The announcement that a consortium led by PixxelSpace India will design, build, and operate a constellation of 12 earth-observation satellites marks a sharp shift in how India approaches large space projects. The Indian National Space Promotion and Authorisation Centre (IN-SPACe) awarded the project after a competitive process.
What made headlines was that the winning bid asked for no money from the government. Instead, the group — which includes Piersight Space, SatSure Analytics India, and Dhruva Space — has committed to invest more than Rs 1,200 crore of its own resources over the next four to five years. The constellation will carry a mix of advanced sensors, from multispectral and hyperspectral imagers to synthetic aperture radar, and it will be owned and operated entirely by the private side of the partnership.
PixxelSpace has said the zero-rupee bid is a conscious decision to support the vision of building an advanced earth-observation system for India and the world. The companies have also expressed belief they will recover their investment over time by selling high-value geospatial data and services in India and abroad. IN-SPACe's chairman has called this a major endorsement of the future of India’s space economy.
Of course the benefits for India are clear. Once operational, the constellation should reduce the country’s reliance on foreign sources of satellite imagery. That will matter in areas like disaster management, agriculture planning, and national security, where delays or restrictions on outside data can have serious consequences. Having multiple companies in the consortium brings together strengths in hardware, analytics, and services, which could create a more complete space industry ecosystem. The phased rollout will also mean technology upgrades can be built in as the system grows, without heavy public spending.
Still, the arrangement raises difficult questions. In practice, this is less a public–private partnership than a joint venture. I assume the state will provide its seal of approval, policy support, and access to launch and ground facilities. If it does share policy support, it will have to explain why that's vouchsafed for the collaboration isn't of being expanded to the industry as a whole. I also heard IN-SPACe will 'collate' demand within the government for the constellation's products and help meet them.
Without assuming a fiscal stake, however, the government is left with less leverage to set terms or enforce priorities, especially if the consortium's commercial goals don't always align with national needs. It's worth asking why the government issued an official request-for-proposal if didn't intend to assume a stake, and whether the Rs-350-crore soft loan IN-SPACe originally offered for the project will still be available, repurposed or quietly withdrawn.
I think the pitch will also test public oversight. IN-SPACe will need stronger technical capacity, legal authority, procedural clarity, and better public communication to monitor compliance without frustrating innovation. Regulations on remote sensing and data-sharing will probably have to be updated to cover a fully commercial system that sells services worldwide. Provisions that guarantee government priority access in emergencies and that protect sensitive imagery will have to be written clearly into law and contracts. Infrastructure access, from integration facilities to launch slots, must be managed transparently to avoid bottlenecks or perceived bias.
The government's minimal financial involvement saves public money but it also reduces long-term control. If India repeats this model, it should put in place new laws and safeguards that define how sovereignty, security, and public interest are to be protected when critical space assets are run by private companies. Without such steps, the promise of cost-free expansion could instead lead to new dependencies that are even harder to manage in future.
The announcement that a consortium led by PixxelSpace India will design, build, and operate a constellation of 12 earth-observation satellites marks a sharp shift in how India approaches large space projects. The Indian National Space Promotion and Authorisation Centre (IN-SPACe) awarded the project after a competitive process.
What made headlines was that the winning bid asked for no money from the government. Instead, the group — which includes Piersight Space, SatSure Analytics India, and Dhruva Space — has committed to invest more than Rs 1,200 crore of its own resources over the next four to five years. The constellation will carry a mix of advanced sensors, from multispectral and hyperspectral imagers to synthetic aperture radar, and it will be owned and operated entirely by the private side of the partnership.
PixxelSpace has said the zero-rupee bid is a conscious decision to support the vision of building an advanced earth-observation system for India and the world. The companies have also expressed belief they will recover their investment over time by selling high-value geospatial data and services in India and abroad. IN-SPACe’s chairman has called this a major endorsement of the future of India’s space economy.
Of course the benefits for India are clear. Once operational, the constellation should reduce the country’s reliance on foreign sources of satellite imagery. That will matter in areas like disaster management, agriculture planning, and national security, where delays or restrictions on outside data can have serious consequences. Having multiple companies in the consortium brings together strengths in hardware, analytics, and services, which could create a more complete space industry ecosystem. The phased rollout will also mean technology upgrades can be built in as the system grows, without heavy public spending.
Still, the arrangement raises difficult questions. In practice, this is less a public–private partnership than a joint venture. I assume the state will provide its seal of approval, policy support, and access to launch and ground facilities. If it does share policy support, it will have to explain why that’s vouchsafed for the collaboration isn’t of being expanded to the industry as a whole. I also heard IN-SPACe will ‘collate’ demand within the government for the constellation’s products and help meet them.
Without assuming a fiscal stake, however, the government is left with less leverage to set terms or enforce priorities, especially if the consortium’s commercial goals don’t always align with national needs. It’s worth asking why the government issued an official request-for-proposal if didn’t intend to assume a stake, and whether the Rs-350-crore soft loan IN-SPACe originally offered for the project will still be available, repurposed or quietly withdrawn.
I think the pitch will also test public oversight. IN-SPACe will need stronger technical capacity, legal authority, procedural clarity, and better public communication to monitor compliance without frustrating innovation. Regulations on remote sensing and data-sharing will probably have to be updated to cover a fully commercial system that sells services worldwide. Provisions that guarantee government priority access in emergencies and that protect sensitive imagery will have to be written clearly into law and contracts. Infrastructure access, from integration facilities to launch slots, must be managed transparently to avoid bottlenecks or perceived bias.
The government’s minimal financial involvement saves public money but it also reduces long-term control. If India repeats this model, it should put in place new laws and safeguards that define how sovereignty, security, and public interest are to be protected when critical space assets are run by private companies. Without such steps, the promise of cost-free expansion could instead lead to new dependencies that are even harder to manage in future.
There’s no denying that there currently prevails a public culture in India that equates criticism, even well-reasoned, with pooh-poohing. It’s especially pronounced in certain geographies where the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) enjoys majority support as well as vis-à-vis institutions that the subscribers of Hindu politics consider to be ripe for international renown, especially in the eyes of the country’s former colonial masters. The other side of the same cultural coin is the passive encouragement it offers to those who’d play up the feats of Indian enterprises even if they lack substantive evidence to back their claims up. While these tendencies are pronounced in many enterprises, I have encountered them most often in the spaceflight domain.
Through its feats of engineering and administration over the years, the Indian Space Research Organisation (ISRO) has cultivated a deserved reputation of setting a high bar for itself and meeting them. Its achievements are the reason why India is one of a few countries today with a functionally complete space programme. It operates launch vehicles, conducts spaceflight-related R&D, has facilities to develop as well as track satellites, and maintains data-processing pipeliness to turn the data it collects from space into products usable for industry and academia. It is now embarking on a human spaceflight programme as well. ISRO has also launched interplanetary missions to the moon and Mars, with one destined for Venus in the works. In and of itself the organisation has an enviable legacy. Thus, unsurprisingly, many sections of the Hindutva brigade have latched onto ISRO’s achievements to animate their own propaganda of India’s greatness, both real and imagined.
The surest signs of this adoption are most visible when ISRO missions fail or succeed in unclear ways. The Chandrayaan 2 mission and the Axiom-4 mission respectively are illustrative examples. As if to forestall any allegations that the Chandrayaan 2 mission failed, then ISRO chairman K. Sivam said right after its Vikram lander crashed on the moon that it had been a “98% success”. Chandrayaan 2 was a technology demonstrator and it did successfully demonstrate most of those onboard very well. The “98%” figure, however, was so disproportionate as to suggest Sivan was defending the mission less on its merits than on its ability to fit into reductive narratives of how good ISRO was. (Recall, similarly, when former DCGI V.G. Somani claimed the homegrown Covaxin vaccine was “110% safe” when safety data from its phase III clinical trials weren’t even available.)
On the other hand, even as the Axiom-4 mission was about to kick off, neither ISRO nor the Department of Space (DoS) had articulated what Indian astronaut Shubhanshu Shukla’s presence onboard the mission was expected to achieve. If these details didn’t actually exist before the mission, to participate in which ISRO had paid Axiom Space more than Rs 500 crore, both ISRO and the DoS were effectively keeping the door open to picking a goalpost of their choosing to kick the ball through as the mission progressed. If they did have these details but had elected to not share them, their (in)actions raised — or ought to have — difficult questions about the terms on which these organisations believed they were accountable in a democratic country. Either way, the success of the Axiom-4 mission vis-à-vis Shukla’s participation was something of an empty vessel: a ready receptacle for any narrative that could be placed inside ex post facto.
At the same time, raising this question has often been construed in the public domain, but especially on social media platforms, in response to arguments presented in the news, and in conversations among people interested in Indian spaceflight, as naysaying Shukla’s activities altogether. By all means let’s celebrate Shukla’s and by extension India’s ‘citius, altius, fortius’ moment in human spaceflight; the question is: what didn’t ISRO/DoS share before Axiom-4 lifted off and why? (Note that what journalists have been reporting since liftoff, while valuable, isn’t the answer to the question posed here.) While it’s tempting to think this pinched communication is a strategy developed by the powers that be to cope with insensitive reporting in the press, doing so would also ignore the political capture institutions like ISRO have already suffered and which ISRO arguably has as well, during and after Sivan’s term as chairman.
For just two examples of institutions that have historically enjoyed a popularity comparable in both scope and flavour to that of ISRO, consider India’s cricket administration and the Election Commission. During the 2024 men’s T20 World Cup that India eventually won, the Indian team had the least amount of travel and the most foreknowledge on the ground it was to play its semifinal game on. At the 2023 men’s ODI World Cup, too, India played all its matches on Sundays, ensuring the highest attendance for its own contests rather than be able to share that opportunity with all teams. The tournament is intended to be a celebration of the sport after all. For added measure, police personnel were also deployed at various stadia to take away spectators’ placards and flags in support of Pakistan in matches featuring the Pakistani team. The stage management of both World Cups only lessened, rather than heightened, the Indian team’s victories.
It’s been a similar story with the Election Commission of India, which has of late come under repeated attack from the Indian National Congress party and some of its allies for allegedly rigging their electronic voting machines and subsequently entire elections in favour of the BJP. While the Congress has failed to submit the extraordinary evidence required to support these extraordinary claims, doubts about the ECI’s integrity have spread anyway because there are other, more overt ways in which the once-independent institution of Indian democracy favours the BJP — including scheduling elections according to the availability of party supremo Narendra Modi to speak at rallies.
Recently, a more obscure but nonetheless pertinent controversy erupted in some circles when in an NDTV report incumbent ISRO chairman V. Narayanan seemed to suggest that SpaceX called one of the attempts to launch Axiom-4 off because his team at ISRO had insisted that the company thoroughly check its rocket for bugs. The incident followed SpaceX engineers spotting a leak on the rocket. The point of egregiousness here is that while SpaceX had built and flown that very type of rocket hundreds of times, Narayanan and ambiguous wording in the NDTV report made it out to be that SpaceX would have flown the rocket if not for ISRO’s insistence. What’s more likely to have happened is NASA and SpaceX engineers would have consulted ISRO as they would have consulted the other agencies involved in the flight — ESA, HUNOR, and Axiom Space — about their stand, and the ISRO team on its turn would have clarified its position: that SpaceX recheck the rocket before the next launch attempt. However, the narrative “if not for ISRO, SpaceX would’ve flown a bad rocket” took flight anyway.
Evidently these are not isolated incidents. The last three ISRO chairmen — Sivan, Somanath, and now Narayanan — have progressively curtailed the flow of information from the organisation to the press even as they have maintained a steady pro-Hindutva, pro-establishment rhetoric. All three leaders have also only served at ISRO’s helm when the BJP was in power at the Centre, wielding its tendency to centralise power by, among others, centralising the permissions to speak freely. Some enterprising journalists like Chethan Kumar and T.S. Subramanian and activists like r/Ohsin and X.com/@SolidBoosters have thus far kept the space establishment from resembling a black hole. But the overarching strategy is as simple as it is devious: while critical arguments become preoccupied by whataboutery and fending off misguided accusations of neocolonialist thinking (“why should we measure an ISRO mission’s success the way NASA measures its missions’ successes?”), unconditional expressions of support and adulation spread freely through our shared communication networks. This can only keep up a false veil of greatness that crumbles the moment it brooks legitimate criticism, becoming desperate for yet another veil to replace itself.
But even that is beside the point: to echo the philosopher Bruno Latour, when criticism is blocked from attending to something we have all laboured to build, that something is deprived of the “care and caution” it needs to grow, to no longer be fragile. Yet that’s exactly what the Indian space programme risks becoming today. Here’s a brand new case in point, from the tweets that prompted this post: according to an RTI query filed by @SolidBoosters, India’s homegrown NavIC satellite navigation constellation is just one clock failure away from “complete operational collapse”. The issue appears to be ISRO’s subpar launch cadence and the consequently sluggish replacement of clocks that have already failed.
6/6 Root Cause Analysis for atomic clock failures has been completed but classified under RTI Act Section 8 as vital technical information. Meanwhile public transparency is limited while the constellation continues degrading. #NavIC#ISRO#RTI
Granted, rushed critiques and critiques designed to sting more than guide can only be expected to elicit defensive posturing. But to minimise one’s exposure to all criticism altogether, especially those from learned quarters and conveyed in respectful language, is to deprive oneself of the pressure and the drive to solve the right problems in the right ways, both drawing from and adding to India’s democratic fabric. The end results are public speeches and commentary that are increasingly removed from reality as well as, more importantly, thicker walls between criticism and The Thing it strives to nurture.
The headlines in Indian mainstream media over the course of June 6, after Boeing (finally) launched its Starliner capsule on its first crewed test flight…
… betray a persistent inability to let go of the little yet also false pride that comes with calling Sunita Williams an “Indian-American” astronaut. This is from the Wikipedia page on Williams:
Williams is a native of Needham, Massachusetts, was born in Euclid, Ohio, to Indian-American neuroanatomist from Mumbai, Deepak Pandya, and Slovene-American Ursuline Bonnie (Zalokar) Pandya, who reside in Falmouth, Massachusetts. She was the youngest of three children. … Williams’ paternal family is from Jhulasan in the Mehsana district in Gujarat, India, whereas her maternal family is of Slovene descent.
Williams’s national identity is (US-of-) American. She was born in the US and spent all her formative years there, studying and working within an institutional framework that had little to do with India. Why is she still “Indian-American” or even “Indian-origin”, then? By the simple, even facile, virtue of her father having left the country in search of greener pastures after his MD, the forced India connection reeks of a desperation to cling to her achievements as at least partly our own. India doesn’t have a woman astronaut and facing up to this and other impossibilities and eliminating them is an important way that every country has to grow. But keep thinking she’s partly Indian and you may never have to think about what could be stopping women in India from becoming astronauts in future.
This said, I know very little about Williams’ upbringing. According to Wikipedia, she’s a practising Hindu and has taken copies of the Bhagavad Gita and the Upanishads to space with her. But I fail to see why these features would make her national identity “Indian-American”. Like me, I imagine the people at large know little about her cultural identity considering her shared Indian and Slovenian heritage. I’d also be wary of conflating the social and political culture of India in the 1950s, when her father left the country, with that prevalent today. A close friend who grew up in India and now lives in the US told me in a conversation last year that pre-2014 India seems lost to her forever. I think even the recent outcome of the 2024 Lok Sabha elections may not change that: a lot of damage Hindu nationalism has wrought is irreversible, especially — but not restricted to — making it okay to aspire to inflicting violence on minorities and liberals. Thus, by all means, even the contrived “Indian” in “Indian-American” refers to another India, not the one we have today.
“The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there.”
— LP Hartley, The Go-Between
Yet in the eyes of those penning articles and headlines, “Indian-American” she is. They’re using this language to get people interested in these articles, and if they succeed, they’re effectively selling the idea that it’s not possible for Indians to care about the accomplishments of non-Indians, that only Indians’, and by extension India’s, accomplishments matter. It’s a good example of why beating back the Hindu majoritarian nationalism in India has been such an uphill battle, and why the BJP’s smarting win in the 2024 polls was so heartening: the nuclei of nationalistic thinking are everywhere, you need just the right arguments — no matter how kettle-logic-y — to nurture them into crystals of hate and xenophobia. Calling Williams “Indian-American” is to retrench her patriarchal identity as being part of her primary identity — just as referring to her as “Indian origin” is to evoke her genetic identity; to recall her skin colour as being similar to that of many Indians; and perhaps to passively inculcate her value to the US as an opportunity for soft diplomacy with India.
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