capability into minutes of daring manoeuvres. Even the best training cannot eliminate the fact that these displays operate on the razor’s edge of performance envelopes. History is full of grim reminders: the Mirage 2000 crash during Air Force Day rehearsals in 1989; the 2019 Surya Kiran mid-air collision; the Polish F-16 that crashed during a barrel roll this August; and the Spanish EF-18 that nearly flew into a beachside crowd after a momentary loss of control. That the Dubai accident occurred in such a setting is therefore tragic, but not unprecedented. What distinguishes this incident is the aircraft involved. The Tejas project has been haunted by delays, cost escalations and shifting requirements since its inception in the early 1980s. The aircraft finally entered service only in the 2010s, and fresh concerns were raised recently over delayed engine supplies for the upgraded Mk-1A variant. Critics of India’s defence R&D ecosystem will find easy ammunition in these events. And yet, the aircraft itself deserves a clearer appraisal. By global standards, the Tejas has an exceptional safety record. It suffered no hull loss during development which is a rarity for a single-engine fighter and only one catastrophic failure since induction prior to Dubai, both circumstances in which pilots survived through ejection. In comparison, Pakistan’s JF-17 has endured multiple crashes, Sweden’s Gripen lost several prototypes to fly-by-wire glitches, and France’s Mirage family encountered repeated developmental accidents. Tejas’s delta-wing design and quadruple-redundant flight control system remain robust and admired by pilots who fly it. India’s aviation missteps lie not in engineering talent, but in systemic underinvestment in research and a long history of state-led programmes that promised more than they could deliver. In 1961 India flew Asia’s first modern jet combat aircraft, the HF-24 Marut, only to abandon the momentum that could have made it an aviation power decades before China. The Dubai crash should not derail India’s indigenous aviation drive. Instead, this is the moment to confront structural weaknesses. India’s aerospace destiny lies not in retreating from risk, but in reforming the institutions that shape it.

The Birth of Plastic: From Ivory Shortage to the “Plastic Age”

Once seen as a way to save elephants and tortoises, plastic has since threaded itself through every aspect of modern living.

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The invention of plastic was still very much in its infancy in the late nineteenth century. As I mentioned in my earlier article, people across the world were actively searching for a practical, affordable, and sustainable alternative to ivory and other animal-derived materials. At the time, these natural substances were widely used to produce everyday household items, decorative objects, and various sporting goods—demand that placed immense pressure on wildlife and threatened the very survival of several species.


In 1863, the billiard ball manufacturer Phelan & Collender offered a reward of 10,000 US dollars to anyone who could produce a suitable substitute for ivory. The growing scarcity of ivory threatened their business, as it was essential for making high-quality billiard balls. In response, John Wesley Hyatt spent several years experimenting with different materials. His persistence paid off when he succeeded in creating a plastic-like substance from cellulose. Hyatt patented this invention and later set up his own company to produce billiard balls using the new material. Notably, one of the earliest additional uses of this innovative plastic—besides billiard balls—was the manufacture of denture plates, signalling the start of a new era in synthetic materials.


This discovery was truly revolutionary. Until then, human manufacturing had been limited to materials provided by nature—wood, metal, stone, bone, tusk, horn, and a few others. Craftsmen and industries were confined to whatever the natural world could supply. With the arrival of this new substance, however, humans could create entirely new materials with specific, tailored properties. This breakthrough initially benefited both people and the environment. Advertisements of the time even hailed celluloid as the saviour of the elephant and the tortoise, suggesting that this man-made material could spare wildlife from the growing pressures of human demand.


The success achieved by Hyatt, and later by Leo Baekeland, encouraged major chemical companies to invest heavily in research and development. Their breakthroughs revealed the vast potential of synthetic materials, and soon a wave of new plastics appeared alongside celluloid and Bakelite. While Hyatt and Baekeland had focused on creating materials with specific practical uses, the newer industrial research programmes took a broader approach. Scientists began developing plastics for their scientific and commercial possibilities, often finding applications only after a material had been created. This shift marked the start of a more ambitious and exploratory era in polymer science.


True to the old proverb “necessity is the mother of invention”, more and more varieties of plastic emerged as human needs evolved. A notable example is nylon, invented in 1935 by the American chemist Wallace Carothers. He created nylon as a type of synthetic silk, but what began as a textile innovation quickly became indispensable during the Second World War. Nylon was used for parachutes, ropes, body armour, helmet liners, and many other military needs. At the same time, Plexiglas offered a safer and more durable alternative to glass for aircraft windows. Commenting on these advances, Time magazine observed that wartime pressures had “turned plastics to new uses and demonstrated their adaptability all over again,” underscoring the remarkable versatility of these new materials.


In countries such as the United States, plastic production did not slow after the war; instead, it continued to grow as industries recognised the material’s commercial promise. Plastics quickly moved from specialised wartime uses into everyday consumer goods. As American author Susan Freinkel notes in her book Plastics: A Toxic Love Story (2011), “In product after product, market after market, plastics challenged traditional materials and won, taking the place of steel in cars, paper and glass in packaging, and wood in furniture.” Her words capture the dramatic post-war shift, when plastics began to dominate sectors that had long depended on traditional materials.


The vast potential of plastics led some observers to imagine an almost utopian future—one where an inexpensive, safe, sanitary, and highly adaptable material could be shaped to meet nearly every human need. This reflected the optimism of an era that believed scientific ingenuity could overcome material shortages and improve daily life. From their invention in the nineteenth century to today, plastics have steadily woven themselves into every aspect of modern living. Whether we realise it or not, we now inhabit what can rightly be called the “Plastic Age”.


How? Wait until next Saturday. Until then, have a wonderful weekend!


(The author is an environmentalist. Views personal.)

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