On the morning of April 6, 1942, residents of Visakhapatnam saw unfamiliar aircraft circling over the city before sirens disturbed the peace. Japanese warplanes launched from the Imperial Japanese Navy light aircraft carrier Ryozo descended on strategic installations near the port, one of the most dramatic wartime incidents on India’s east coast.

The bombardment lasted only a few hours. Yet its impact permanently changed the city.

More than eight decades later, remnants of that turbulent period can be seen in Visakhapatnam. Some are hidden beneath overgrown vegetation and extended neighborhoods. Others emerge unexpectedly along the shoreline after monsoon erosion and low tide. Together, they tell the story of a port city that found itself on the front lines of World War II.

Historian and historian Edward Paul, who has extensively documented Visakhapatnam’s wartime past, says that fears of Japanese occupation deeply affected both the administration and the city’s residents. “There was a fear of Japanese occupation of the port city of Visakhapatnam, both in the minds of the officials responsible for the security of the city as well as in the minds of the people living in the city,” he says.

That fear shaped the city in the early 1940s.

When war came to Vizag

World War II began in Europe in 1939, but in early 1942 The conflict spread deep into Asia After the Japanese advanced from Malaya, Singapore and Burma. British officials feared that India’s eastern coastline might be vulnerable to Japanese attack.

Visakhapatnam, with its port and strategic location midway along the east coast, quickly gained military importance.

According to Edward Paul, Army, Navy and Air Force contingents began arriving in the city from 1940 onwards. Air raid precaution systems were introduced, trenches were dug, bunkers were constructed and civilian evacuation exercises were conducted. A coastal defense flight was established in the city in February 1942, one of six such units established on the Indian coastline, the others being based at Madras, Bombay, Calcutta, Karachi and Cochin. This unit had come into existence barely a few weeks before the attack.

On April 6, 1942, the fears became reality.

Vizag’s concrete walls bring back memories of World War II threats

That morning, in the south, Kokanada was bombed by a single-engine aircraft, becoming the first city in India to be attacked by air. The Hindu Mukund Padmanabhan recorded in his book The Great Flap of 1942: How the Raj Stunned a Japanese Non-Invasion, Published in 2024. Visakhapatnam was attacked thrice in a single day and suffered heavy losses.

Ryujo’s aircraft, operating as part of Vice Admiral Jisaburo Ozawa’s carrier force in the Bay of Bengal, attacked in three separate waves. The morning attacks were directed at ships entering the city’s port. In the early afternoon, the first wave of five Type 97 bombers from Ryujo attacked the port. Another attack took place in the evening. A ship docked in the harbor carrying approximately 350 kilograms of explosives narrowly escaped the raid, a disaster that has gone largely unrecorded in popular memory.

The human cost was significant. One bomb fell directly on a shelter in the shipyard, killing five and injuring at least 40, bringing the total to at least eight in the day-long raid. Edward Paul says that after this, panic spread rapidly in the entire city. “Before the next sunrise, two-thirds of the people fled to the suburbs on bullock carts, bicycles or any means of transport available to them,” he notes.

Mukunda Padmanabhan also records in his book that the exodus from Visakhapatnam had begun months before the bombing and that the raid of April 6, 1942 had led to the evacuation of the city.

Rumors, evacuation plans and fear gripped many towns and cities as the British administration struggled to respond to possible attacks by the Japanese.

Comment | Forgotten in India after fighting the world’s trenches

pillbox along the coast

The least documented wartime remains in the city are pillboxes scattered along parts of the beach.

These small reinforced concrete defensive structures were built as part of British coastal defense preparations during World War II. Many remain partially buried under sand deposits and coastal vegetation.

One such pillbox on the beach road is rarely encountered after the monsoon season, when soil erosion occurs. Residents say the remains become more visible during low tide, providing a glimpse of wartime defenses that have otherwise disappeared beneath the city’s changing coastline.

In recent years attention has also been drawn to the neglect of these wartime bunkers and pillboxes, many of which are unmaintained and not preserved.

naval shore battery

One of the most visible surviving wartime institutions is the Naval Coast Battery under Eastern Naval Command.

Its origins date back to 1940, when British military authorities sought to establish coastal artillery positions to defend Visakhapatnam against a possible Japanese invasion.

Edward Paul states that the army needed a clear location along the seashore for heavy artillery and eventually identified a coastal area occupied by fishing settlements. The residents were relocated under wartime emergency rules and moved to a nearby area known as Kotha Jalaripeta.

This position became home to the 5th Indian Heavy Battery, equipped with six-inch guns. Historical accounts trace the evolution of the establishment from a wartime coastal defense unit to the present day Naval Coast Battery functioning under Eastern Naval Command. Although access to the operational complex is restricted, the battery still stands as a direct institutional link to the city’s wartime history.

Forgotten Fortifications

The city’s wartime remains are not limited to the beach.

In recent years, reinforced concrete structures discovered near the Daspalla Hills have attracted the attention of historians and heritage enthusiasts. It is believed that these structures served as wartime defense fortifications or gun emplacements towards the Bay of Bengal.

Researchers studying the site noted similarities between the structures and military observation or artillery positions used during World War II.

Visakhapatnam once had an extensive network of trenches, bunkers and defense posts built during the war years. As the city expanded into a major urban centre, most of them disappeared.

Some remains survive quietly in institutional complexes, port complexes and inaccessible corners of the city.

AU and the war years

Andhra University was one of the consequences of Japanese bombing.

Within days of the air raid, military officials requisitioned university buildings and lands for wartime purposes. The institution was forced to shift its academic activities outside the city.

Edward Paul says, the university transferred most of its departments to Guntur in April 1942, while the chemistry department was operated from Madras.

“For three years, the university was based outside Visakhapatnam and all their buildings were used by the army,” he said. The university returned to the city only after the war ended in 1945.

Comment | Remembering the war, remembering the forgotten Indians

submarine under the bay

The coast of Visakhapatnam also holds memories of the underwater warfare of World War II.

Apart from the wreck of PNS Ghazi, the remains of Imperial Japanese Navy submarine RO-110 are believed to lie in the Bay of Bengal near Rambilli. The submarine was sunk by depth charges on or around 11 February 1944 by the Royal Australian Navy corvettes HMAS Launceston and HMAS Ipswich and the Royal Indian Navy sloop HMIS Jumna during Allied anti-submarine operations in the area.

Laid down at Kawasaki-Kobe Shipyard in August 1942 and launched in January 1943, RO-110 operated from Penang, Malaya, and was deployed for patrol duties in the Indian Ocean and the Bay of Bengal. During her third and final war patrol, the submarine attacked the Calcutta-bound Allied convoy JC-36 and fired two torpedoes at the British merchant ship Asphalion before being tracked and sunk by escorting warships off the Visakhapatnam coast. Japanese naval records later declared the submarine lost and all 47 personnel aboard were believed to have been killed.

The presence of underwater submarine wrecks near the coast underlines the strategic importance of Visakhapatnam in the larger area of ​​the Indian Ocean conflict during World War II.

Andhra Pradesh: Brave pilot of World War II flies into oblivion

cherish memories

This port remains the centerpiece of Visakhapatnam’s wartime story.

During the war years, the port came under military administration due to its strategic importance to Allied operations in the Bay of Bengal. Edward Paul states that the port, originally administered by the Bengal Nagpur Railway, was taken over by the War Department in 1942 and remained under military control for about four years.

One of the few surviving memorials of the April 1942 raid is a plaque commemorating those killed in the harbor shelter attack. Mukund Padmanabhan says the Visakha Museum also displays the casing of the 250 kg unexploded bomb recovered after the attack, which, in his words, has become a “tourist attraction”.

Modern Visakhapatnam is often defined by its ports, shipbuilding facilities, naval establishments, pharmaceutical industries and technology corridors. Yet beneath that rapidly changing urban landscape lie quiet memories of a period when the city stood on the edge of global conflict.

In the last couple of years, te.gism, the “fruit with a dot in its name”, has caught the imagination of wine lovers in the Northeast who fancy non-grape elixirs. Also known as the Himalayan cherry (Prunus jenkinsii), this fruit that grows in the jungles of Meghalaya’s Garo Hills remained virtually unknown until botanists documented it less than a decade ago. Today, it is cultivated by farmers in the region for the state’s burgeoning fruit winemaking industry.

Lyang B. Sangma was understandably on edge when his te.gism product was among six exotic fruit wines and meads — alcoholic beverages made by fermenting honey — chosen by the Meghalaya Farmers Empowerment Commission (MFEC) to showcase at the Vinexpo India 2024 in Mumbai this September. “I had my heart in my mouth whenever an expert or connoisseur sipped the te.gisim wine and rolled his or her tongue over it. The reaction from almost all of them was that my product has possibilities beyond my hometown of Tura and other parts of Meghalaya,” says the entrepreneur.

Situated on low hills, Tura is the economic and administrative hub of the western part of Meghalaya, dominated by the Garo community, and about 300 km west of state capital Shillong. Most Garo families are used to brewing bitchi, a smoky rice beer made from local sticky rice. After observing elders do the fermentation process, Lyang began experimenting with other grains and wild fruits. He concentrated on exotic fruit wines, producing them mostly for consumption among family and friends and for gifting during Christmas and other festivals. Sensing an opportunity, he went commercial with his Dura Wines in 2021, a year before another entrepreneur, Keenan Marak, from the Garo Hills launched 7 United, a canned, carbonated bitchi.

17 winemakers go commercial

Lyang’s winery, set up with a machinery grant of ₹25 lakh from the Shillong-headquartered North East Centre for Technology Application and Reach, has since been producing wines from seasonal fruits such as gooseberry, pineapple, cherry, silverberry, bayberry, black plum, and jackfruit, apart from the traditional bitchi in a bottled avatar. While the bayberry offers a sweet note, the jackfruit wine is pungent and an acquired taste. The demand, however, has been more for the dark red te.gism, almost equalling that for the blood-red te.patang that fellow Tura-based winemaker Pecindha K. Sangma has been churning out under her Asame brand.

Te.patang is the Garo name for the sweet and sour blood fruit (Haematocarpus validus). “The popularity of this fruit encouraged me to make wine from it along with other fruit wines like strawberry, peach, plum, pear, jamun, and mulberry. I produce an average of 40 litres of season-based fruit wines a month. What has also caught the imagination of consumers in Meghalaya and elsewhere is the blue wine made from the butterfly pea flower,” Pecindha says.

From being an occasional winemaker, Pecindha transitioned to producing wines on a commercial scale from her home in 2023. Villagers collect honey for mead from the forests, much like they do fruits. “People here make a tea-like beverage from the butterfly pea flower. I thought of infusing it with honey wine and through trial and error and with advice from experts, I found the right balance with no added sugar,” she says. Many of these entrepreneurs have made the switch following periodic consultations with Priyanka Save of Himachal Nectars, roped in by the MFEC as the official training partner for certification courses.

Today, Meghalaya has about 30 fruit winemakers (mostly in Shillong and Tura), of whom 17 have transitioned to commercial production with modern, scientific equipment. (Traditional rice wine makers are in the thousands.) All but three of the 17 have established wineries and started branding their wines over the last two years; the other three are in the process of scaling up their facilities. The average cost of setting up a winery of 5,000-litre capacity is ₹50 lakh, excluding the land and buildings. About 400 families, including winemakers, farmers, and farm workers, are directly or indirectly employed by the licensed wineries.

Back to the beginning

The shift to commercial winemaking may have happened only in the last two to three years, but the process to streamline the industry has taken two decades. It began with Michael Syiem of the Shillong-based Forever Young Club organising the city’s first wine festival in 2004 to showcase an array of wines made from indigenous fruits and vegetables. “The annual event made our people take fruit winemaking seriously. Millennials found the exotic wines cooler than expensive grape wines, which they associated more with the older generations. The push came after our commission, the only one of its kind in the country, was established in 2019 to represent the voices of farmers and formulate policies and programmes for agriculture, food processing, and value chain development,” says B.K. Sohliya, chairman of the MFEC.

Unlike grapes, which have wine-grade varieties, Meghalaya’s indigenous fruits such as sohiong (Prunus nepalensis), sohphie (Myrica esculenta), sohshang (Elaegnus latifolia), sohphlang (Flemingia vestita) and sohphoh khasi (Docynia indica khasiana) grow naturally, barring the few introduced species such as strawberry, pineapple and orange that grow in plantations. All are single-variety; what’s consumed as fruit is also used for making wine.

Many of these wild fruits are protected in the sacred groves of Mawphlang, a village about 25 km southwest of Shillong. No one is allowed to take anything — not even a fallen leaf — from the groves that became a tourist attraction after a British army officer set up India’s first winery in the village in 1947.

Capt. Harold Douglas Hunt, considered the father of wine in Meghalaya, settled down in Mawphlang and obtained a license to make his Mawphlang cherry wine and brandy a household name in the state. He mobilised villagers to collect sohiong and other wild fruits from beyond the sacred groves, and created a well-oiled ecosystem wherein local farmers, producers, and artisans coordinated to sustain the winery until it ceased operation in the 1980s after his death.

Forty years later, Capt. Hunt’s house — a deep green cottage barely 2 km from the sacred groves — is abuzz again. Hunt’s grandson, Andrew Nongdhar, has overhauled his winery to produce the “old popular wine” in new bottles “as soon as possible”. “Many were inspired by my grandfather to brew wines from fruits and vegetables such as ginger, but winemaking remained a small-scale activity until recently. Entrepreneurship, a change in mindset, and a proactive government combined to help the winemakers transition to commercial production. Failing to capitalise on this trend would have been an injustice to the man who started it all,” he says.

Government initiative

In September 2020, the Meghalaya Excise Rules (Assam Excise Rules 1945) were amended to legalise home-made wines and provide licences to local winemakers to go commercial. “Chief Minister Conrad K. Sangma and a team of officers like our former chairman, K.N. Kumar, played a major role in giving shape to the fruit wine industry in Meghalaya. From five licensed fruit winemakers three years ago, we have 17 today — the second-highest in the country after Himachal Pradesh, which has 22,” says Sohliya.

The Meghalaya government imposes no VAT on fruit wines compared to 4%-53% VAT in other Indian states. The only levies are an ad valorem of ₹100 per case (12 bottles) and a retailer’s lifting fee of ₹10 per case.

The government also organises ‘Beyond the Grape’ shows to introduce wine lovers from elsewhere to Meghalaya’s fruit wines, while the MFEC has established the North East Fruit Wine Incubation Centre, a pioneering training facility for winemakers with an installed capacity of 1,000 litres per cycle, at the Institute of Hotel Management, Catering Technology and Applied Nutrition on the outskirts of Shillong. Since its establishment in 2023, the institute has trained 137 people, mostly from the Northeast, in the “art of winemaking that is mostly science” as Sohliya says — from fruit to bottled beverage in 90 days.

According to Rajesh Swarnakar, professional wine and spirit taster, the quality of Meghalaya’s fruit wines has improved markedly in texture and taste, with a better balance of sugar and alcohol (10% ABV). “Currently, Meghalaya’s fruit wines have some distance to catch up with fruit wines from Himachal Pradesh, where they are mostly made from apples. But then, fruit winemakers in Himachal have been in the business for years with good government support while the Meghalaya government has become involved recently,” he says.

The popularity of Meghalaya’s wines is growing, believes Swarnakar, as more tourists seek them out from the shelves of liquor outlets in Assam and Meghalaya. The average cost of a 750 ml bottle of fruit wine is ₹600.

Checking farm waste

The winemaking ‘renaissance’ in Meghalaya has also entailed taking homemakers, farmers and entrepreneurs on exposure trips to the winemaking hubs of Maharashtra and Himachal Pradesh. One such farmer, Bording Ioannis Shylla, has set up the state’s largest winemaking unit (10,000-litre capacity) at Mawkyrwat, about 75 km southwest of Shillong, to produce and market his brand, Damad, with his winemaker wife, Meldorah Wanniang. The couple has acquired 60 acres of land for farming, and they also coordinate with nearby villages for bulk supply of fresh fruits.

Says Sohliya: “One of the factors behind the stress on winemaking was to check the wastage of fruits and vegetables. Meghalaya’s terrain does not allow large-scale farming, and farmers here invariably cannot sell all they grow or collect from the jungles. Their fruits of labour often rot; the rate of wastage is similar to India’s average of 40% for fruits and vegetables throughout the supply chain.”

He adds, “Wastage has come down substantially with winemakers booking farms or trees a year in advance as a winemaker needs a tonne of fruit to produce 200 litres of wine. A farmer who earned ₹3,000 per sohiong tree now makes ₹15,000 a season, while kiwi, plum, peach, pineapple, orange, and jackfruit farmers have upped their income from ₹30,000 to more than ₹3 lakh per season. There has also been a shift from gathering fruits from the jungle to farming them.”

Agreements with farmers are fuelling urban wine startups such as Shillong’s Kynjai Wine launched by Dajied Shabong. “From procuring fruits from farmers and bottles from Mumbai to the final packaging, winemaking is a complex process, but rewarding for the soul. Our wines are on par with those produced elsewhere in India, if not the world. Things are moving fast in Meghalaya and we hope to upgrade from selling from home to supplying to stores in the Northeast soon,” says Shabong.

For Michael Syiem, acknowledged as the man who sparked the winemaking movement in recent history, the industry in Meghalaya is heading in the right direction. “The enabling atmosphere and the entrepreneurial drive of a few are making it possible,” he says.

rahul.karmakar@thehindu.co.in

No marketing campaign could have written that story. No defense exhibition exhibit could present that evidence. BrahMos missile was sold in the skies of Pakistan and the world kept watching. Defense Minister Rajnath Singh confirmed that the missile’s performance during Operation Sindoor attracted the attention of more than 14 countries interested in acquiring the system. That number is not a projection. This is a queue.

There is a concept in defense procurement called combat verification. This means that a weapon system has been used in real combat, under real conditions, against a real opponent, and it works. Combat-validated systems carry a premium of confidence that no factory test or simulated exercise can replicate. Before May 2025, BrahMos was widely respected on paper. After Operation Sindoor, it became far more valuable – a weapon with a verified operational record that Pakistan’s Chinese-supplied air defenses could not touch. The success of the operation depended on a multi-layered strategy: pilotless drones provoked Pakistani radars to activate, followed by Harop kamikaze munitions to disable them, paving the way for BrahMos and French SCALP missiles. Debris of the BrahMos booster and nose cap recovered near Bikaner in Rajasthan confirms its use, underscoring the missile’s fire-and-forget reliability.

That fire-and-forget ability is the insight that drives every purchasing conversation that happens right now. A missile that cannot be jammed, tracked, or intercepted does not enhance a country’s deterrence capability. This increases it many fold. A BrahMos battery sitting on a Vietnamese beach forces a Chinese naval planner to re-direct the entire task force. Thirty missiles do not produce 30 times more deterrence than one. They pose a credible threat of thirty independent, simultaneous, unstoppable attacks. This is a completely different strategic calculation. The countries in the South China Sea, the Persian Gulf and Latin America are not just buying a missile. They are purchasing a deterrent effect that China’s defense technology ecosystem cannot currently provide them.

The Philippines was the first buyer, signing a $375 million contract for three BrahMos coastal defense batteries in January 2022. With a verbal assurance given to Rajnath Singh by Defense Minister Andrei Belousov in December 2025, Russia has expressed no objection to further exports. Vietnam and Indonesia have long been interested, combined value of proposed deals exceeds estimates ₹4,000 crore, approximately $450 million. Vietnam is going to become the second Asian country after Philippines to acquire BrahMos, the value of this deal is approximately ₹5,990 crore, approximately $700 million, which includes missiles for both Army and Navy applications. Apart from BrahMos, India is offering Vietnam three to four offshore patrol vessels, 14 high-speed patrol boats, MRO support for Su-30 fighter aircraft and Kilo-class submarines and submarine batteries under a $500 million line of credit. This is not a missile transaction. It is a comprehensive defense relationship that is being assembled around a battle-proven core.

Beyond Southeast Asia, the UAE was apparently highlighted as a potential buyer in November 2024 by BrahMos Aerospace co-director Alexander Maksichev. Saudi Arabia, Qatar, Oman and Egypt have shown interest from West Asia. Brazil, Chile, Argentina and Venezuela have expressed interest in coastal and naval variants for Latin America. Indonesia’s strategic motivation is equally clear – securing its vast archipelagic waters and strategic chokepoints, with the proposed deal including a shore-based anti-ship variant similar to the Philippines configuration. Three continents, one missile, one war record.

The leverage point that India identified years ago was simple: if not anticipated, export demand would eventually outstrip domestic production capacity. The BrahMos Aerospace Integration and Testing Facility in Lucknow, slated to be inaugurated in May 2025, is built on 80 hectares of land provided by the Government of Uttar Pradesh. ₹300 million. It is designed to produce 80 to 100 BrahMos missiles annually, with plans to produce 100 to 150 next-generation variants each year. The facility operates as part of the UP Defense Industrial Corridor spanning Lucknow, Kanpur, Aligarh, Agra, Jhansi and Chitrakoot. The India-Russian joint venture, with 80% Indian content, now targets $2 billion in annual revenue, according to CEO Atul Rane.

The feedback loop this creates is the real story. More export revenue funds, more R&D. More research and development leads to the production of BrahMos-NG. The next-generation version, whose first flight is scheduled for 2026, is 50% lighter and three meters shorter, with greater compatibility with smaller platforms, further broadening the export market. Countries buying BrahMos today are buying a product line with a clear upgrade path. Each new customer increases India’s production volumes, which reduces per-unit costs, making it easier to close the next export deal that finances the next generation version. Feedback loop compound. This is the industrial logic that Israel devised in the 1990s and that India is now starting to implement on a large scale.

The historical comparison worth making here is Israel’s defense export model. Israel built its defense technology ecosystem not through large tenders alone, but by turning operational problems over to fast-moving companies and then supporting those companies for production and export. The result, in 20 years, was a defense industrial base exporting to over 130 countries and producing some of the most tested technology in the world. India is at the beginning of that cycle, and BrahMos is a proof of concept. When a country buys a weapons system, it buys a relationship. It trains its soldiers on Indian simulators. It depends on Indian spare parts. When something needs attention it calls on Indian engineers. This quietly but consequentially, aligns with Indian strategic interests. Apart from BrahMos, India is simultaneously offering Akash air defense system and Pinaka multi-launch rocket system to Vietnam, Indonesia, Philippines, UAE and Brazil, creating an integrated Indian defense supply relationship rather than a single platform transaction.

Each BrahMos sale is a node in a growing network of Indian defense relationships. Vietnam is dependent on Indian missiles for coastal defence. The Philippines is dependent on Indian delivery schedules and spare parts. Once the deal is closed, Indonesia will be dependent on Indian training simulators and lifecycle support. A country that is dependent on Indian weapons systems for its national security does not treat India as a peripheral partner in any diplomatic interactions. This is the kind of strategic impact that no summit release can create. India’s defense exports have increased almost 30 times in the last decade, with DRDO Chairman Sameer V Kamat predicting that exports could reach this level ₹50,000 crore by 2028-29, primarily driven by demand for BrahMos. For most of independent India’s history, the country was one of the world’s largest arms importers. While flagging off the first batch in Lucknow, Rajnath Singh said in clear words: India is now playing the role of a giver and not just a taker. That sentence, spoken at a missile factory in Uttar Pradesh, is a strategic summary of where India stands now.

Fifteen to 19 missiles were launched. Nobody stopped. Eleven out of 13 Pakistani airbases were attacked. Fourteen countries in active procurement discussions. Two export contracts worth $455 million were signed within months of the conflict, with negotiations ongoing with at least five to six additional countries. A new manufacturing facility in Lucknow is producing its first batch. The order portfolio of $7 billion covers both domestic and export demand. The next generation version will enter flight testing in 2026.

What is emerging from all this is not simply a successful weapons program. This is India’s emergence as a credible, war-validated, full-lifecycle defense exporter with an industrial corridor, upgrade roadmap and a growing network of strategic customers. BrahMos did not initiate that evolution. This accelerated it. Operation Sindoor did not create a market. This opened it. India’s task now is to build up production capacity, diplomatic relations and next generation technology fast enough to retain the position it has just acquired.

(Views expressed are personal)

This article is written by Sudhanshu Kumar, doctoral candidate at the School of International Studies, Jawaharlal Nehru University.

This is not the first time the Quad has faced tension. Inaugurated informally as a response to the 2007 Indian Ocean tsunami and growing concerns over Chinese aggression, the group faltered almost immediately. In 2008, Australia withdrew from the newly elected Kevin Rudd government. Canberra’s decision reflects a classic cost-benefit calculation: Beijing had expressed strong opposition to the Quad, seeing it as an embryonic anti-China containment mechanism. Rudd’s administration chose not to anger China, prioritizing economic relations with its largest trading partner. The move, announced with Chinese Foreign Minister Yang Jiechi, effectively put the Quad into hibernation until its quiet revival in 2017. This episode revealed a recurring vulnerability: group solidarity depends on convergent threat assessments and domestic political will. Yet the fact of its resurgence, driven by shared democratic values, maritime interests and a collective desire to preserve the rules-based order, demonstrated its latent resilience.

The present interval is an echo of the previous interval but has a different character. India was to host the Quad leaders’ summit in 2025 as the rotating chair, yet 2025 passed without a leader-level meeting. Bilateral friction, including India-US trade tensions and changes in US priorities under the second Trump administration, contributed to the delay. Critics have seized on the optics of drift. Yet a closer examination of diplomatic activity reveals continuity rather than decline. Over the past year, the Quad has maintained momentum through ministerial and working-level engagement. On January 21, 2025, barely hours after his confirmation, US Secretary of State Marco Rubio called his Quad counterparts, India’s External Affairs Minister S Jaishankar, Australia’s Penny Wong and Japan’s Takeshi Iwaya, to Washington. The meeting reaffirmed the partners’ commitment to a free and open Indo-Pacific and their opposition to unilateral efforts to change the status quo by force. The second meeting of foreign ministers took place on July 1, 2025, again in Washington, where the four countries expanded their agenda to include maritime and international security, economic prosperity and security, critical and emerging technologies, and humanitarian assistance and disaster relief. They launched the Quad Critical Minerals Initiative and announced new cooperation on illegal, unreported and unregulated fishing and law-enforcement capacity-building. These gatherings, although lower profile than leaders’ summits, have kept the mechanism functional and friendly.

Further evidence of vitality comes from the diplomatic calendar that follows. Secretary Rubio is scheduled to visit New Delhi from May 24 to 26, 2026, for bilateral consultations with the Indian leadership and the Quad Foreign Ministers’ Meeting. The visit is clearly framed as an effort to reestablish and deepen India-US strategic ties strained by tariff disputes and other frictions. Far from a sign of abandonment, such insistence on maintaining ministerial rhythms shows that the Quad remains a priority even within the America First framework that emphasizes burden-sharing and transactional diplomacy.

Nowhere is the strategic logic of the Quad more evident than in India’s growing role as a net security provider in the Indian Ocean region and the broader Indo-Pacific. New Delhi has long supported the SAGAR (Security and Growth for All in the Region) approach; Prime Minister Narendra Modi during events in Mauritius in 2025 clarified its development in the Ocean – Reciprocal and holistic advancement for security and development in all sectors. The framework emphasizes capacity building, maritime domain awareness and inclusive regional architecture. India’s hosting of the Indo-Pacific Regional Dialogue in October 2025, attended by participants from more than 30 countries, underlined its convening power on issues ranging from blue-economy growth to climate-resilient maritime security.

At the heart of India’s Indo-Pacific position is the Great Nicobar Islands Development Project. Located at the southern tip of the Andaman and Nicobar Islands, barely 160 kilometers from the Strait of Malacca, ₹The Rs 81,000 crore initiative includes a major international container transshipment terminal at Galathea Bay, a dual-use civil-military airport, a township and supporting power infrastructure. Once operational, the project will enhance India’s ability to monitor one of the world’s busiest chokepoints, through which about 80 percent of China’s energy imports and 25-30% of global trade passes, while reducing dependence on foreign transshipment hubs. The dual-use facilities will strengthen naval projection, surveillance and logistics, directly countering Beijing’s string of pearls strategy and exacerbating China’s Malacca dilemma. Environmental safeguards and tribal welfare provisions have been integrated, yet the strategic logic of the project is clear: it cements India’s forward presence in the eastern Indian Ocean and serves as a concrete expression of the Quad’s maritime security objectives.

For its part, the US has signaled a basic level of continuity amid change. While emphasizing burden sharing and some degree of retrenchment elsewhere, Washington continues to invest in the Quad mechanisms for supply-chain resilience, critical minerals, and maritime domain awareness. The July 2025 Foreign Ministers’ Statement explicitly welcomed the next Leaders’ Summit and Australian-hosted Ministerial Meeting in 2026, reflecting institutional memory and forward planning.

The Quad’s ability to tolerate without continued summit talks reflects the maturity of micro-lateral diplomacy. The high-level spectacle is symbolically valuable, but the group’s real strength lies in its working groups, technical cooperation and habit of consultation. Practical deliveries, such as vaccine diplomacy, humanitarian aid coordination and now critical-mineral security during the pandemic, build trust and interoperability more durably than photo opportunities. In a fragmented order where formal alliances risk entrapment and multilateral platforms risk paralysis, the Quad offers calibrated flexibility: democratic solidarity without the rigidity of treaty obligations.

Skeptics will continue to question the group’s relevance whenever leaders’ calendars diverge. Yet history and recent practice suggest otherwise. The 2008 comeback did not end the Quad; It just stopped it. Today’s tensions arising from domestic politics and economic restructuring in one of the four members have also failed to derail its core functions. As Rubio prepares to land in New Delhi later this month, the message is clear: The Quad persists not despite the absence of a leaders’ summit, but because its participants believe that sustained, functional cooperation serves their shared interests far better than episodic spectacle. In the contested waters of the Indo-Pacific, quiet resilience may prove to be the most powerful form of strategic signaling.

(Views expressed are personal)

This article is written by Shriparna Pathak, Professor, China Studies and International Relations, Jindal School of International Affairs, OP Jindal Global University, Sonipat.