[size=0.875]In 2022, the Indian tricolour was lowered for the last time at Ayni Air Base, 15 kilometres west of Tajikistan’s capital, Dushanbe. After 20 years of investment, sweat and strategic ambition, India’s only overseas military foothold slipped quietly into history. No fanfare, no joint press conference — just a handful of Indian Air Force (IAF) officers boarding a C-17 Globemaster bound for Hindon, and the gates handed back to Tajik control.
For a nation that prides itself on “strategic autonomy,” the closure of Ayni is more than the end of a lease; it is a pivot point in India’s great-power choreography across the high Pamirs and the Hindu Kush. To understand why New Delhi walked away from a $70 million asset — less than what the Ambanis spent on their daughter’s wedding — we must rewind to the dusty runways of the early 2000s and trace the threads of Russian discomfort, Chinese anxiety, Afghan collapse, and, intriguingly, a possible Taliban embrace.
Base Instincts
Ayni was never a greenfield project. Built by the Soviets in the 1980s to funnel MiG-21s and Mi-24s into the Afghan quagmire, the base sat dormant after Moscow’s 1989 retreat. When India arrived in 2002, the runway was cracked, the control tower a skeleton, and the hangars home to goats.
Over the next eight years, India’s Border Roads Organisation (BRO) extended the runway to 3,200 metres — long enough for C-17s Globemaster cargo jets and Su-30MKI fighter bombers that form the backbone of the IAF’s strike fleet. Modern air-traffic control, Instrument Landing Systems (ILS) and medium-range air-defence radars followed. By 2010, Ayni could host heavy-lift transports, fighters and even armed drones. A permanent contingent of 150 IAF personnel and BRO engineers kept the lights on.
Officially, Ayni was a “humanitarian hub.” Unofficially, it was India’s ear to the ground in Central Asia. From its tarmac, C-130Js ferried supplies to India’s four consulates in Afghanistan — Mazar-e-Sharif, Herat, Jalalabad and Kandahar — plus the embassy in Kabul. These missions were not stamping OCI cards; they were bankrolling anti-Taliban warlords, rebuilding schools and, crucially, running intelligence networks aimed at Pakistan’s western flank. Ayni’s location — 500 km from the Afghan border — made it the perfect lily-pad for rapid insertion and extraction.
The base proved its worth in August 2021. As Kabul fell, IAF C-17s and C-130Js staged through Ayni to evacuate 565 Indian citizens, 112 Afghan Hindus and Sikhs, and crates of classified files. One C-17 famously carried 823 passengers in a single sortie — a world record that began with a refuelling stop at Ayni.
Russian Turf
Moscow never liked sharing its backyard. The 201st Motor Rifle Division, Russia’s largest overseas formation, is headquartered just 80 km away in Dushanbe. For decades, the Kremlin has treated Tajikistan as a buffer against jihadist spillover and a staging ground for influence-peddling.
For all the talk of Indo-Russian ties, the IAF’s arrival in Tajikistan was seen as an irritant by the Kremlin. In 2007, when Delhi sought to station a squadron of fighters, Russian diplomats leaned on Dushanbe and got the proposal scuttled. India was allowed renovations but never full operational control. Hangars stayed half-empty; fighter deployments were vetoed. A 2013 lease agreement promised joint use, yet Russian officers retained veto power over Indian flight plans.
By 2024, with Russia bogged down in Ukraine, Moscow doubled down on Central Asian primacy. Dushanbe, almost entirely dependent on Russian remittances and security guarantees, complied.
China’s 450-Kilometre Itch
Beijing’s concerns were more visceral. The Wakhan Corridor — China’s razor-thin border with Afghanistan — lies just 450 km from Ayni. An Indian Su-30 orbiting at 40,000 feet could be over Chinese soil in minutes.
Tajikistan, a SCO member beholden to Beijing’s Belt and Road billions, felt the heat. Chinese military delegations visited Dushanbe in 2023, reportedly warning that Indian fighters destabilised the neighbourhood. Tajik President Emomali Rahmon, facing domestic unrest and a $1.2 billion Chinese debt, could not afford to antagonise his largest creditor.
The Afghan Collapse and Strategic Obsolescence
The Taliban’s lightning victory in August 2021 rendered Ayni’s original mission obsolete. India’s five diplomatic missions in Afghanistan were shuttered overnight. The consulates — strategic listening posts that funnelled $3 billion in development aid and trained Afghan commandos — vanished. With no government in Kabul to prop up, no Balochs to support, and no anti-Taliban air bridge to maintain, Ayni became a very expensive parking lot.
Maintenance costs — $5 million annually — were harder to justify when domestic air bases like Chabua or Hindon could reach Central Asia with mid-air refuelling. The IAF’s fleet of 11 C-17s and 12 C-130Js no longer needed a forward operating location 2,000 km from home.
Enter the Taliban Paradox
Here the story takes a deliciously ironic turn. In a twist few would have predicted two decades ago, India’s relationship with the Taliban regime has steadily thawed. While New Delhi hasn’t formally recognised the Taliban government, back-channel diplomacy and quiet intelligence exchanges have become increasingly common.
Since 2022, India has engaged the Taliban in technical talks. Consignments of wheat, medicines and even female teachers have flowed through Chabahar and Attari. In June 2025, a Taliban delegation visited New Delhi — the first since 2021.
Who knows, perhaps the Taliban could offer India a base inside Afghanistan — far closer to Pakistan’s western border than Ayni ever was. For the Taliban, such a move could counterbalance Pakistan’s dominance, while for India, it would represent a bold new form of regional engagement. Importantly, with the Taliban known to be fiercely independent and likely to rule Afghanistan for a very long time, it will be immune to Russian or Chinese pressure tactics.
A permanent IAF detachment in, say, Bagram — once the graveyard of American ambition — would give India real-time intelligence on Pakistan’s nuclear convoys and a launch pad for special forces. The Taliban, eager to balance Islamabad’s influence and fund their emirate, might welcome it. The Afghans fought the British for 100 years, the Russians for 10 and the Americans for 20 years. They will play the long game against Pakistan.
Far-fetched? Perhaps. But in the shifting sands of geopolitics, stranger things have happened. Inshallah!
The Cost-Benefit Ledger
Sunk Costs: $70 million in infrastructure, 20 years of diplomatic capital, and the prestige of India’s first overseas base.
Intangible Gains: Battle-tested evacuation protocols, real-time intelligence on Central Asian terror networks, and a demonstration that India could project power beyond the Himalayas.
Opportunity Costs: The same $70 million could have bought two squadrons of Tejas Mk-1A fighters or a second Project 17A frigate.
Yet money is not the metric. Ayni’s closure signals maturity. India no longer needs a symbolic toehold; it needs agile, deniable access. Drones launched from carriers in the Arabian Sea can loiter over Gwadar longer than any Su-30 from Ayni. Satellites and submarine-launched UAVs have replaced fixed bases.
The Great Game never ends; it merely changes boards.
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