'It would be similar to what happened during COVID-19.'
'They are not just losing income, but being pushed into distress.'
From the narrow lanes of New Delhi to factory floors, the war-triggered LPG crisis is reshaping lives, livelihoods and, increasingly, migration patterns -- to the extent that some companies are beginning to incentivise workers to stay on, or return.
Rakesh Yadav, a cab driver, says even basic meals have become expensive.
"A Rs 100 lunch now costs Rs 120. If costs keep rising, I might consider going back to my village."
That calculation has already played out for some.
Gopal, a delivery worker, briefly returned to his hometown as orders dropped and his earnings fell from Rs 1,600 to Rs 450-Rs 500 a day -- a consequence, he says, of restaurants shutting or scaling back due to LPG shortages.
While he has returned to Delhi since, work remains elusive and survival a challenge.
With gig and contractual workers choosing to head back home, businesses, too, find themselves struggling.
Ajay Rao, founder and CEO of logistics firm Emiza, says the company is currently facing a nearly 20 per cent shortfall in humanpower against the projected headcount.
"To manage this, we have initiated several measures, including attendance bonuses, and conducting recruitment camps," he says.
Disruptions in LPG cargo from West Asia are also affecting factory canteens -- a lifeline for contract labourers.
These workers, typically at the lower end of the wage structure, depend on factory canteens for two of their three daily meals.
Any disruption in canteen services could directly affect worker attendance and productivity, a senior automobile industry executive tells Business Standard.
On March 13, the Society of Indian Automobile Manufacturers flagged this issue in a letter to the petroleum and natural gas ministry.
Many of these workers do not have access to domestic LPG connections at home.
Instead, they rely on smaller, informal cylinders of around 4-4.5 kg capacity, refilled by local shopkeepers using standard 14 kg cylinders at fixed per-kg rates.
According to another senior executive, LPG supply to these local refill channels has also been impacted.
With both workplace and household access to cooking fuel under strain, "workers may find it difficult to sustain themselves in industrial clusters", an industry executive warns.
This could lead to reverse migration.
"It would be quite similar to what happened during COVID-19," one executive says, referring to the mass exodus of workers back to their villages.
Such a development could exacerbate labour shortages and disrupt production schedules, particularly in labour-intensive operations where contract workers play a key role on assembly lines.
Worker representatives warn that this is not just a cyclical disruption but a structural vulnerability.
"They are not just losing income, but being pushed into distress," says Nitesh Kumar Das, organising secretary, Gig Workers' Association, pointing to the platform economy’s inability to absorb such shocks.
An official from a caregiving services firm, meanwhile, said over 100 workers in their network, many from Mathura, have returned home due to the LPG shortage in Mumbai.
Living costs have surged, with daily-wage earners unable to afford even basic meals as thali prices rise to Rs 150 to Rs 200.
Mumbai's real estate sector, however, has seen limited impact.
"There are no reports of a mass exodus, as most construction workers at large sites rely on mess facilities," said Parthh K Mehta of Paradigm Realty, adding that developers are taking steps to ensure work continues uninterrupted.
Echoing a similar worry for vendors, Rajesh Kumar, a former member of the National Association of Street Vendors, says that vendors are trying hard to avoid a Covid-like crisis: "They are forced to pay 200 per cent extra for cylinders or shut the stalls."
In Delhi's neighbourhood markets, that possibility is already visible in fragments.
Girendra Pandit of the Town Vending Committee says even within a single zone, a handful of vendors have already left for villages in Bihar, and more may follow.
While fuel costs have shot up, vendors cannot raise prices beyond a point without losing customers — a bread pakora, for instance, cannot sell beyond Rs 20, no matter how high the input cost.
At Bhikaji Cama Place, tea seller Bharat says he is now paying Rs 300 for a 1 kg cylinder that once cost Rs 90, with little meaningful support despite official visits.
For many, however, leaving the city is not an easy option due to family and financial commitments. Others are less anchored.
Salim Ali, another tea seller, has already begun cutting back.
"Earlier, I used two cylinders a week. Now I struggle to get even one," he says, adding that refuelling on a per kg basis is no longer viable as prices have risen three to fourfold. If this continues, I'll have to shut my shop and go back to my hometown."
That sentiment is becoming increasingly common.
Near a Metro station, momo vendor Shubham Kumar says LPG cylinders now seem "like gold". On some days, he does not open his stall at all.
Outside a cluster of offices in Sector 41, Gurugram, one vendor describes a stark divide in his customer base.
Office-goers have largely absorbed higher prices, but daily-wage labourers are cutting back sharply.
He has raised tea prices by 30 per cent and begun rationing fuel, even refusing certain items to non-regular customers.
The numbers underline the shock: "From Rs 860 officially not long ago, and Rs 920 in revised prices, we now have to pay as high as Rs 3,000 in the black market -- and in some cases, even Rs 4,000."
Businesses, he adds, will try staying, "but labourers will leave quicker as their cost of living increases, and eventually one half of my customers will wither away."
In Mukherjee Nagar, one of Delhi's largest student hubs, food insecurity is emerging as a daily concern.
"We have no fixed place for food right now," says a student, who is preparing for a government exam.
While coaching schedules are keeping them put in the city, the ecosystem the students rely on is faltering.
With eateries shutting down or shrinking their menus, they are going wherever the situation is better.
Paying guest accommodations and hostels are also under pressure.
Raghav Garg, owner-operator of NestInn, which houses around 150 students and working professionals, says he has avoided passing on costs to the residents mid-semester.
But that has come at a price. "Earlier, we promised four meals a day -- now it's down to three."
At one point, the shortage of commercial cylinders was so acute that residents had to leave for some days.
On those days, "NestInn managed with limited menus like rice and dal," he says, while experimenting with alternatives such as tandoor-based cooking.
Others, like hospitality operator Nitin Lekhi, have so far managed on existing stock, but are concerned about what may lie ahead.
"Commercial cylinders that used to cost Rs 1,800 now cost Rs 6,000," he says, adding that procurement itself has become a challenge.
At the opposite end of this chain are informal LPG resellers -- a critical but often overlooked link.
Sahil Singh, who sells gas on a per kg basis, says prices are simply a reflection of scarcity.
"We don't fix prices randomly," he explains.
Increasingly, daily-wage workers are buying gas in tiny quantities -- one or two kilos at a time -- just to get through a day or two.
Credit is sometimes extended, but "we are small sellers... we too have limits."
Feature Presentation: Aslam Hunani/Rediff