At the recent SCO Summit, India once again refused to endorse China’s Belt and Road Initiative (BRI). To many, it may have appeared as just another diplomatic gesture. But for India, it was more than that. It was a statement — a reminder that Asia’s future cannot be built on debt and dominance, but must rest on trust, memory, and shared history.
When India says “no” to BRI, it is also reminding the world of something much older. Long before Beijing drew maps of corridors, the Himalayas were alive with trade and pilgrimage. They were not barriers. They were bridges. Ask an old man in Munsiyari — a remote Uttarakhand town bordering China — what he remembers about Tibet. He will tell you about caravans: mules packed with jaggery and cloth climbing the steep trails, returning months later with backs heavy with wool and salt. In the bazaars, people recall how Tibetan traders stayed in stone houses, bringing turquoise, borax, and wool. The air was filled with the smell of roasted barley and butter tea. In return, Kumaoni families sent rice, grains, and jaggery, which sustained Tibetan households through winter.
These were not faceless transactions. They were personal exchanges. Traders tied knots of friendship. Families remembered each other’s festivals. For the people of Kumaon, Tibet was never “foreign.” It was part of their rhythm of life. The same was true elsewhere. In Ladakh, Leh’s market was a bustling crossroads. Pashmina wool arrived from the high plateau, while silk and carpets came from Central Asia. The streets echoed with Persian, Tibetan, Kashmiri, and Hindi. A traveller could walk through Leh and feel the pulse of half of Asia.In Sikkim, the Nathu La pass tied Lhasa to Gangtok and Calcutta. Wool and gold dust travelled south; rice, salt, and cloth went north. Pilgrims joined these caravans as well — Hindus walked to Kailash-Mansarovar, while Buddhists crossed over to Bodh Gaya.
The mountains did not divide; they connected. They carried goods, but also gods. Then came 1962. The border war froze these arteries. Caravans vanished. Families in Almora and Ladakh still speak of the silence that followed. For them, the loss was not only of trade but of kinship. A world they belonged to had shut its doors.
Why India Says No to BRI
Now consider China’s Belt and Road. On paper, it looks ambitious: roads, pipelines, railways, ports, maps filled with arrows. But behind the gloss lie harsh realities. In Sri Lanka, loans for Hambantota Port became a burden. When Colombo could not repay, the port was leased to China for 99 years — an asset turned into a liability. In Pakistan, the China-Pakistan Economic Corridor (CPEC) promised jobs and growth.
But today, Baloch voices speak of exclusion, while Islamabad faces mounting bills it cannot pay. Even in Nepal and Myanmar, governments tread carefully, having seen what debt can do. India’s objections are clear. Sovereignty comes first — BRI cuts through Pakistan-occupied Kashmir, disregarding India’s claims. Transparency matters — Chinese projects are negotiated behind closed doors, sidelining local communities. And development must be sustainable — debt is not growth. So when India rejects BRI, it is not out of stubbornness, but principle. It is the conviction that true connectivity should not come with chains.
India’s Own Corridors India does not oppose connections; it opposes coercion. Its own initiatives show the difference.Take Chabahar in Iran. With Indian support, the port provides Afghanistan and Central Asia with access to the sea. Afghan traders no longer rely solely on Karachi. For them, Chabahar is freedom. Or look at the International North-South Transport Corridor (INSTC). A train from Mumbai can now reach Moscow faster and cheaper via this route than any existing alternative. This is not a dream; goods are already moving along it.
In the Himalayas, small revivals are taking place. Nathu La reopened in 2006 after forty-four years. Pilgrims now travel through Lipulekh to Kailash.
Cross-border railways with Nepal are being built. With Bhutan, India’s hydroelectric projects light up homes. These projects are not flashy. They don’t make global headlines like BRI. But they matter. They are steady. They involve border communities. They respect sovereignty. They are partnerships, not traps.
The SCO is often described as China’s platform. But it is also India’s stage. By rejecting BRI there, India delivers a wider message: Asia does not need one master plan dictated from Beijing. It needs many corridors, shaped by local voices and rooted in history.
Central Asian states are listening. They know the burden of debt. They also remember their historic ties with India. From Bukhara to Banaras, merchants and mystics once crossed paths. Spices and ideas moved alongside caravans. India’s civilisational influence still resonates. The question is: how can India turn memory into policy?
Or look at the International North-South Transport Corridor (INSTC). A train from Mumbai can now reach Moscow faster and cheaper via this route than any existing alternative. This is not a dream; goods are already moving along it.
In the Himalayas, small revivals are taking place. Nathu La reopened in 2006 after forty-four years. Pilgrims now travel through Lipulekh to Kailash. Cross-border railways with Nepal are being built. With Bhutan, India’s hydroelectric projects light up homes. These projects are not flashy. They don’t make global headlines like BRI. But they matter. They are steady. They involve border communities. They respect sovereignty. They are partnerships, not traps.
A Different Imagination for Asia
The SCO is often described as China’s platform. But it is also India’s stage. By rejecting BRI there, India delivers a wider message: Asia does not need one master plan dictated from Beijing. It needs many corridors, shaped by local voices and rooted in history.
Central Asian states are listening. They know the burden of debt. They also remember their historic ties with India. From Bukhara to Banaras, merchants and mystics once crossed paths. Spices and ideas moved alongside caravans. India’s civilisational influence still resonates. The question is: how can India turn memory into policy? The path forward is clear.
First, reopen more border passes for trade-Lipulekh, Shipki La, Nathu La-where caravans can return, this time with trucks and digital networks. Not just pilgrims, but traders too. Border families will benefit, and trust will grow.
Second, scale up regional partnerships. Chabahar should not remain a token project. INSTC must evolve into the backbone of Eurasian trade. Central Asia should see India not as a hesitant participant but as a reliable partner.
Third, invest in soft infrastructure. Highways are important, but so are universities, cultural exchanges, and digital corridors. Connectivity is not just about moving goods-it is about moving people, knowledge, and ideas.
This is how India can stand apart. China’s BRI is about concrete and control. India’s corridors can be about trust and roots. By tying modern projects to ancient trade routes, New Delhi can offer Asia something better. The Himalayas remind us of that. They were never just mountains; they were bridges. Reviving these arteries means restoring that legacy.
So when India says no to BRI, it is not shutting the door. It is opening another. It is stepping forward with an alternative where connectivity means cooperation, not coercion. One where the past inspires the future. One where the trans-Himalayan corridors live again, not as relics, but as routes of renewal.