On the morning of 28 January 2026, Maharashtra Deputy Chief Minister Ajit Pawar was killed when a Learjet 45XR chartered from VSR Aviation crashed during its approach to Baramati Airport. The accident claimed the lives of all on board, including Captain Sumit Kapoor and First Officer Shambhavi Pathak. Within hours, the nation mourned. Within days, the familiar script began to unfold: speculation, selective leaks, and an unspoken but inevitable question—what did the pilots do wrong?
That question, while emotionally satisfying, is dangerously incomplete.
Because Baramati was not merely an aviation mishap. It was the foreseeable outcome of systemic regulatory neglect in India’s non-scheduled and VIP charter operations—a failure repeated often enough that it can no longer be dismissed as a coincidence.
This tragedy joins a grim list: Madhavrao Scindia, G.M.C. Balayogi, Y.S. Rajasekhara Reddy, and General Bipin Rawat. Different aircraft, different years, different circumstances—but a disturbingly consistent pattern. Each accident prompted solemn assurances and official inquiries. Yet two decades on, the structural weaknesses that imperil VIP aviation remain stubbornly intact.
A High-Consequence Flight Into a Low-Capability Airport
Baramati Airport is a Visual Flight Rules (VFR) aerodrome, primarily used for flying training. It has no instrument approach procedures, no permanently manned Air Traffic Control tower, and no on-site meteorological office. Pilots operating there receive landing advisories, not clearances, and are required to maintain continuous visual contact with the runway environment.
None of this is inherently unsafe if operations are strictly limited to suitable conditions.
Under DGCA Civil Aviation Requirements (CARs) governing VFR and all-weather operations, flights into such aerodromes are permitted only when prescribed visibility minima—typically 5 km or more—are met. Post-accident reporting consistently pointed to poor visibility at the time of the approach. Some media outlets loosely invoked “dense fog,” a term more dramatic than technical. The real issue was simpler and more troubling: conditions were marginal or unsuitable for VFR operations into a non-instrument airfield.
The most revealing detail came after the crash. The Indian Air Force swiftly deployed ATC and meteorological personnel to Baramati to support ongoing operations. This was operationally prudent—but symbolically damning. It tacitly acknowledged that the level of air traffic and weather support required for safety was absent until lives were lost.
In aviation, safety measures introduced after an accident are not solutions. They are confessions.
The Seduction of Pilot Blame
Every air crash eventually finds its way to the cockpit. The pilots were there. They made the final call. End of story.
Except it never is.
Aviation accidents rarely result from a single bad decision. They emerge from pressure, context, and constrained choices. To isolate the pilot’s judgment while ignoring the forces shaping that judgment is not analysis—it is abdication.
Consider a simple root-cause chain:
a) Why did the aircraft attempt a landing in marginal weather?
Because the flight needed to be completed.
b) Why did completion feel non-negotiable?
Because VIP schedules allow little tolerance for delay or diversion.
c) Why does that pressure weigh more heavily on charter pilots?
Non-scheduled operations offer weaker institutional protection than airlines.
d) Why is there no effective counterweight to that pressure?
Because regulatory oversight of non-scheduled operators is lighter and less risk-based.
e) Why has this imbalance persisted?
Because the system has normalised elevated risk for VIP mobility—until tragedy intervenes.
This is not about bravado or heroics. It is about structural coercion, where pilots are left to absorb competing demands from passengers, employers, and circumstances—while the regulator remains largely invisible until after the fact.
What the Rulebook Actually Says—and What Happens in Practice
India is not short of aviation regulations. The problem is how selectively they are applied.
DGCA’s CAR on All-Weather Operations clearly requires that flights be conducted only when weather conditions meet prescribed minima, and that approaches be discontinued when visual reference is inadequate. ICAO Annexe 6, which India is bound to follow, reinforces the obligation on states to ensure operators maintain operational control systems that prevent unsafe continuation of flight.
Yet in practice, VIP charter operations are allowed to proceed into VFR-only aerodromes without additional safeguards, even when conditions deteriorate.
Similarly, DGCA CARs on aerodrome operations require that facilities and services be commensurate with the nature of operations. ICAO Annexe 11 (Air Traffic Services) and Annexe 3 (Meteorology) emphasise the provision of ATS and weather information necessary for safety “to the extent practicable.”
The question writes itself: If ATC and meteorological support become “practicable” immediately after a fatal crash, why were they not required beforehand for high-consequence VIP flights?
The Pressure Nobody Wants to Name
DGCA regulations are unambiguous on paper: the Pilot-in-Command has absolute authority, and operators must ensure that pilots are not coerced into unsafe decisions.
But authority without insulation is an illusion.
In scheduled airlines, pilots operate within a robust ecosystem—dispatch departments, independent weather assessments, formal diversion protocols, fatigue risk management systems, and just-culture protections. In many non-scheduled operations, especially those carrying VIPs, these buffers are thinner or absent altogether.
ICAO Annexe 19 on Safety Management explicitly recognises the danger of organisational pressure and mandates Safety Management Systems that address it. Yet non-scheduled operators are not held to the same SMS maturity as airlines, despite operating flights where the political, social, and reputational stakes are far higher.
When a VIP charter pilot diverts, the cost is not just fuel and time. It is embarrassment, political inconvenience, and potential loss of future business. The pressure may never be spoken—but it is always understood.
Investigations Without Reform
India’s Aircraft Accident Investigation Bureau (AAIB) operates under rules aligned with ICAO Annexe 13, which emphasises accident prevention over blame. Yet history suggests that investigations into VIP crashes rarely translate into visible systemic reform.
Findings are delayed. Reports are opaque. Recommendations—if issued—fade quietly into administrative files. Meanwhile, the operational environment that enabled the accident remains largely unchanged.
This investigative culture does not just fail the public. It fails the next crew.
The Real Blind Spot: Non-Scheduled Operations
The most uncomfortable truth is this: India regulates its highest-consequence flights with lower safety margins than its routine airline operations.
Non-Scheduled Operator Permit (NSOP) holders are granted operational flexibility that was meant to encourage connectivity and enterprise. Over time, that flexibility has hardened into leniency—without a corresponding risk-based oversight framework.
ICAO’s philosophy is explicit: regulation must be proportionate to risk, not category. A flight carrying a chief minister into a marginal airfield in winter conditions is not “less risky” because it is non-scheduled. It is more risky—and should be treated as such.
What Meaningful Reform Would Look Like
This tragedy did not occur because India lacks rules. It occurred because rules were not aligned with reality.
Real reform would include:
a) Risk-based restrictions on VIP flights into VFR-only aerodromes
b) Mandatory independent weather assessment and diversion authority
c) Airline-equivalent SMS requirements for charter operators conducting VIP flights
d) Transparent AAIB investigations with enforceable follow-up mechanisms
VIPs do not need privileges in the air. They need higher safety margins.
Until regulators accept that truth, India will continue to cycle through grief, blame, and forgetfulness—each time promising lessons learned, and each time leaving the system largely untouched.
Aviation safety advances, as history grimly reminds us, only when tragedy is met with honest accountability rather than convenient scapegoating. Baramati deserves nothing less.
Author: GR Mohan