In recent months, India has significantly picked up the pace of its missile development. Long-range ballistic systems, precision-guided weapons, hypersonic missile prototypes, and submarine-launched missiles, these are all moving forward, almost in tandem. What’s unfolding doesn’t look like a defense response to a new threat. It feels like something else: a display. A show of reach. Prestige, not pressure.

India’s missile program has shifted from minimum deterrence to symbols of power and prestige.

Much of this activity is wrapped in language that speaks to technological advancement, but underneath that is something more political. India isn’t just upgrading older systems or responding to a sudden shift in its strategic environment. It’s pushing hard in multiple directions, testing MIRVs, announcing plans for Agni-VI with a 10,000+ km range, and trialing hypersonic missile bodies that are still far from operational but are talked about as symbols of a rising power. These aren’t quiet developments. Each one is followed by coordinated coverage, political statements, and talk of national pride.

This isn’t the India of cautious minimum deterrence from a decade ago. The posture has shifted, and so has the narrative. Missile tests now come bundled with broader messaging—about independence, strength, and self-reliance. The Modi government has found a way to make military modernization not just part of national defense, but part of domestic politics. A missile launch is no longer just a test—it’s a moment. One that fits neatly into the language of nationalism and ambition.

But it’s hard to find a direct military reason for this particular mix of systems. Hypersonic weapons, precision-guided munitions, and intercontinental-range missiles don’t fit within India’s official nuclear doctrine, which still centers on credible minimum deterrence and a no-first-use policy. These new weapons, especially hypersonics and MIRVs, are more compatible with a counterforce mindset, one that suggests the ability to disarm an adversary, or at least threaten to. That’s not what minimum deterrence was supposed to be about.

And then there’s the question of reach. Agni-V was already capable of striking far outside the region. Agni-VI, if reports are accurate, will be able to reach most of the world. Why? No official statement has justified that range. The answer seems less about security and more about parity, matching what other major powers already have. But prestige is a dangerous foundation for a weapons program. When capability is pursued for symbolism, not strategy, the result is often confusion and risk.

New systems like MIRVs and hypersonics don’t align neatly with India’s stated nuclear doctrine.

There’s also something unsettling in the tempo of it all. These developments aren’t happening slowly. In some cases, announcements come before the systems are fully tested or even operational. The momentum feels political, not technical. As if the very act of developing, testing, and publicizing has become more important than the underlying utility of the system itself. This is where prestige begins to overpower doctrine. And when doctrine starts playing catch-up, miscalculation isn’t far behind.

This kind of buildup doesn’t stay invisible. Even if India insists it’s only modernizing or asserting its rightful status, the region watches—and reacts. In an environment with no real arms control frameworks, especially in South Asia, the consequences of perception matter just as much as capability. If India is seen to be moving toward a more flexible or ambiguous posture, others will assume the worst and act accordingly. That’s how arms racing starts. Not necessarily with intent, but with interpretation.

Modi’s approach to defense isn’t purely about strategic logic. It’s also emotional. It’s tied to identity. The military, especially missile development, is increasingly part of the larger political narrative, a resurgent India taking its place on the global stage. That’s a powerful idea domestically. It plays well. But when that story relies on systems that send mixed signals abroad, it creates uncertainty. And uncertainty, when it involves nuclear systems, is the last thing you want.

What we’re seeing is a shift, not just in what India builds, but in why. From security needs to status claims. From doctrinal clarity to technological demonstration. From restraint to signaling. These transitions are subtle, but when layered together, they change how the missile program is perceived both inside and outside the country.

In South Asia’s arms-race-prone environment, prestige-driven signaling magnifies risks of misinterpretation.

None of this means India is preparing for war, or that every test is a provocation. But the overall direction matters. When a country begins to field systems that don’t match its stated doctrine, and does so loudly and publicly, the risk isn’t only technical, it’s political. It changes how others build, how they posture, and how they respond in a crisis. This moment, then, is less about what India can do and more about what it’s trying to say. And as the line between posture and politics gets thinner, the room for misreading gets wider.

Disclaimer: The opinions expressed in this article are solely those of the author. They do not represent the views, beliefs, or policies of the Stratheia.