The Shifting Geometry of Power: Where Is South Asia Heading?

In the corridors of Asian geopolitics, alliances are never static; they are perpetually reconfigured by the gravitational pull of trade wars, border conflicts, and great power rivalries. India today finds itself at a juncture that is at once paradoxical and revealing. Five years ago, New Delhi played host to Donald Trump in what was branded as a grand spectacle of U.S.-India friendship. The “Namaste Trump” rally in Ahmedabad in February 2020 was a symbolic demonstration that India and the United States, the world’s two largest democracies, were converging on issues ranging from trade to security. For Prime Minister Narendra Modi, Trump’s embrace was an affirmation that India had cemented its position as a central pillar in Washington’s Indo-Pacific strategy.

But history moves quickly in Asia, and symbols often dissolve into contradictions. Just months after that euphoric rally, India’s soldiers clashed with Chinese troops in the Galwan Valley, marking the most serious confrontation between the two Asian giants in decades. In the immediate aftermath, India banned over 200 Chinese apps, signaled its growing strategic intimacy with the U.S. and the Quad (Quadrilateral Security Dialogue), and prepared itself for a prolonged geopolitical contest with Beijing.

Fast forward to 2025, however, and the landscape looks strikingly different. Washington’s tariff wars under Trump’s second presidency have placed India under pressure, while Pakistan’s defense cooperation with China has forced New Delhi to recalibrate its calculus. What once appeared as a linear trajectory, with India steadily moving closer to Washington while standing firm against China, has now mutated into something far more complex: an uneasy thaw between New Delhi and Beijing, spurred in part by Trump’s coercive economic policies and his administration’s open  embrace of Pakistan.

The question then arises: is this new rapprochement between India and China a tactical pause or a structural shift in Asian geopolitics? And equally, what does it say about the credibility of the United States as a long-term partner for India? To answer these questions, one must trace the arc of U.S.-India-China relations in the past five years and examine the shifting geometry of power that now defines Asia.

The spectacle of “Namaste Trump” in 2020 was not merely a diplomatic gesture; it was an attempt to project a narrative of convergence between two democracies determined to counter China’s rise. The Trump-Modi relation rested on a belief that India would serve as a democratic counterweight to Beijing, complementing Washington’s Indo-Pacific strategy.

Yet even during those celebratory days, cracks were visible. Trump’s obsession with tariffs means his vision of economic nationalism never exempted India. In fact, New Delhi was subject to steep duties, particularly on steel and aluminum, and by 2025, the tariffs had only escalated. India now faces a combined 50 percent tariff on its goods entering the U.S. market, eroding its competitive edge.

Strategically, the United States expected India to fall in line with Washington’s broader geopolitical agenda: reducing dependence on Russian oil, containing China, and strengthening the Quad as a quasi-alliance. But India has always pursued “strategic autonomy”—a doctrine rooted in its non-aligned past and reinforced by its need to hedge between great powers. Modi’s government was not about to surrender its autonomy to Washington’s dictates, particularly when the costs of alignment began to outweigh the benefits.

Here lies the paradox: the very administration that celebrated India as a democratic partner has, through coercive economic measures, weakened the foundations of that partnership. Trump’s tariffs have effectively incentivized India to diversify its partnerships, including with Beijing, thereby undermining the strategic architecture Washington sought to build.

The Galwan Valley clash in June 2020, where 20 Indian soldiers and four Chinese troops were killed, was a watershed moment. For India, it shattered illusions that its northern border could be managed through diplomacy alone. The immediate response was both punitive and symbolic: banning Chinese apps like TikTok, tightening investment rules for Chinese firms, and accelerating military and strategic cooperation with the U.S. and Quad partners.

Yet, while Galwan pushed India closer to Washington in the short term, it also revealed the limits of American partnership. During the crisis, the U.S. offered rhetorical support but refrained from any direct involvement. India, in essence, fought its own battle at the icy heights of Ladakh. For all the talk of a U.S.-India strategic partnership, Galwan reminded New Delhi that the United States would not fight India’s wars.

This realization planted a seed of caution in India’s strategic community. As border tensions simmered, India continued to strengthen its deterrence posture against China. But by late 2023, it was becoming evident that perpetual hostility with Beijing was unsustainable, particularly as Washington’s policies began to impose new economic costs.

If Galwan was the shock, Washington’s embrace of Pakistan in 2025 was the second blow to New Delhi’s strategic confidence in the U.S. Trump not only hosted Pakistan’s Army Chief Asim Munir at the White House twice in one year but also claimed credit for brokering the ceasefire in the brief May war between India and Pakistan.

For India, the event was more than a diplomatic slight; it was a reminder of the enduring American habit of courting Pakistan whenever Washington’s interests dictated. For decades, Indian policymakers had hoped that closer ties with the U.S. would finally dislodge Washington from its historical reliance on Islamabad. Yet here was Trump, reviving the very pattern that India had long resented. The simultaneous imposition of tariffs on Indian goods while refraining from similar measures against China despite Beijing’s massive imports of Russian oil—only deepened the sense of betrayal. If Washington’s policies favored both China and Pakistan at India’s expense, what remained of the so-called “strategic partnership”?

It is in this context that the India-China thaw must be understood. Beginning with a tentative Modi-Xi meeting in Kazan in October 2024, followed by Wang Yi’s visit to New Delhi in mid-2025, the two sides have begun exploring avenues for cooperation. Confidence-building measures, from reopening direct flights to easing pilgrim access to Tibet, are modest but symbolically significant.

Xi Jinping’s metaphor of a “Disturbing Game of Thrones” captures the aspirational dimension of this rapprochement: two civilizational giants dancing rather than dueling. The announcement of an “early harvest” settlement on certain disputed border segments, if realized, could mark the first tangible progress on the border issue in decades.

Yet the rapprochement is not merely the product of goodwill; it is driven by hard geopolitical logic. For India, reducing the number of adversaries is a strategic necessity at a time when Trump’s tariffs and Pakistan’s hostility have created vulnerabilities. For China, easing tensions with India helps prevent New Delhi from being locked firmly into Washington’s anti-China coalition. Both sides, therefore, are playing a pragmatic game: cooperation where possible, competition where inevitable.

The economic dimension of the India-China thaw cannot be overstated. India’s trade deficit with China stood at nearly $100 billion in 2024-25, fueled by surging imports of electronic goods. While this imbalance remains a source of vulnerability, Beijing has signaled a willingness to provide greater market access for Indian goods.

If realized, such concessions could help soften the blow of U.S. tariffs on Indian exports. Access to Chinese markets, smoother cross-border trade, and integration into China-centered supply chains would provide New Delhi with alternatives to overreliance on the U.S. market.

For China, the logic is equally compelling. Winning India over would significantly weaken Washington’s Indo-Pacific strategy. If New Delhi were to adopt a more neutral stance within the Quad or align with Beijing on issues like multilateral reform, climate change, or de-dollarization, it would legitimize China’s push for an alternative global order.

But there are limits to economic convergence. India has been actively seeking to “derisk” its supply chains, diversifying away from overdependence on China. While tariffs may slow this effort, they do not eliminate the strategic imperative behind it. Thus, while trade may lubricate relations, it is unlikely to erase the deeper structural rivalry.

Perhaps the most significant casualty of the India-China thaw is the Quad. Conceived as a flexible framework to counterbalance Beijing, the Quad has thrived on the assumption that India and the U.S. share a common interest in containing China’s rise.

Trump’s second-term policies, however, have undercut this foundation. By pressuring India through tariffs and embracing Pakistan, Washington has weakened the very trust required for the Quad to function effectively. If India moderates its anti-China stance, the Quad risks becoming less a counter-China bloc and more a generic platform for delivering “public goods” like supply chain resilience and climate cooperation. This does not mean the Quad will collapse; its strategic relevance will remain intact in areas like maritime security and emerging technologies. But its edge as a geopolitical counterweight to China will be blunted.

At the heart of these shifts lies India’s doctrine of strategic autonomy. Since the Cold War, India has resisted being tied into formal alliances, preferring instead to partner with multiple powers on specific issues. Successive U.S. administrations understood this, accommodating India’s ties with Moscow and avoiding pressure on oil imports.

Trump, however, is challenging this principle directly. His administration’s demand that India “pick a side” reflects a misunderstanding of New Delhi’s strategic culture. India will not abandon its autonomy, even at the cost of frictions with Washington.

Indeed, the very attempt to coerce India into alignment has produced the opposite effect: a cautious rapprochement with Beijing. This is not capitulation but recalibration, a way of balancing against U.S. pressure while avoiding overdependence on China.

Bangladesh, the world’s second-largest garment exporter, has for years relied on the U.S. market as the backbone of its apparel-driven economy. Faced initially with a crippling 37 percent duty, Dhaka negotiated hard and managed to cut the figure down to 20 percent. At first glance, the reduction looks like a diplomatic success. Yet the reality is more complicated.

Once existing duties are factored in, Bangladesh’s effective tariff rate hovers closer to 36 percent. That means the country’s $40 billion garment industry, which is responsible for more than four million jobs, remains highly vulnerable. Officials claim the outcome preserves competitiveness for key categories like shirts and sweaters, but the broader picture suggests Bangladesh is merely buying time rather than securing lasting relief.

The strategy reflects a defensive crouch: protect the core apparel sector while conceding ground elsewhere. It is a rational move given Dhaka’s dependence on garments for nearly 80 percent of its exports. But it also underlines the fragility of Bangladesh’s negotiating position. Unlike Pakistan, Dhaka could not parlay politics into economics.

If Bangladesh walked away with a partial reprieve, Pakistan emerged with a genuine win. Islamabad successfully lowered its tariff exposure from 29 percent to just 19 percent—an outcome made more striking by its timing. Washington has in recent months openly courted Pakistan, even to the point of announcing a new oil development partnership. Trump himself boasted on social media that Pakistan might one day be exporting energy to India.

The symbolism here matters. By easing trade pressure on Pakistan while tightening the screws on India, Trump is sending a clear message: Islamabad is once again useful in Washington’s broader strategic game. With textiles making up nearly 60 percent of Pakistan’s export earnings, that means much of it is bound for the U.S.—the tariff outcome provides a competitive edge against regional rivals. For Pakistan, it is a reminder that geopolitical favor can still be converted into tangible economic concessions. For India, it is a warning that Washington’s loyalties remain fluid.

For Sri Lanka, still reeling from its 2022 financial collapse, tariff talks were less about winning and more about survival. Initially facing an unmanageable 44 percent rate, Colombo succeeded in reducing the figure to 20 percent. Officials have spun the deal as a triumph of diplomacy, but the reality is grim.

The U.S. is Sri Lanka’s single largest export destination, accounting for more than a quarter of its trade. A 20 percent tariff will inevitably shrink market access, with studies projecting apparel exports could decline by over 12 percent and rubber exports by more than 40 percent. The apparel sector, employing 350,000 workers and supplying major global brands, is particularly at risk.

Moreover, the fine print of Sri Lanka’s deal remains murky. Trump’s executive order tied tariff reductions to the country’s “alignment with U.S. national security priorities.” In practice, the statement implies trade relief is contingent on policy obedience. For a state already dependent on the IMF, the tariffs threaten to shave up to 1.5 percent off GDP and deepen unemployment. The so-called victory looks increasingly like a Faustian bargain: modest breathing space at the cost of strategic autonomy.

Nepal, by contrast, escaped with the lightest blow: a flat 10 percent tariff. Given that U.S. trade accounts for less than Rs40 billion annually, the impact will be modest. But Nepal’s case raises two larger questions. First, uncertainty persists over whether the 2015 Nepal Trade Preference Program, which granted duty-free access to dozens of Nepali products, will continue beyond 2025. If it lapses, even a seemingly low tariff could erode competitiveness in sectors like carpets, pashmina, and handicrafts.

Second, the risk of transshipment looms large. A low tariff regime makes Nepal an attractive backdoor for neighboring exporters looking to circumvent U.S. restrictions. Should such practices proliferate, legitimate Nepali exporters may find themselves penalized by association, undoing the very advantage the country secured.

Taken together, these cases reveal a consistent pattern: tariffs are being deployed not merely as tools of economic management but as levers of strategic influence. Pakistan’s favorable deal reflects Washington’s desire to cultivate Islamabad; Sri Lanka’s painful compromise reveals how economic vulnerability can be exploited for political concessions; Bangladesh’s outcome shows the limitations of negotiating without strategic leverage; and Nepal’s seemingly benign treatment raises questions about hidden risks.

The broader implication is that South Asian states are not simply responding to economic pressures but are caught in a geopolitical chessboard where trade policy doubles as foreign policy. Winners and losers are not determined by market efficiency alone but by the degree of alignment with Washington’s shifting interests.

For South Asia, the lesson is sobering: negotiating tariffs is no longer just about spreadsheets and export categories; it is about how each state positions itself in the evolving balance of power. Those that can convert politics into economic advantage, as Pakistan has done, will fare better than those left playing defense.

The current thaw between India and China should not be mistaken for a fundamental transformation. Rivalry will persist, particularly along the disputed border. Yet what is undeniable is that Trump’s policies have accelerated a realignment in Asia. By coercing India economically and embracing Pakistan, Washington has nudged New Delhi toward a pragmatic rapprochement with Beijing.

For India, the agreement is less about friendship with China than about managing vulnerabilities in a world where the United States no longer appears as reliable as once imagined. For China, it is a tactical outreach aimed at weakening Washington’s Indo-Pacific strategy.

The deeper lesson is that Asian geopolitics cannot be neatly organized into U.S.-led blocs. India will continue to assert its autonomy, leveraging ties with multiple powers, even as it competes with China. “The Disturbing Game of Thrones” may not last forever, but its very possibility underscores a truth that Washington often forgets: in Asia, alliances are not dictated; they are negotiated, hedged, and recalibrated.

Trump may imagine that tariffs and pressure will bring India closer to Washington’s orbit. In reality, they are doing the opposite; that is, driving India into a more fluid, unpredictable space where cooperation with China, however limited, becomes both possible and necessary. The geometry of power in Asia is shifting, and the United States is no longer its sole architect.