The republic of the diya

 When a Prime Minister’s Birthday Becomes a Month-Long Government Festival, and “Seva” Becomes the Most Photographed Form of Governance

By Ramphal Katraia

“In the new Republic, a pending file is invisible; a lit diya is evidence.”

“The citizen is asked to save the nation’s oil, fuel, gold and foreign exchange. The State merely asks him to spend his time, money and enthusiasm differently.”

“When governance becomes a celebration, the photograph begins to matter more than the work.”

There was once a time when a Prime Minister’s birthday was simply a birthday. There might be greetings, perhaps a few charitable activities, perhaps a party function, and then the country would return to the much less glamorous business of governing itself. That quaint arrangement now appears to belong to another constitutional era.

The 17th of September has acquired a rather more ambitious destiny. It is no longer merely the birthday of Narendra Modi. It is the opening ceremony of a month-long national spectacle called “Seva Sankalp Abhiyan”, running from 17 September to 17 October and commemorating, among other things, his 25 years in public life. The programme includes blood donation, plantation, cleanliness drives, rallies, public outreach, school competitions, cultural activities, “Seva Mera Yogdan”, “Aangan Milan Seva”, “Seva Jyoti Kalash Yatra” and, naturally, the lighting of the “Aashirwad Ka Diya”.

In Haryana, citizens were specifically urged to light an “Aashirwad Ka Diya” at 7 p.m. on 17 September, while programmes were scheduled across the State until 17 October.

One cannot help admiring the imagination.

The Indian administrative vocabulary has been transformed into a poetic universe. Nothing can simply be called a programme anymore. It must be an Abhiyan. An Abhiyan must contain a Sankalp. The Sankalp must contain a Seva. The Seva must become a Milan, Utsav, Jyoti, Setu or Samarpan. Somewhere a committee is probably already considering whether the next initiative should be called “Sankalp Se Samriddhi: Samagra Seva Samarpan Jan-Jyoti Abhiyan.”

And because the occasion belongs to the Prime Minister, the machinery of the State naturally begins to hum.

Officials are assigned.

Meetings are convened.

Orders are issued.

Districts are instructed.

Photographers are engaged.

Banners appear.

Reports are demanded.

Photographs are uploaded.

WhatsApp groups become active.

And somewhere, in some forgotten corner of a government office, an ordinary file sits quietly on a table wondering whether it too should learn to light a diya.

“The modern file has discovered its greatest enemy: the Prime Minister’s birthday.”

The philosophical difficulty begins here.

There is nothing objectionable about blood donation, plantation, cleanliness, public service or helping the poor. These are worthwhile activities regardless of whose birthday provides the occasion. The question is not whether such activities are good. The question is why the ordinary machinery of government requires a birthday festival to perform them with such extraordinary enthusiasm.

Why must service to the citizen be converted into an annual spectacle?

Why must public administration acquire the grammar of political celebration?

Why must every department suddenly become a stage-management agency?

And why does the calendar of governance seem to become unusually efficient whenever there is a camera?

That last question deserves attention.

India has become a country in which governance increasingly has two lives.

One is the life of the file: slow, invisible, procedural and mostly photographed only when something goes wrong.

The other is the life of the event: colourful, immediate, branded, carefully arranged and photographed from twelve angles.

The first one governs.

The second one communicates that governance is happening.

The second, unfortunately, photographs much better.

The diya is perhaps the perfect symbol of this new administrative philosophy.

The diya is inexpensive, traditional and emotionally powerful. It looks magnificent in photographs. A few thousand flames become an event. A few lakh become a spectacle. And millions become a narrative.

In Odisha alone, the birthday celebrations included 11,000 “Ashirwadara Deepa”, while other States and organisations organised their own lamp-lighting activities.

But there is an amusing little contradiction hiding inside the mustard oil.

Only a few months ago, on 10 May 2026, the Prime Minister appealed to Indians to reduce petroleum consumption, avoid non-essential foreign travel, reduce gold purchases, consume less edible oil and conserve foreign exchange amid the West Asian crisis.

The advice was economically intelligible.

Petrol and diesel consume foreign exchange.

Gold consumes foreign exchange.

Edible-oil imports consume foreign exchange.

Foreign travel consumes foreign exchange.

So the citizen was asked to sacrifice a little for the national economy.

And the citizen, being patriotic, presumably nodded.

Then September arrived.

And suddenly the nation needed lamps.

Many lamps.

More lamps.

Still more lamps.

Perhaps the Ministry of Finance should introduce a new category in the balance of payments:

“Current Account Deficit — excluding birthday diyas.”

“Reduce edible oil, said the nation.
Light the diya, said the celebration.”

There is no need to accuse anyone of hypocrisy. The contradiction is capable of speaking for itself.

The same is true of foreign travel.

The May appeal asked citizens to avoid non-essential foreign travel for a year. The government subsequently announced measures within the Agriculture and Rural Development Ministries to reduce official travel, implement car-pooling and restrict official visits as part of the frugality drive.

Excellent.

That is precisely how public policy should work.

But then the citizen naturally acquires a question of his own:

If austerity is a national virtue, should the State not apply the same standard to every expenditure that exists primarily for symbolism?

If extravagance is acceptable because the event is politically significant, then perhaps the citizen deserves to know what distinguishes “national necessity” from “ceremonial necessity”.

And if the answer is that government expenditure on official events is necessary while private foreign holidays are discretionary, fair enough.

But then say so.

The problem is not the exception.

The problem is pretending that there is no exception.

This is where Indian politics has perfected an extraordinary linguistic technology: renaming contradiction until it becomes policy.

When sugar prices rise, somebody discovers its health benefits.

When imports fall, it is self-reliance.

When imports rise, it is globalisation.

When citizens consume less, it is sacrifice.

When citizens consume more, it is economic growth.

When the government spends, it is development.

When the citizen spends, it is discretionary consumption.

When the State lights lamps, it is cultural participation.

When the citizen buys a foreign product, it is a threat to the rupee.

The vocabulary changes.

The economics remains.

The spectacle grows.

And the citizen is expected to clap.

We have seen this theatre before.

During Covid, the country was asked to stand at balconies and beat thalis and clap in appreciation of health workers. Later, citizens were asked to switch off lights and light diyas, candles and mobile phone flashlights for nine minutes as a symbolic expression of collective resolve. These exercises were explicitly presented as gestures of unity and morale during an extraordinary national crisis.

There is nothing inherently wrong with symbolism.

Nations need symbolism.

People need hope.

Societies need rituals.

But symbolism becomes dangerous only when it starts pretending to be a substitute for administration.

A hospital needs oxygen.

A school needs teachers.

A flood victim needs a house.

A farmer needs income.

A government department needs competent personnel.

A file needs a decision.

None of these things can be solved by the brightness of a diya.

“A candle can illuminate a room. It cannot illuminate a pending government file.”

That is the difference between symbolism and governance.

And perhaps the country should be especially cautious about the growing habit of converting every governmental achievement into a celebration of one individual.

A government is not a private birthday committee.

A Prime Minister is not the State.

The State is the Constitution, Parliament, judiciary, bureaucracy, armed forces, local governments, elected representatives, millions of public servants and, above all, the citizen who pays for it all.

Yet the vocabulary of the present moment increasingly merges the individual, the party, the government and the nation into one enormous celebratory sentence.

The Prime Minister's birthday becomes “Seva Diwas”.

The birthday campaign becomes national outreach.

Government schemes become material for celebration.

Party workers and government machinery appear in the same broad ecosystem of activity.

The line may remain legally visible.

Politically, however, it becomes increasingly difficult for the ordinary citizen to see it.

That is precisely why the question deserves to be asked.

Not as an accusation.

As a constitutional question.

When does public service stop being public service and become political celebration?

And perhaps nowhere is this question more uncomfortable than in the middle of disaster.

While the country prepares month-long celebrations, parts of India have been struggling with floods and other natural calamities. Assam, for example, suffered substantial flood impacts earlier this year, with deaths and large numbers of people affected.

Bihar too has been facing severe flooding.

Floodwater does not understand political calendars.

It does not wait until the Seva Sankalp Abhiyan concludes.

It does not care whether there is a banner.

It does not applaud.

It does not participate in a human chain.

It simply enters the house of a poor family.

That is the cruel difference between disaster management and political spectacle.

One requires boats.

The other requires balloons.

One requires rescue teams.

The other requires stage management.

One requires money to reach the victim.

The other requires money to reach the programme.

And, of course, both require a photograph.

Foreign policy provides its own collection of paradoxes.

India has repeatedly called for dialogue, diplomacy, de-escalation and humanitarian concern in the conflicts of West Asia. At the same time, India has had to balance its relationships with Israel, Iran, the United States, Russia and the Arab world while protecting its energy and economic interests.

This is not an easy task.

Nor should it be reduced to slogans.

But that is precisely why serious diplomacy deserves something more substantial than the politics of spectacle.

The same country that speaks of strategic autonomy must constantly navigate pressure from competing great powers.

The United States has now passed a sanctions-and-tariff measure that gives the President authority to impose tariffs of up to 100 percent on countries making significant purchases of Russian energy. India has warned that the legislation could affect bilateral relations and global energy markets, while affirming that it will protect its trade and energy interests.

That is a serious economic and diplomatic problem.

It affects oil.

It affects exports.

It affects the rupee.

It affects consumers.

It affects India's strategic autonomy.

And yet the political calendar remains occupied by a month-long celebration.

Perhaps that is the real genius of the spectacle.

It gives the public something bright to look at while complicated questions remain complicated.

The United States can threaten tariffs.

Russia can sell oil.

Iran can face sanctions.

Israel and Palestine can remain locked in conflict.

The Strait of Hormuz can remain strategically dangerous.

The rupee can worry economists.

And somewhere in Haryana:

“At 7 PM, all households shall light the Aashirwad Ka Diya.”

There is almost something beautifully Indian about it.

The world burns.

India lights a lamp.

The only question is:

Which one is supposed to illuminate the other?

“When the country has difficult questions, governments often discover the convenience of easy ceremonies.”

There are other contradictions scattered throughout the last twelve years.

Demonetisation was presented in 2016 as a dramatic assault on black money, counterfeit currency and terror financing. Citizens stood in queues for cash. The policy generated enormous disruption, while subsequent assessments and debates complicated the original claims about how much illicit currency would actually disappear.

The slogan was revolutionary.

The queue was ordinary.

The citizen paid the immediate price.

The explanation came later.

Then came the great promise of Minimum Government, Maximum Governance.

India subsequently acquired an astonishing number of campaigns.

Swachh Bharat.

Make in India.

Digital India.

Skill India.

Startup India.

Stand Up India.

Fit India.

Vocal for Local.

Atmanirbhar Bharat.

Viksit Bharat.

And now:

Seva Sankalp.

There is nothing inherently wrong with campaigns. Some have produced real outcomes. Some have created public awareness. Some have mobilised resources that conventional administration might struggle to mobilise.

But a campaign cannot become the permanent substitute for institutions.

A nation cannot be continuously inaugurated.

A government cannot permanently remain in campaign mode.

At some point, somebody has to govern.

At some point, somebody has to answer the file.

At some point, somebody has to repair the school.

At some point, somebody has to recruit the teacher.

At some point, somebody has to clear the hospital queue.

At some point, somebody has to compensate the flood victim.

At some point, somebody has to ask why the department spent three weeks organising an event while its routine work remained pending.

And at some point, the citizen must be permitted to ask the most impolite question of all:

“Who paid for the celebration?”

Not because every rupee spent on a public programme is wasteful.

Not because every government celebration is illegitimate.

But because public money deserves public scrutiny.

Public servants deserve time to perform public service.

And government machinery should primarily serve citizens rather than personalities.

The irony is particularly sharp because the slogan itself is Seva.

Service.

If the objective really is service, then perhaps the finest celebration of a Prime Minister's 25 years in public life would not require a month of ceremonies.

Perhaps it would require a month in which every government department cleared its oldest pending file.

Every district hospital published its waiting list.

Every school reported teacher vacancies.

Every municipality fixed its worst sanitation problem.

Every department disclosed its unused funds.

Every grievance older than thirty days received a decision.

Every flood-affected family received the assistance due to it.

Every government office worked without interruption.

No stage.

No slogan.

No giant portrait.

No ceremonial diya.

Just work.

Imagine the photographs.

There would be very few.

And that may be the problem.

A completed file does not look impressive on television.

A repaired drain has no ribbon-cutting ceremony.

A teacher reporting to school is not particularly cinematic.

A government clerk clearing 300 old files does not produce a spectacular drone shot.

A flood victim receiving compensation cannot be arranged into a perfect stage backdrop.

A working government is almost boring.

A campaigning government is magnificent.

It has music.

It has slogans.

It has colour.

It has flags.

It has hashtags.

It has drone cameras.

It has Sankalp.

It has Samarpan.

It has Seva.

And, naturally—

it has the diya.

So perhaps the real Seva Sankalp should be a slightly different one.

Let the citizen light one diya.

Let the government light another.

But before the second one is lit, let someone ask whether the first one has actually illuminated anything.

Let the Prime Minister's birthday be celebrated if people wish to celebrate it.

Let political parties organise their programmes.

Let supporters express affection and gratitude.

Let citizens participate voluntarily.

But let government remain government.

Let public money remain accountable.

Let bureaucracy remain focused on administration.

Let welfare remain welfare.

Let service remain service.

And let the Republic remember one small constitutional truth:

The government belongs to the people.

Not to a birthday.

Not to a party.

Not to a slogan.

Not to an image.

Not even to the man whose birthday happens to be on 17 September.

The State does not exist to celebrate its rulers.

The State exists to serve its citizens.

And perhaps that is the one Sankalp that requires neither a banner nor a diya.

Only work.

Austerity After Denial: How Political Spectacle, Economic Mismanagement and Crisis Narratives Are Reshaping India’s Fragile Economy

 From Demonetisation to War-Time Appeals: The Political Economy of Anxiety, Nationalism and Burden-Shifting in Contemporary India

- Ramphal Kataria

Abstract

India today stands at a dangerous economic crossroads where geopolitical instability, domestic structural weaknesses, policy shocks, and political spectacle intersect. Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s recent appeal asking citizens to conserve fuel, avoid foreign travel, postpone gold purchases, reduce edible oil consumption, adopt work-from-home practices, and embrace austerity reflects not merely a temporary response to the West Asia crisis, but a deeper admission that the Indian economy is under severe stress. The irony, however, lies in the fact that the same government which repeatedly projected India as the world’s fastest-growing and most resilient major economy is now urging ordinary citizens to alter their lifestyles to save foreign exchange reserves and reduce pressure on the economy.

This essay critically analyses the broader political economy of India since 2014, examining how demonetisation, the Covid-19 lockdown, GST implementation, aggressive privatisation, weakening of public sector institutions, rising unemployment, shrinking consumption, and dependence on imports created a fragile economic structure long before the Iran-Israel-US conflict intensified. It further analyses how political narratives, electoral mobilisation, hyper-nationalism, and media management were repeatedly used to conceal economic distress while structural inequalities widened.

The essay argues that the present austerity appeals disproportionately burden workers, farmers, small traders, goldsmiths, informal labourers, and middle-class households, while large corporate defaulters, speculative capital, and elite consumption remain largely insulated. It explores the contradiction between nationalist rhetoric and economic vulnerability, and questions whether civic discipline alone can rescue an economy weakened by policy shocks and institutional erosion.

Introduction: From “Everything Is Fine” to “Please Conserve Fuel”

For nearly a decade, the Indian public was repeatedly told that the economy was stable, resilient, and on the verge of global dominance. The ruling establishment projected an image of unstoppable economic ascent through carefully choreographed political communication, international summits, infrastructure announcements, and the repeated invocation of India becoming a “five trillion-dollar economy.” Economic criticism was frequently dismissed as pessimism, political propaganda, or anti-national negativity.

Yet the sudden shift in tone after the escalation of the Iran-Israel-US conflict has exposed a stark contradiction between political projection and economic reality. Prime Minister Narendra Modi appealed to citizens to conserve petrol and diesel, avoid foreign travel, postpone gold purchases, reduce edible oil consumption, and even revive work-from-home practices to conserve national resources and foreign exchange reserves. Such appeals are not routine economic advisories; they are signals of stress within the economic structure.

The irony is profound. A government that repeatedly insisted there would be little impact of the West Asia conflict on India is now effectively asking citizens to prepare for austerity. The appeals indicate anxiety over rising crude oil prices, pressure on foreign exchange reserves, weakening of the rupee, inflationary pressures, and the possibility of slowing economic growth.

The larger issue, however, is that the present crisis did not emerge overnight because of the West Asia war. The war merely exposed vulnerabilities that had accumulated over years due to policy shocks, shrinking employment opportunities, declining purchasing power, weakening public institutions, rising inequality, and dependence on imports.

“The West Asia crisis did not break the Indian economy. It merely revealed how fragile it had already become.”

The austerity narrative, therefore, must be examined not as an isolated response to a geopolitical crisis, but as the culmination of years of economic strain concealed beneath political spectacle and nationalist messaging.

The Political Timing of Economic Truth

One of the most striking aspects of the present crisis is the timing of the government’s admission. For months, the political discourse remained dominated by elections, rallies, media campaigns, and claims of economic stability. Even while economists warned about rising crude oil prices, weakening consumption, increasing fiscal stress, and vulnerability to global supply-chain disruptions, the ruling establishment maintained that India remained insulated from external shocks.

The government repeatedly assured the public that fuel supplies were secure, inflation was manageable, and the economy was fundamentally strong. Political campaigns proceeded with enormous expenditure and intensity across several states. Public attention remained focused on electoral arithmetic rather than economic vulnerability.

Then, almost immediately after the conclusion of elections, the language changed dramatically. Citizens were suddenly urged to reduce consumption, avoid imports, save foreign exchange, and embrace restraint in daily life. This sequence has naturally raised questions about whether economic realities were deliberately downplayed during the election season to avoid political damage.

Most democratic countries facing severe economic crises openly addressed their citizens through parliament and national communication. Governments in countries such as United Kingdom, Australia, Germany, France, and Japan publicly acknowledged inflationary challenges, energy shortages, and supply-chain disruptions following global geopolitical instability. Emergency economic plans, parliamentary debates, and transparent policy discussions accompanied these acknowledgements.

In India, however, there appears to have been a deliberate attempt to maintain the perception that “all is well” until electoral necessities had passed. The problem with such political management is that economies cannot be indefinitely sustained through narrative control.

Demonetisation: The Beginning of Structural Economic Disruption

Any honest assessment of India’s present economic fragility must begin with demonetisation, arguably the most disruptive economic decision in independent India’s modern history. On 8 November 2016, the Modi government invalidated ₹500 and ₹1000 currency notes overnight, removing nearly 86 percent of the currency in circulation.

The decision was justified as a revolutionary strike against black money, corruption, counterfeit currency, and terrorism financing. Citizens were told that hidden wealth would be destroyed and the economy would emerge cleaner and stronger. Instead, the move paralysed India’s cash-dependent economy.

India’s economic structure in 2016 relied heavily on cash transactions, especially in agriculture, small trade, transport, construction, informal manufacturing, and daily wage labour. Overnight, economic transactions froze. Farmers struggled to purchase seeds and fertilisers. Small traders lost customers. Labourers were denied wages because employers had no valid cash. Long queues outside banks became symbols of economic confusion and social distress.

The informal sector, which employed the overwhelming majority of India’s workforce, suffered devastating consequences. Small manufacturing clusters in textiles, leather, handicrafts, metal works, and local trade experienced collapse-like conditions. Many enterprises that depended on daily cash rotation never recovered.

“Demonetisation promised to destroy black money but ended up destabilising the foundations of India’s cash-driven economy.”

The tragedy of demonetisation was not merely its immediate economic shock, but the long-term erosion of confidence. A functioning economy depends not only on money but on predictability and institutional trust. Demonetisation signalled that economic rules could change overnight through executive announcement.

The government later celebrated the rise in digital transactions as proof of success. Yet this ignored the deeper reality that millions had been pushed into distress without adequate infrastructure, preparedness, or protection. Informal businesses weakened while large corporations with digital capacity expanded their market dominance.

Former Prime Minister Manmohan Singh described demonetisation as “organised loot and legalised plunder,” warning that it would damage India’s GDP and employment generation. Economists such as Amartya Sen and Raghuram Rajan also expressed concern regarding the economic consequences of abrupt monetary disruption.

The most painful reality is that almost the entire invalidated currency eventually returned to the banking system, exposing the hollowness of the black money argument. But by then, millions of livelihoods had already suffered irreversible damage.

GST and the Burden on Small Enterprises

The implementation of the Goods and Services Tax Council was introduced as a transformational tax reform intended to create a unified national market. In theory, rationalisation of indirect taxation was a necessary reform. However, the execution of GST created enormous difficulties, particularly for small and medium enterprises.

Small traders and businesses that had barely survived demonetisation were suddenly confronted with complex filing requirements, frequent changes in tax rules, digital compliance burdens, delayed refunds, and severe working capital pressures. Large corporations adapted relatively quickly due to better financial and technological resources. Small businesses did not possess such capacity.

Traditional industrial clusters across India experienced significant distress. Textile units in Surat, small manufacturers in Ludhiana, handicraft clusters, transport operators, and local traders repeatedly protested against the compliance-heavy structure of GST. For many small entrepreneurs, the reform did not represent simplification; it represented bureaucratic exhaustion.

The combination of demonetisation followed by GST proved economically disastrous for India’s informal and semi-formal sectors. Many enterprises that survived the currency shock collapsed under tax compliance pressures.

The most concerning aspect was that employment generation weakened sharply during this period. India’s economy increasingly became concentrated in the hands of larger organised entities, while smaller local businesses lost competitiveness.

Covid-19 Lockdown: Economic Shutdown and Humanitarian Trauma

If demonetisation destabilised India’s economic structure, the Covid-19 lockdown shattered its social foundations. India imposed one of the strictest lockdowns in the world with only a few hours’ notice in March 2020. Factories closed overnight, transportation stopped, markets shut down, and millions of workers instantly lost employment.

The most haunting images of the pandemic were not of hospitals or government briefings, but of migrant workers walking hundreds of kilometres back to their villages carrying children, luggage, and despair. Daily wage earners suddenly had no income. Construction workers were abandoned at work sites. Street vendors disappeared from city roads. Small businesses collapsed under prolonged closures.

The lockdown disproportionately affected migrant labourers, domestic workers, artisans, transport workers, restaurant employees, retail traders, and countless informal-sector workers who depended on daily income for survival. While large technology corporations expanded during the pandemic, millions of small and medium enterprises shut permanently.

The economic consequences were devastating. Household savings depleted rapidly. Debt increased. Educational inequality widened due to digital exclusion. Malnutrition concerns rose among poor families. The middle class also faced salary cuts, layoffs, medical expenses, and rising insecurity.

The government highlighted welfare schemes and ration distribution, but these measures could not compensate for the destruction of employment and local economic networks.

“The informal worker cannot work from home, cannot hedge inflation, and cannot survive prolonged economic uncertainty.”

Even years later, many small industries have not recovered from the lockdown shock. The economic trauma of Covid remains embedded within India’s labour market and consumption patterns.

NITI Aayog’s Construction Ban Advisory: A Sign of Deep Economic Anxiety

Perhaps the clearest indication of the seriousness of the present crisis emerged from reports that NITI Aayog advised the Union government to suspend major construction and demolition activities across India for two years due to spiralling costs, rising imports, and supply-chain disruptions caused by the West Asia conflict.

The advisory reportedly included deferment of reconstruction projects involving major ministerial complexes such as Nirman Bhavan, Udyog Bhavan, and Shastri Bhavan. Such a recommendation is extraordinary because construction is one of the largest employment-generating sectors in India.

Construction supports millions of workers:
migrant labourers,
masons,
carpenters,
electricians,
plumbers,
transport operators,
cement suppliers,
steel traders,
and informal daily-wage workers.

A large-scale slowdown or suspension in construction activity would create a severe chain reaction across the economy. The real estate sector, infrastructure projects, urban employment, and ancillary industries would all suffer.

The advisory also reveals that the government fears rising import bills for raw materials and worsening foreign exchange pressures. India’s dependence on imported energy and industrial inputs has created structural vulnerability that becomes highly visible during geopolitical crises.

What makes the situation politically striking is that such alarming recommendations emerged despite repeated official claims that the economy remained strong and resilient. If a two-year construction restraint is being seriously discussed, it indicates that policymakers themselves recognise the depth of the economic challenge.

Privatisation and the Shrinking Role of the Public Sector

The post-2014 economic model increasingly promoted privatisation as a central policy direction. Public sector undertakings, long considered instruments of strategic national development, were gradually opened to disinvestment, strategic sale, or private operational control.

Among the most notable developments was the privatisation of Air India, once a national symbol. Similarly, partial disinvestment of Life Insurance Corporation of India reflected the government’s broader strategy of monetising public assets.

Major airports including Mumbai Airport, Ahmedabad Airport, Lucknow Airport, and others increasingly came under private management.

Critics argued that public assets built over decades through taxpayers’ money were being transferred into concentrated corporate hands. Concerns also emerged regarding labour rights, contractualisation, monopoly formation, and the weakening of public accountability.

Supporters of privatisation argued that private participation improves efficiency and reduces fiscal burdens. However, the central question remains unresolved: can a country with massive unemployment and deep regional inequality rely excessively on privatisation while simultaneously shrinking avenues of stable public-sector employment?

The Work-from-Home Appeal and the Reality of India’s Labour Force

One of the most controversial aspects of the Prime Minister’s austerity appeal was the suggestion that people should revive work-from-home practices to save fuel and reduce economic pressure.

The appeal may appear logical from the perspective of urban corporate offices, but it reveals a profound disconnect from the realities of India’s labour market.

India’s workforce is overwhelmingly informal and physically dependent. Factory workers cannot operate machinery from home. Agricultural labourers cannot cultivate fields online. Construction workers cannot build infrastructure through video meetings. Drivers, delivery workers, sanitation workers, street vendors, domestic workers, artisans, and transport labourers depend on physical mobility for survival.

For millions of Indians, “work from home” is not a practical option but an elite urban privilege.

The appeal unintentionally exposed how policymaking increasingly reflects the worldview of upper urban classes rather than the lived realities of workers and informal labour.

The Gold Economy and Livelihood Destruction

The Prime Minister’s appeal to avoid purchasing gold for one or two years was framed as a patriotic effort to conserve foreign exchange reserves. Economically, India’s gold imports certainly place pressure on the current account deficit during periods of rising global uncertainty.

However, reducing the issue merely to foreign exchange management ignores the social and economic ecosystem surrounding the gold industry.

India’s jewellery sector employs nearly fifty lakh workers directly and indirectly. This includes goldsmiths, polishers, artisans, craftsmen, transport workers, retail jewellers, wedding-sector workers, and small family-run businesses across urban and rural India.

A prolonged decline in gold demand would devastate these livelihoods.

Gold in India is not merely a luxury commodity. For millions of families, especially women in rural and semi-urban households, gold functions as a form of social security and cultural savings. Weddings, festivals, and family traditions are deeply connected with jewellery purchases.

“Austerity imposed on the poor while wealth concentration deepens is not patriotism; it is economic displacement of pain.”

The burden of reduced consumption would therefore fall disproportionately on small artisans and workers rather than wealthy investors.

Nationalism as Economic Management

A recurring feature of recent political discourse has been the transformation of economic sacrifice into nationalist duty. Citizens are asked to consume less, travel less, buy less, and endure inflation in the name of patriotism and national resilience.

Economic hardship is reframed as civic morality.

This political method allows structural economic weaknesses to be converted into narratives of collective sacrifice. However, patriotism cannot substitute institutional planning.

If citizens are asked to sacrifice, questions naturally emerge:
Will political extravagance also reduce?
Will expensive government publicity campaigns stop?
Will elite consumption patterns change?
Will large corporate tax defaulters face aggressive recovery?

Without equitable burden-sharing, austerity risks appearing selective and unjust.

Conclusion: Spectacle Can Win Elections, But Not Rescue an Economy

India today faces a crisis far deeper than temporary inflation or oil-price volatility. The present austerity appeals expose accumulated structural weaknesses that have emerged through years of disruptive policy decisions, shrinking employment generation, weakening purchasing power, and increasing economic concentration.

Demonetisation destabilised the informal economy.
GST burdened small businesses.
The Covid lockdown shattered labour networks and MSMEs.
Privatisation concentrated assets and weakened public employment.
Import dependence increased vulnerability.
Geopolitical conflict merely exposed these weaknesses.

Yet instead of transparent democratic discussion, the public was repeatedly told that the economy remained strong and insulated from global crises.

Now ordinary citizens are being asked to bear the burden through reduced consumption and behavioural restraint.

“An economy cannot be sustained by slogans when purchasing power weakens, employment shrinks and inequality deepens.”

The present moment demands honesty rather than spectacle. Parliament must discuss the crisis openly. Economists, labour representatives, farmers, opposition parties, industry bodies, and state governments must participate in preparing a national response.

History shows that nations overcome crises through transparency, institutional trust, equitable burden-sharing, and structural reform — not through denial and symbolic nationalism.

The challenge before India is not merely economic. It is democratic, moral, and civilisational.

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