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On 23 April, Donald Trump reposted on Truth Social a letter that called India a "hellhole." India's foreign ministry, when its rebuttal came the next day, called the comment "uninformed, inappropriate and in poor taste." The loudest public defence of India did not come from New Delhi, however. It came from Tehran.

The Iranian consulates in Mumbai and Hyderabad fired back within hours, in Hindi and with Maharashtra tourism videos and biryani jokes. One urged Trump to take "a one-way cultural detox" and "Kabhi India aa ke dekho, phir bolna." The other pointed out that "China and India are the cradles of civilisation," adding that "the hellhole is where its war-criminal president threatened to decimate the civilisation in Iran."

That the defence came from Iran, of all places, is not incidental. Indian sentiment toward Tehran has been cool of late, measurable in the careful positioning of New Delhi's response to the Israel-Iran war and in the Indian public mood on social media. Iran has chosen not to let that cooling harden.

It would be tempting to read what followed as one civilisation standing up for another — Persia and Bharat, ancient cultures pushing back against a barbarous West. A gullible reader might. The reading is wrong. This is a hard state running hard information warfare for hard goals — to convert Indian sentiment, while it is cheap and pliable, into something Tehran can spend later. So the warmth is just finesse, not affection.

On a budget that would not fund a single lobbying contract in Washington, Iran has gone where its target audience already is, in a vernacular it hears, and started rebuilding through perception what diplomacy alone was not going to deliver.

The visible surface of that less-friendly campaign, where India is concerned, can be measured.

The 0%er Club

Between 2022 and 2025, one columnist at Bloomberg Opinion published 188 articles about India. Ninety-four per cent of them were classified as negative, five per cent as neutral, one per cent as positive.

The numbers come from the Kutniti Foundation, a Delhi-based monitoring outfit that tracks India-related coverage across 160 publications in 23 countries and grades each article by a simple test: after reading it, is the reader's perception of India better, worse, or unchanged?

Kutniti reserves a designation for journalists who cover a country for years without producing a single positive piece. It calls them the "0%er Club", and by its data the club's Indian chapter is the largest in the world.

The output of a single columnist is not by itself an argument. But the pattern around him builds one that is difficult to overlook.

The Indian economy's transformation, including UPI, GST formalisation, manufacturing expansion, and digital public infrastructure, barely features in the lexicon. Nor does the world's third-largest start-up ecosystem, or the journey to the Moon's south pole.

That the coverage is selective will not surprise anyone who has followed the international press over the past decade. What has not been understood, inside India or out, is that the selectivity is the visible surface of something older, larger, and better-funded than editorial preference alone.

Part of the answer is commercial. The New York Times saw its Indian readership grow 22 per cent across the same period its global readership declined 8 per cent. The BBC's Indian readership grew 173 per cent over that window, nearly five times its global rate. Outrage about India sells extraordinarily well in India, and the readers most invested in the country's image are also the most loyal customers of its foreign critics.

Yet neither explains, singly or together, the scale of the production, the way outlets with no shared editorial line still end up running the same frames, or the correspondence between editorial cycles in the Western financial press and the lobbying calendars of hostile states.

Beneath negative editorial predisposition and commercial incentive sits a third layer. It is the one India has not yet named in doctrine or priced into its budgets — information warfare.

India is losing on every front of that war, as its own Chief of Defence Staff conceded at the Shangri-La Dialogue. General Anil Chauhan told a room full of defence ministers that Indian forces had spent roughly fifteen per cent of their operational bandwidth during Operation Sindoor fighting fake news rather than Pakistanis.

In the sharpest short conflict India had fought since Kargil, close to a full working day of bandwidth was pulled off the military front and onto one for which New Delhi had neither trained nor equipped itself.

The figure carries a shadow number General Chauhan did not state but which everything else in the Indian apparatus confirms, namely that the country runs on zero per cent of a published information-warfare doctrine.

Calling The Thing By Its Name

The Indian state does not know it has a problem, in part because it has been using the wrong word for the thing it is doing. Inside New Delhi, "public diplomacy," "strategic communications" and "information warfare" are deployed interchangeably, most often to mean "the government's press releases, reaching further." None of them means that.

Public diplomacy is, at its core, a listening-and-persuasion practice aimed at foreign publics — advocacy, cultural diplomacy, exchange, international broadcasting. Joseph Nye's soft power is its civil-society cousin, focussed on attraction rather than assertion. But both are persuasion.

Information warfare, on the other hand, is something older and harder. Martin Libicki's 1995 RAND monograph, still the foundational English-language text on the subject, mapped its forms across the spectrum from command-and-control through psychological operations to what he called economic information warfare — information blockade, information imperialism, and the deliberate shaping of what opposing decision-makers believe about markets and counterparties.

States that take it seriously have written the doctrine down.

China codified its framework in the 2003 PLA Political Work Regulations as san zhan, three warfares waged continuously rather than episodically — public-opinion, psychological and legal.

NATO folded psychological operations, public affairs and information operations into a single Allied Joint Doctrine in 2023, built on work at the alliance's Strategic Communications Centre of Excellence in Riga. The United States elevated information to a joint warfighting function the year before.

The machinery of all this, in practice, is subtler than the image it conjures. Nobody is sitting in a war room in New York instructing columnists to write negative stories about India. The instructions, where they exist at all, are indirect and accumulate slowly — a conference invitation here, a research fellowship there, an editorial chair, the well-sourced background briefing, the WhatsApp forward with the interesting data.

Over time, the ecology of a columnist's inputs does the work that direct instruction would have had to — at lower cost and with less traceability. Narratives that would be obvious propaganda under a state signature acquire credibility because they arrive through independent-looking channels. This is the distinction between information warfare and persuasion, and it is the one India has consistently failed to recognise.

And even within the persuasion-and-public-diplomacy lane that India does occupy, the country fields the wrong vocabulary. Bureaucratic briefings once a day in the evening, shaped in the right phrases for fellow bureaucrats, have become the principal medium. By the time the next briefing comes around, an adversary has filed ten more claims, none of them answered.

But herein comes an obvious objection — that all of this is decorative, that what moves the world is markets, militaries and ministries, and the rest is theatre. A decade ago, the objection had defenders. It has none now. Perception is no longer downstream of power; it is increasingly upstream of it.

The digital arena once dismissed as noise has, in the years since, come to set the terms on which markets reprice sovereign debt, foreign ministries calibrate position papers, and electorates decide whether their own state is legitimate.

Look at the present moment if doubt remains. The most powerful state in the world is, in real time, being out-communicated by the most sanctioned one. Donald Trump's Truth Social is a stream of presidential profanity, late-night reposts and one-man insult campaigns aimed at adversaries and allies alike.

Iran's embassies have answered with Persian poetry in London, Twain quotations and Don Quixote illustrations in Moscow, biryani jokes and Maharashtra tourism videos in Hyderabad — locally fluent, culturally tuned, and unbothered. The bigger budget is losing the argument.

Money is necessary, but it is not sufficient. India needs to spend more, and to spend it on the right things. What India lacks is the recognition that the war is on, the doctrine for how to fight it, and the language fit for the medium in which it is fought.

How Serious States Spend

Doctrine has a price tag, and looking at what serious states pay for it is the fastest way to see what India has declined to invest in.

China's external narrative operation runs at an estimated $7 billion to $10 billion a year, a figure associated with David Shambaugh's work in Foreign Affairs. CGTN broadcasts in five languages from more than seventy bureaux across 160 countries. FARA filings show that China Daily paid American newspapers roughly $19 million between 2016 and 2020 for "China Watch" advertorial supplements.

Confucius Institutes, which also serve as influence infrastructure, embedding Beijing's preferred narratives in foreign universities, once exceeded 500 globally. China runs a dedicated diaspora-mobilisation bureaucracy, and Chinese state money funds long-term placements in Western universities, think-tanks and media houses as a matter of routine budgeting.

Israel has gone further still in proportion to its size. Its public-diplomacy spending has risen almost a hundredfold in two decades, from roughly $8 million in 2002 to about $145 million under 2025's "Project 545," with a 2026 proposal closer to $729 million.

Project 545 includes a $6 million contract with a firm run by Donald Trump's 2016 campaign manager Brad Parscale, to deploy content engineered to shape what ChatGPT, Grok and Gemini learn about Israel.

Across the Gulf, the United Arab Emirates has spent more than $154 million on US lobbying since 2016, running through more than two dozen registered vehicles. The Bussola Institute in Brussels, whose board has included a former NATO Secretary-General and a former Spanish prime minister, is only the European outpost of the UAE's efforts.

Saudi Arabia takes a different route, channelling its sovereign wealth through entertainment and media. The Public Investment Fund has put roughly $15 billion into Western media and entertainment, and Riyadh's flagship business channel was built as an Arabic partnership with Bloomberg, giving it a direct line into the same terminal ecosystem that shapes emerging-market capital flows.

The most instructive comparison, though, is with Pakistan.

Around Operation Sindoor, Pakistani lobbying tripled, culminating in a White House reception for Army Chief Asim Munir. An economy one-tenth the size of India's outspends India three to one in the world's most consequential capital.

Even Britain's BBC World Service, after years of cuts, still reaches several hundred million weekly listeners across more than forty languages on roughly £350 million a year. A declining imperial power knows the information layer is something a serious state pays for in real money. India does not.

Doubt Is The Damage

Between October 2024 and March 2026, foreign portfolio investors pulled over ₹3.3 lakh crore out of Indian equities. FPI ownership in NSE-listed companies fell to 16.7 per cent, the lowest since 2010, with Indian retail investors overtaking foreign institutions for the first time in two decades.

Tariffs, Fed cycles, China rebalancing and valuations were all in play, and all crucial. But India grew at 7.4 per cent in real terms across the same window, with tax revenues surging and forex reserves exceeding total external debt. Something in that equation does not add up. The unpriced variable is narrative.

And these narrative attacks, when one sets them side by side, fit a recognisable pattern. The objective is almost never to prove a claim, because proof requires a standard of evidence that rarely exists.

The objective is to seed doubt, because doubt acts on risk-averse decision-makers in ways that evidence-based rebuttals cannot undo. By the time a claim is disproved, the first-mover's narrative has already taken hold, and the damage is done.

An NBER working paper analysing four million Reuters articles confirms the broader pattern — news sentiment is the primary driver of foreign investor behaviour in emerging markets. The authors note that investors "tend to pay little attention to the fundamentals of countries these funds ultimately invest in."

And most of what global fund managers, sovereign wealth analysts and pension boards read about India does not come from the public internet. It comes from Bloomberg and LSEG terminals — the $32,000-a-year subscription platforms used by institutional investors, where news, analysis and bond prices sit on the same screen.

Speaking anonymously to India First Post, a Hong Kong-based India fund manager described how the exclusive content on these terminals paints a heavily distorted picture of India for the people making allocation decisions. Indian-origin analysts who know the ground reality find themselves drowned out in multinational teams that treat the terminal as the final word.

Hindenburg Research demonstrated the template at industrial scale. In January 2023, the short-seller published a report on the Adani Group alleging accounting fraud.

Within three weeks, roughly $150 billion in market capitalisation had been wiped off Adani listings, and Adani Enterprises had cancelled a ₹20,000 crore follow-on public offer. SEBI's subsequent investigation established that Kingdon Capital, trading on an advance copy of the report, had made tens of millions on a kickback arrangement with Hindenburg.

The second wave arrived nearly two years later. A US Department of Justice indictment destroyed another $55 billion of group value in a week, forced Kenya to cancel $2.6 billion in Adani contracts within a day, scuppered a Sri Lankan wind project, and opened a Bangladesh renegotiation, all before any court had adjudicated the charges.

Adani's own 413-page rebuttal wrapped substantive accounting responses in nationalism. Hindenburg neutralised it by conflating the two. The Indian state's institutional reply, as distinct from Adani's corporate one, never came. The episode was handled as a company problem rather than as an economic-information-warfare event with sovereign consequences.

Hindenburg itself wound down in January 2025. But its alumni founded Morpheus Research, which opened its India account in March 2026 with a five-part short on MakeMyTrip endorsed by Hindenburg's Nate Anderson. The model, having proved both legal and lucrative, is now a franchise.

The template travels beyond short-sellers and markets.

A paper by Sabyasachi Das of Ashoka University in July 2023, alleging electoral manipulation in the 2019 Lok Sabha election, was rebutted comprehensively by independent statisticians, and the 2024 general election that followed was, by every independent assessment, clean.

But the allegation had already entered the international press, with a Bloomberg Opinion column in April 2024 questioning the integrity of Indian elections from a position of terminal-fed authority. Volker Türk, the UN High Commissioner for Human Rights, followed with remarks on Indian elections in March 2024, shortly after the Leader of the Opposition's European tour.

In August 2025, a renewed #VoteChori campaign rested on data that Sanjay Kumar of the Centre for the Study of Developing Societies publicly apologised for having misrepresented. None of this required being right. Being first was sufficient.

A similar pattern played out around the 2020–21 farm protests, which internationalised inside seventy-two hours of Rihanna's tweet to 101 million followers, producing Greta Thunberg's "toolkit," the Disha Ravi arrest, and a celebrity counter-mobilisation that came across, from outside, as exactly the kind of manufactured consent its critics had been accusing New Delhi of.

The Network Contagion Research Institute's (NCRI) America Last report found that within the critical first thirty minutes of posting, more than half the retweets on Nick Fuentes' posts came from foreign accounts, with India, Pakistan, Nigeria and Indonesia as the principal footprints, in a pattern highly suggestive of coordination or automation. NCRI's March 2026 follow-up report, From Policy Drift to Purity Grift, mapped the same machinery onto the anti-Indian wave.

The Indian government's formal response was thin. What counter-narrative there was came from Indians and Indian-Americans organising on their own, without cover from New Delhi.

The same machinery also turns inward. International outlets, bots, and impersonator accounts — many pretending to be Indian — amplify caste, language and regional hostilities (North versus South being the standing example), widening the faultlines that already exist and manufacturing those that don't.

Beyond eroding internal cohesion, these have an economic impact. They reinforce a divided-polity risk profile that nudges fund managers elsewhere.

Recent instances include scares about forest cover even as it has risen steadily for twenty years, sustained opposition to the Great Nicobar project, and manufactured scepticism around semiconductor and AI investment. The objective is not to make a policy argument. It is to manufacture internal disaffection that does the stalling for the adversary, at zero adversary cost.

That is peacetime warfare.

Operation Sindoor, in May 2025, showed the full grammar of the attack during actual military conflict. Pakistan's ISPR ran a Three Warfares campaign in miniature, without ever using the term.

Pakistani official handles pushed fake Rafale-shootdown claims, video-game footage repackaged as combat video, AI-generated deepfakes of Modi, Shah and Jaishankar 'apologising' in Urdu, and a doctored clip of Wing Commander Vyomika Singh. Global Times, CGTN and Turkish state media further amplified the material.

In response, India blocked Global Times' X account for disinformation, took down more than a thousand URLs under Section 69A of the IT Act, and withheld thousands of accounts. As improvisation under fire, the response was impressive. As doctrine applied, it was barely anything.

The cost of the asymmetry showed in the lag. Only in August 2025, three months after the conflict, did Air Chief Marshal A.P. Singh confirm that the IAF had downed six Pakistani aircraft, including the longest-ever recorded surface-to-air kill at roughly 300 kilometres. By then the narrative had hardened ninety days earlier, and India failed to dislodge it.

The Slow Burn

Beyond the kinetic and the political, the slowest-burning front of all is the sovereign-ratings saga.

India sat at BBB-, the lowest rung of investment grade, for close to two decades, until S&P's upgrade to BBB in August 2025. Across that window, the economy moved from thirteenth in the world to fifth, GDP grew from $1.2 trillion to $3.7 trillion, and sovereign default history remained zero.

The Economic Survey 2020–21, under Chief Economic Advisor K.V. Subramanian, called the ratings system "noisy, opaque and biased," noting that never in the history of sovereign credit ratings had the fifth-largest economy in the world been held at the lowest investment grade, save in the cases of India and, briefly, China.

Sanjeev Sanyal, member of the Prime Minister's Economic Advisory Council, has argued that India is underrated by at least one to two notches and has pressed for the country to build its own ratings infrastructure. CareEdge Global's 2024 debut, which rated India BBB+, a notch above the Western agencies, is the template for what that infrastructure looks like.

Every basis point India paid in additional borrowing cost across those eighteen years was a tax levied by narrative rather than by fundamentals.

And the same firm that shapes investor sentiment can also, when it chooses, move the pipes through which capital flows. Earlier this year, Bloomberg Index Services deferred India's inclusion in its Global Aggregate Bond Index even though India was already featured in JPMorgan's and FTSE Russell's equivalents. Markets had priced in around $25 billion in passive inflows that never arrived.

No single piece of news coverage moved that much capital. The mechanical decision of an index committee at a firm that also runs the most influential editorial platform in finance did.

A single thread runs through these cases.

The doubt is seeded deliberately, amplified commercially, and never fully dislodged by India's always-late, always-partial reply. The symptoms show up on terminal screens, in sovereign rating reports, in Congressional lobbying, in index downgrades by V-Dem, Freedom House and RSF, in election coverage, and in the reception of every major Indian policy, from CAA to Agniveer to Operation Sindoor, by audiences that had heard the doubt first.

And some of the hostility arrives wearing a smile. Bloomberg's New Economy Forum will hold its 2026 edition in New Delhi this October, with the Prime Minister keynoting. The same masthead responsible for the 188 articles catalogued by Kutniti will, in months, convene global heads of state and chief executives in the Indian capital to celebrate the host nation's economic promise. India does not see the contradiction because it does not have the doctrine that would let it.

When India's political leadership does speak to the information domain, it does so obliquely, in a vocabulary that gestures at the problem without naming it.

External Affairs Minister S. Jaishankar's The India Way (2020) and Why Bharat Matters (2024) circle the territory with references to "stronger cultural identities and more nationalist narratives," to the need to resist "political interference and economic pressures" so that narratives remain "free of prejudice," and to "self-appointed custodians of the world" who "invent their rules, their parameters, pass the judgments and make out as though it is some kind of global exercise."

These are ripostes. They are not, and do not claim to be, a doctrine.

Prime Minister Narendra Modi's 2025 Independence Day address warned about deepfakes and foreign interference in generic terms. National Security Advisor Ajit Doval has spoken of cognitive warfare at Munich and at Sastra, but neither speech has produced a public paper from the National Security Council or its Advisory Board translating the rhetoric into funded, staffed capability.

Jaishankar's own defence, that "the absence of a document does not mean the absence of a framework," may well be true as a matter of internal process. Yet it would not survive any self-respecting Parliamentary committee in Washington, London, Berlin or Tokyo. Thirty-six countries publish a National Security Strategy. India is not one of them.

What stands in for doctrine in the military is little better.

The Joint Doctrine of the Indian Armed Forces 2017, which the Observer Research Foundation at the time called incoherent and poorly edited, contains a single gestural paragraph on information warfare. The classified Joint IW Doctrine of 2010 still nominally serves, though it was drafted before social media existed in the form it is now used against India.

The Army's new Multi-Domain Operations doctrine, released at Mhow in 2024, finally names "cognitive warfare through propaganda and disinformation" as a feature of modern conflict. It is a start, but nine years late, and as an Army document rather than a whole-of-government one.

The civilian apparatus is no better placed. India's machinery for the information domain — the MEA's External Publicity Division, the Press Information Bureau, the Ministry of Information and Broadcasting's output, DD India, ICCR — sits at the public-diplomacy end of the spectrum.

It is a perfectly serviceable apparatus for the war India is not being asked to fight. The Defence Cyber Agency, operational since 2019, handles the electronic and offensive cyber layer. No equivalent exists for the information-warfare layer.

The Ministry of External Affairs' budget stands at around ₹22,000 crore, or 0.41 per cent of the Union Budget, ranking twenty-third among ministries. Parliament's own Standing Committee on External Affairs recommended in 2022 that it be doubled to one per cent. The recommendation has not been acted on.

The IFS 'A' cadre — India's core diplomatic service — numbers around 1,000 officers to represent 1.4 billion people. By contrast, China fields roughly 5,000 in its core foreign service, Japan 7,300, France 6,000, and America over 15,000.

Each of these is larger than India's entire diplomatic service of around 6,000 — support cadres included. India ranks 11th globally with around 194 diplomatic posts; China leads with 274. ICCR runs 38 cultural centres abroad against around 500 Confucius Institutes operating globally at their peak.

Domestically, the thin defensive architecture India did build has been legally contested. The Press Information Bureau's Fact Check Unit, which did real work during Operation Sindoor flagging the video-game footage and the AI-generated Jaishankar deepfake, was stripped of its statutory authority in September 2024 when the Bombay High Court struck down the IT Rules amendment that had given it binding authority over online intermediaries.

Every piece of India's information-warfare apparatus is like this — improvised, under-resourced, legally embattled, and invisible to the public it is meant to defend.

Singapore, for all the difference in scale, offers the sharpest counter-example. A city-state of six million has deployed its Protection from Online Falsehoods and Manipulation Act against a Bloomberg article its ministers considered defamatory, and followed it with a defamation suit in its own courts. Singapore built the institutional muscle to hold a global financial media platform to account. India, with 1.4 billion people and vastly more at stake, has not.

Four Moves

Closing the most embarrassing gaps would require four shifts, and none of them is optional.

First, conceptual. India's political class still considers the information domain as though it were public relations with a longer reach. Serious adversaries treat it as a branch of warfare, with published doctrines, funded institutions and audited outcomes. Until that reframing lands in the Cabinet room, every reform beneath it will amount to a tactical patch on a strategic misdiagnosis.

The CDS's fifteen per cent admission at Shangri-La should be read for what it was, a warning flare. Hindenburg, the DOJ indictment, the Groyper campaign, Morpheus and Sindoor are not aberrations. They are the emerging steady state of great-power competition against an insufficiently defended target, and they will continue regardless of whether India formally recognises them as such.

Second, institutional. India should publish a National Security Strategy and, separately, an Information Warfare Doctrine. The latter would define New Delhi's position on cognitive operations, legal warfare and AI-enabled influence, and set out what is and is not acceptable state practice. What was once framed as an academic gap has become an operational liability.

A tri-services Information Warfare Command, modelled loosely on China's Strategic Support Force, the United Kingdom's 77th Brigade or Israel's Ministry of Strategic Affairs, would give the doctrine an institutional spine. The Defence Cyber Agency's scope is too narrow, and the Army's Mhow conclaves remain too episodic to constitute one.

And a standing financial-narrative rapid-response capability, staffed by financial analysts, lawyers, communicators and data scientists, and operating under pre-agreed protocols between SEBI, the RBI and the Ministry of Finance, would shorten the interval between the next Morpheus-style attack and India's formal reply from weeks to hours.

Fourth, methodological. India should continue building institutional independence from Western rating and ranking regimes. CareEdge Global has shown the way. Equivalent domestic platforms for press-freedom, democracy and governance indices, with transparent methodologies and international credibility, are overdue.

The aim is methodological plurality, openly reasoned, so that V-Dem and RSF downgrades become one reading among several rather than the default answer.

The Right To Be Described

Return, briefly, to the Iranian consulates of April 2026. The biryani jokes were the smaller story. The larger one is that information warfare is already the medium through which everything else about India is judged.

When the fund manager in Hong Kong decides whether India is worth sixteen or twenty per cent of an emerging-markets portfolio, when the ratings committee in New York debates a notch up, when the editorial board in Brussels decides whether Indian democracy is "backsliding," when a US senator's office decides which Indian policy — Manipur or Sindoor or CAA — to question MEA about, they are all acting on what was seeded weeks or years earlier.

India can run the best fiscal policy in the G20, build the cleanest digital public infrastructure in the world, conduct the most disciplined short conflict against a nuclear-armed neighbour in modern history, and still lose the argument over whether it did.

That is no longer a messaging problem. A state that cannot defend its own story in the global mind has ceded a piece of its sovereignty, regardless of how strong its economy or how capable its military becomes.

Sovereignty in the twenty-first century is not only the monopoly on legitimate violence inside one's borders. It is also the right to be described, abroad, by descriptions one has had a hand in shaping. India has been generous with that right for too long. It is time to take it back.

https://swarajyamag.com/ideas/0-positive-the-information-war-against-india-and-why-it-is-being-lost

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