It didn’t start with a handshake or even a formal announcement. It started with a phone call—quiet, direct, and urgent. On the morning of 10 May 2025, as Indian missiles cratered key Pakistani air bases and retaliatory strikes echoed across Jammu and Kashmir, the White House received what officials described as “alarming intelligence.” By noon Eastern Time, Vice President JD Vance was on the line with Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi. Vance, officials say, urged Modi to re-establish contact with Pakistan and explore a possible off-ramp to de-escalation.
The ceasefire, publicly declared the following day, now feels less like an organic pause and more like a choreographed brake-pull, driven by pressure from Washington. Vance wasn’t alone. Secretary of State Marco Rubio and Chief of Staff Susie Wiles were already working the phones with their counterparts across South Asia. While Trump took the public credit—“FULL AND IMMEDIATE CEASEFIRE,” as his all-caps tweet read—the diplomatic legwork had been underway for days. Officials from both countries say it was Rubio who floated the contours of a de-escalation plan acceptable to both Delhi and Islamabad.
The White House wasn’t taking chances. With over 50 civilians dead and tourists among the casualties of a terror attack in Pahalgam, the fear in Washington was not just of military escalation, but of a regional flashpoint spiralling into something uncontainable. CNN, citing senior administration figures, reported that intelligence received Friday morning changed the calculus. India and Pakistan were no longer talking. Someone had to get them back to the table. That someone, in this case, was the United States.
India’s decision to pause after a sweeping airstrike campaign—including hits on eleven Pakistani military bases—has not gone unchallenged at home. While Modi’s government has projected resolve, some military strategists and former intelligence officials have openly questioned whether the ceasefire was premature. Defence analyst Shiv Aroor, whose breakdown of India’s tactical approach during “Operation Sindoor” went viral on Indian social media, stopped short of criticising the decision but noted that the strikes had placed India in a position of clear upper hand. The timing of the ceasefire, in his view, raised questions.
That was not unexpected. Ceasefires between the subcontinental rivals tend to come with a built-in expiry timer. This one, despite its glittery social media send-off and a round of congratulatory tweets from world leaders, was no exception. India accused Pakistan of firing projectiles into Srinagar and Jammu just hours after the ink on the truce had dried, while Islamabad, true to script, denied wrongdoing and insisted on its commitment to peace. Words and warheads—both flew fast.
Behind the public diplomacy was the less romantic reality of military choreography. India’s audacious strikes—targeting 11 major Pakistani airbases in a 90-minute window—left Islamabad reeling. Noor Khan Airbase, Sargodha, Rafiki, Sukkur—some of the most critical links in Pakistan’s aerial defence chain—were hit. Some analysts noted that the strategy wasn’t about provocation for its own sake; it was about disarming, disorienting, and forcing a phone call. That call, from Pakistan’s Director General of Military Operations, came swiftly.
— Donald J. Trump (@realDonaldTrump) May 10, 2025
A ceasefire was the only logical next move. Pakistan’s air combat readiness had taken a hit. Its options were either to escalate—an avenue fraught with international repercussions—or to retreat diplomatically. The latter won. Foreign Minister Ishaq Dar took to social media to claim the high road, stating that Pakistan had always preferred peace. But within hours, it was business as usual on the Line of Control.
India’s response was cold but restrained. Foreign Secretary Vikram Misri confirmed the ceasefire and in the same breath accused Pakistan of breaking it. “Predictable,” muttered a former Indian military attaché, now retired in Pune. “Ceasefires here are not truces. They are tests.”
There was precedent for this sort of truce. The 2021 ceasefire—announced by the Director Generals of Military Operations on both sides—was a response to an especially violent 2020, which saw over 5,000 ceasefire violations. While it slowed the tempo of hostilities for a time, it did not fundamentally resolve the mistrust. What’s new this time is the technology and the posture. Where previous incidents were marked by reactive firepower and diplomatic lag, India now arrived early—with locally made weapons.
Enter “Operation Sindoor.”
It wasn’t a display of bravado; rather, it marked a deliberate shift in India’s military-industrial posture. Two stars of the operation were wholly homegrown: the Sky Striker loitering munition and the Akash missile defence system. The first, a stealthy drone with a 100-kilometre range and silent electric propulsion, was designed in Bengaluru. The second, often labelled as India’s answer to the Iron Dome, was produced by Bharat Electronics Limited and stitched together using satellite support from ISRO’s Cartosat and GSAT systems, as well as the indigenous Navik navigation constellation.
Together, they formed a new playbook. Sky Strikers eliminated targets across terror camps with uncanny accuracy, while Akash neutralised retaliatory missiles from Pakistan in 15 cities, reportedly with no civilian impact. The sophistication caught attention. This wasn’t about flexing muscle. It was a clear signal of India’s evolving military doctrine—driven by autonomy, built domestically, and guided by real-time data.
That technological edge is being noticed abroad. Vietnam, Taiwan, Armenia, and the Philippines have all expressed interest in Indian defence exports, a sector that has grown sevenfold since 2017—from $213 million to $1.5 billion. The “Make in India” project is quietly reshaping India’s external image as a military producer, not just consumer.
For Prime Minister Modi’s government, the operation marked a validation of its long-term push for defence self-reliance. Years of investment in indigenous systems were beginning to shift operational priorities. While India continues to field older Soviet-era equipment, its growing capacity to develop advanced technology at home is gradually altering how it approaches both procurement and conflict preparedness.
That’s not to say challenges have disappeared. India’s armed forces are still bogged down by complex procurement protocols, siloed communication between branches, and a budgeting framework that leaves little room for innovation. The Indian Army, the largest branch, has been historically slow in adopting new tech. But there are signs of change: military personnel are now embedded with DRDO projects, and development cycles have been shortened to ensure operational relevance.
As for the ceasefire, the verdict is still out. The US and Gulf countries are watching closely, eager to avoid a full-scale war between two nuclear neighbours. President Trump’s tweet, celebratory and somewhat self-congratulatory, had an optimistic ring. “Congratulations to both countries on using Common Sense and Great Intelligence,” he wrote. The irony was lost on few in Delhi and Islamabad, where scepticism remains the dominant currency.
Even as both nations talk peace, mobilisation continues. Troop reinforcements near the LoC remain in place. The Indus Waters Treaty remains suspended. Diplomatic channels are open but cold. Neither side is laying down arms, and neither trusts the other to blink first. The terrain hasn’t changed. Nor has the history.
What has changed is India’s toolkit.
The subcontinent has always been a theatre of conflict and compromise. Ceasefires, no matter how well intentioned, have struggled against the gravitational pull of nationalism, mistrust, and proxy skirmishes. But what happens when one player builds its own arsenal, ties it to satellites, and starts setting the rules of engagement?
The answer remains uncertain. But it is taking shape—not through declarations, but through code, targeting systems, and the quiet operations of domestically built drones. This ceasefire may not last, and if it collapses, the response is likely to be scripted not in Tel Aviv or Moscow, but in Bengaluru.
Support independent community journalism. Support The Indian Sun.
Follow The Indian Sun on X | Instagram | Facebook
Donate To The Indian Sun
Dear Reader,The Indian Sun is an independent organisation committed to community journalism. We have, through the years, been able to reach a wide audience especially with the growth of social media, where we also have a strong presence. With platforms such as YouTube videos, we have been able to engage in different forms of storytelling. However, the past few years, like many media organisations around the world, it has not been an easy path. We have a greater challenge. We believe community journalism is very important for a multicultural country like Australia. We’re not able to do everything, but we aim for some of the most interesting stories and journalism of quality. We call upon readers like you to support us and make any contribution. Do make a DONATION NOW so we can continue with the volume and quality journalism that we are able to practice.
Thank you for your support.
Best wishes,
Team The Indian Sun
