In India’s TV War Rooms, the ‘Generals’ Were Loud, Facts Optional, and the Enemy Always in Retreat

When Operation Sindoor began, India’s television newsrooms went into overdrive. The usual suspects – political party spokespersons and loudmouth analysts – quietly stepped aside, making space for a fresh crop of self-styled defence experts, security analysts, and retired military personnel, suddenly back in demand.

This new cast did little to elevate the discourse. If anything, they took the absurdity to greater heights. Many had emerged from the obscurity of long retirements (your humble narrator included), summoned into studio lights and seated before frothing anchors chasing ratings.

Out came the long-unused three-piece suits, and with them, a sober tone – quickly abandoned as panelists launched into theatrical calls to “annihilate Pakistan” and “take back PoK.” Some confidently claimed that enemy generals were shivering in bunkers, while others cited unnamed sources to report that Pakistani leaders had chartered planes to send their families to the West.

One retired Major distinguished himself with rapid-fire verbal salvos at his Pakistani counterpart – missiles of rhetoric that would put BrahMos to shame. A moustachioed General, not to be outdone, turned his ire inward, lambasting India’s political leadership for agreeing to a ceasefire. With a full-throated roar, he demanded that Pakistan be wiped off “the face of the Atlas” – a cartographic flourish that surely left Mercator himself spinning in his grave.

Awards may not be in the offing, but these two certainly earned the unofficial title of TRP Commanders-in-Chief.

Meanwhile, news channels diligently kept the public “informed.” One ran a breaking update announcing that the Prime Minister had arrived at his office – perhaps under the impression that citizens needed to be reassured that he does, in fact, have one. Others breathlessly reported that the Chiefs of Defence Staff were seen in combat uniforms, their attire now imbued with geopolitical symbolism.

When I mildly suggested to an anchor that we might be over-reading sartorial choices, my microphone was promptly muted.

A Hindi channel took things up a notch. Its star anchor – who has made a career out of camouflage cosplay – set up a war game scenario live on air. In a curious imitation of exercises at military academies, newly anointed security experts jostled to make their strategic points, mimicking the enthusiasm of young Captains attending their first Junior Command Course. That modern warfare has evolved well beyond the Cold War-era doctrines they once practised did not seem to bother anyone. The aim wasn’t analysis – it was performance.

Fortunately, I was spared from participating. Another channel summoned me at the same time, eager for my “expertise.” The anchor-general later published an “appreciation” of the conflict, carefully constructing each scenario to end in Indian victory. Ironically, none of them foresaw the kind of operation that India actually carried out on the night of May 6 and 7, striking militant camps across the border.

What was missing, across channels, was verification. Reports about decimated Pakistani battalions, captured cities, and destroyed ports all relied on “unnamed sources.” One channel confidently declared Indian troops were deep inside Pakistani territory – but couldn’t say where from.

“Secrecy” was preserved in unintentionally comic fashion. Reporters were asked to go live “from the ground,” but instructed not to disclose their location. “Nilesh,” an anchor would begin, “who is reporting from somewhere near Barmer, please tell us what you’re seeing – without revealing where you are.” The sound of air raid sirens – played every few minutes for dramatic effect – added to the chaos. Eventually, the government had to step in and ask them to stop.

Perhaps the only thing the media was truly fair about was panic. They spread it equally on both sides of the border. Pakistani viewers were informed of impending annihilation; Indian viewers were told that multiple cities had come under air attack, and that the Nagrota Army base had suffered a fidayeen strike.

The entertainment value was undeniable. After years of avoiding television, I found myself tuning in – not for information, but for a good laugh. The coverage of Operation Sindoor could well qualify as 2025’s most successful comedy series.

Now that a ceasefire has been announced, the curtain has come down. Sadly, this means the media may soon return to its usual programming: communal outrage, political vendettas, and panel discussions where decibel levels count more than insight.

Until then, those of us who survived the TV war games will quietly fold away our suits and wait for the next invasion – on screen.

Sanjiv Krishan Sood was additional director general of the BSF.

This piece was first published on The India Cable – a premium newsletter from The Wire & Galileo Ideas – and has been updated and republished here. To subscribe to The India Cable, click here.

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