What he does not know is that hundreds of kilometres upstream, in another state, water has been held back through a dam. For Shyam, the problem is immediate. For governments and political parties, it can become a contentious issue shaping negotiations, inter-state relations and electoral politics.

Who controls the flow of a river when the river is shared by more than one state?

This is at the heart of India’s inter-state water disputes. Upstream states often control dams, reservoirs and barrages, while downstream states depend on the quantity and timing of water released.

The Sone dispute between Bihar and Jharkhand reflected this tension. After nearly 25 years, the two states signed an agreement on 31 August 2026 to divide their share of Sone waters.

But the larger question remains: How should India govern rivers when water is shared across states, but control over its flow is not?

In this edition of Policy Mandala, we explain how India manages inter-state river disputes and explore what a more durable river-basin management framework could look like.

So, why do inter-state water disputes arise?

A river rarely belongs neatly within one state. It may originate in one, receive water from tributaries across several others and flow downstream into another, with its volume changing across seasons.

Along the way, states build dams and barrages to store and divert water for agriculture, cities and industries. But every upstream use can affect what reaches downstream. As states stake competing claims over this shared and finite resource, a basic question emerges: who gets how much water?

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The Constitution anticipated this challenge. Article 262 empowered Parliament to create a special mechanism for adjudicating inter-state river disputes and, where provided by law, exclude ordinary court jurisdiction.

Parliament operationalised this through two laws in 1956. The River Boards Act enabled advisory bodies for coordinated regulation and development of inter-state rivers. The Inter-State River Water Disputes Act created the adjudicatory route: when negotiations fail, the Union may constitute a tribunal to investigate the dispute and issue a binding decision.

Both mechanisms have limitations. No River Board has ever been constituted under the River Boards Act, leaving India without the basin-level coordination architecture the law envisaged. Tribunals have functioned, but remain judicially dominated, with technical experts largely serving as assessors rather than adjudicators.

They have also been slow. The Cauvery Tribunal, for instance, was constituted in 1990 and delivered its final decision only in 2007. India’s problem, therefore, is weak continuous basin management on one side and prolonged adjudication on the other.

So, what should India’s river water management policy look like?

Any framework must begin by recognising that rivers are natural systems, not administrative ones. State boundaries are relatively recent; river basins cut across several political jurisdictions.

River management also cannot simply be about dividing a fixed quantity of water. A basin connects rainfall, tributaries, groundwater, agriculture, cities, industries and ecosystems. Economic, hydrological and environmental considerations therefore need to be managed together.

Water sharing is also inherently political. States have different needs, historical claims and development priorities. Any durable arrangement requires consensus-building and sustained buy-in from basin states.

Finally, rivers are dynamic. Rainfall, demand, land use and climate conditions change. Management must therefore be continuous and adaptive, rather than beginning only after a dispute reaches a tribunal.

We believe an ideal framework for managing India’s inter-state rivers should rest on three layers.

The first should be permanent basin-level management. Major inter-state rivers need institutions for joint planning, reliable data-sharing, infrastructure coordination and management of water, floods, groundwater and ecology. Basin plans should be periodically reviewed as rainfall, demand and land use change.

The Draft River Basin Management Bill, 2018 provides a useful starting point. It proposed basin-level institutions for integrated planning and coordination among states, but was never enacted.

The second layer should be political consensus. Cooperation can create different costs and benefits for different states, making political buy-in essential. The Union could support this through fiscal and financial incentives, linking funding for irrigation, flood management, restoration and water efficiency to participation in agreed basin plans. The aim should be to make cooperation more rewarding than continued contestation.

The third layer should be dispute resolution, with adjudication as a backstop rather than the starting point. The Inter-State River Water Disputes (Amendment) Bill, 2019 offers useful building blocks, including structured negotiation, greater technical participation, common data and a more permanent dispute-resolution mechanism. It too did not become law.

Together, the 2018 and 2019 proposals can form the starting point for a new framework: one focused on basin management, the other on dispute resolution. India now needs to connect the two through continuous management, negotiated cooperation and credible adjudication.

Such a framework would ultimately require Parliamentary legislation. But political consensus must come first. States must see basin cooperation not as surrendering control over water, but as a way to secure more predictable and mutually beneficial outcomes.

An ad hoc approach cannot be India’s long-term answer. Water sits at the intersection of politics, development, livelihoods and ecology, and reconciling competing interests will require sustained negotiation and trust.

The future of inter-state water governance must lie in managing river basins continuously, building political consensus early and using adjudication only when cooperation fails.

For Shyam, this may sound like a distant institutional debate. But ultimately, good river governance is about something immediate: ensuring that decisions taken hundreds of kilometres upstream do not leave those downstream waiting endlessly for water.

Authored by Samridh Joshi, Avdhesh Pathak and Sameer Rao

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The film is based on Lal Bihari, a farmer from Uttar Pradesh declared dead in official records in 1976, who spent 18 years proving that he was alive.

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The story is extreme, but the problem behind it is not.

For the state, a person exists through records. Births and deaths must be registered, and access to inheritance, identity documents, entitlements and public services often depends on those records being correct.

India has made remarkable progress here. In 2024, 99.1% of estimated births and 99.4% of estimated deaths were registered.

As registration approaches universality, the challenge shifts from coverage to reliability: are records accurate, updated and reflected across government databases?

Can India now move from near-universal registration to a civil registration system it can truly trust? And can these records become infrastructure for better governance?

These are the questions we explore in today’s Policy Mandala.

To understand these questions, we first need to understand what this system of records actually is.

But, how accurate is that count?

While a 99% registration rate may sound complete, it does not tell the whole story. An event can still be missed, registered late, or recorded incorrectly. Several states in India recorded 50% or less birth registration within 21 days, showing how national averages can hide gaps.

The gaps become visible when we look deeper. In 2024, 84.2% of registered infant deaths occurred in urban areas and just 15.8% in rural areas. Part of this may reflect rural patients reaching urban hospitals, but the imbalance also raises concerns about weaker registration of infant deaths in rural areas.

So, near-universal registration can coexist with significant blind spots within particular regions, populations and types of events.

And the root of this problem lies in the way the system is structured.

India’s CRS is highly decentralised, with registrations spread across local bodies, Panchayats, health institutions and state systems. This creates uneven standards, weak interoperability and inconsistent data quality. Limited staff, digital capacity and public awareness add to the problem, making the reliability of the national system dependent on thousands of local registration points.

India has standardised its database faster than it has standardised the thousands of local points that produce the data.

The problem is challenging, but there is also a powerful reason to solve it.

Imagine what could happen if a birth or death were not merely recorded, but treated as an administrative event.

When someone dies, the death certificate is often only the beginning. Families must still approach banks, insurers, pension authorities and government departments separately, repeating information the state may already possess.

The consequences of fragmented records can accumulate. As of January 2026, public-sector banks alone had transferred ₹60,518 crore in unclaimed deposits to the RBI’s Depositor Education and Awareness Fund. Another ₹8,974 crore remained unclaimed with insurers. These amounts are certainly not all attributable to deaths, but they illustrate the scale of assets that can become disconnected from their rightful claimants.

Birth creates a similar opportunity in the opposite direction. A registered birth could trigger information about eligible maternal and child benefits, health services or future documentation requirements rather than leaving families to discover each scheme separately.

This is where CRS can become more than a registry. A birth or death could become a trusted trigger through which relevant government systems update themselves.

India has already taken an important step in this direction. The Registration of Births and Deaths (Amendment) Act, 2023 already moves in this direction by creating a national database and enabling CRS data to be shared with systems such as Aadhaar, electoral rolls, ration cards, passports and property records.

The next step should be to move from information sharing on request to carefully designed event-driven administration.

A registered death, for example, could automatically notify relevant public databases that a status change has occurred. Banks, insurers and pension systems could receive a verified death notification under an appropriate legal framework and initiate the next workflow, rather than requiring the family to repeatedly prove the same event.

Importantly, notification should not automatically close accounts, transfer assets or determine heirs. Those decisions require their own legal safeguards and verification.

But such integration will work only if the record at the centre of it can be trusted.

First, CRS needs stronger national institutional ownership. A specialised CRVS mission within the Registrar General of India could set standards, audit data quality and oversee integration across systems.

Second, interoperability must be built through common data definitions, identifiers, APIs and correction protocols so that the same event is interpreted consistently across databases.

Third, local registration capacity must improve. Better software cannot compensate for unreported events, incorrect entries or understaffed local offices.

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Singapore offers a useful illustration of the broader principle. Once a doctor certifies a death electronically, it is automatically registered and the deceased person’s national identity record is invalidated without requiring the family to visit another registration counter. Its digital birth system also connects registration with services such as child benefits.

The lesson is not that India should replicate another country’s system. It is that citizens should not have to carry information from one arm of the state to another when the state already possesses a verified record.

That would mark the real transition from a Civil Registration System to civil registration as governance infrastructure and ensure that people like Lal Bihari or their families do not end up running pillar to post to prove their existence.

Co-Authored by Samridh Joshi & Avdhesh Pathak

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Policy Mandala

#53 One Nation, One Time

You make a UPI payment at your local grocery store at 7:30 PM. Your bank records it at exactly 7:30 PM, while the payment gateway logs it a fraction of a second earlier. Both display Indian Standard Time (IST), yet their timestamps may differ because their clocks are synchronised to different underlying sources…

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a month ago · 6 likes · Policy Mandala | India House

Policy Mandala

#52 The Mining Bargain: Who Owns India’s Minerals?

You return home after a long day, switch on the lights and plug in your phone. The electricity powering your daily life may have begun hundreds of kilometres away, inside a coal mine in Jharkhand, Odisha or Chhattisgarh…

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a month ago · 5 likes · Policy Mandala | India House

Policy Mandala

#50 Is Deregulation 2.0 India's Next Major Economic Reform?

May 2026. One Reddit post, in particular, went viral. Unlike the usual discussions about relationships or workplace woes, it was an entrepreneur recounting his experience of trying to do business in India, and the frustration was hard to miss…

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2 months ago · 6 likes · Policy Mandala | India House

Was the summit a success? Did the dialogue yield anything? Is the declaration consequential or mere wordplay?

The answer often depends on which newspaper one reads. After a major summit, each country finds its preferred victory in the final declaration. One government highlights terrorism. Another point is climate finance. A third celebrates reform of global institutions. The same document produces several stories of success.

For us at India House, this creates a recurring problem. We scan each declaration across fifteen or twenty subjects, looking for what is new, what matters for India and what may lead somewhere. But a mention is not an outcome, and a strong sentence is not necessarily a strong agreement. The most useful decision may sit inside a paragraph that receives no public attention.

It separates the political strength of a statement from the action it enables, divides diplomatic outcomes into four categories and offers a quick first pass for the next declaration. It does not tell us whether a summit succeeded. National interest tells us whether an outcome is desirable and the negotiating context tells us whether it was a gain. The matrix asks a narrower question: what kind of outcome was actually secured?

Two Questions, Four Outcomes

The first question is about signalling strength: how clear and politically significant is the signal? A signal becomes stronger when it is specific, difficult to reverse or stronger than earlier language.

The second is about execution substance: have the parties owned a concrete next step whose completion can later be checked? Substance increases when an action has an owner, institution, budget, deadline or review.

The two can move independently. Governments may speak strongly while retaining considerable freedom. They may also create useful institutions through quiet, technical language.

Routine preserves the status quo while sometimes trying to show intent to move in a direction. Position takes a strong stance but fails to establish actionable agendas. Delivery shows the path to action while remaining short of concreteness. Commitment joins political intent with an executable promise leading to action.

These are categories and do not guarantee progression. A sensitive issue may remain under Position for years. A technical initiative may move directly from Routine to Delivery without becoming a public priority.

The unit being classified is an outcome, not the whole declaration and usually not an isolated word. A single paragraph may recognise a problem, welcome an existing initiative or establish a working group. Those are different diplomatic moves.

The kind of document or the authority behind it is also of importance. A collectively agreed leaders’ declaration carries far more authority as a chair’s summary merely records what some participants said. The framework covers political outcomes in declarations, communiqués and joint statements; legally binding instruments require a separate reading.

Routine: Keeping the Issue Alive

Routine language maintains an accepted position, acknowledges work already underway or permits another round of discussion. Its vocabulary includes notes, acknowledges, recognises the importance of, encourages further discussion and looks forward to.

The 2026 BRICS New Delhi Declaration treats cross-border payments in this manner. It acknowledges the work already done, asks the BRICS Payment Task Force to continue discussions and explicitly respects national priorities and the absence of a one-size-fits-all approach. The issue stays alive but a common payment system does not emerge.

The start-up passage in the declaration is equally instructive. A BRICS Startup Innovation Fund is left for “further consideration” as a “potential mechanism”. That is routine. To claim a new Delivery outcome, we would need to check the wider record.

Keeping an idea inside the consensus can prepare a later advance or prevent an earlier agreement from being diluted. Routine maintains but does not necessarily move.

Position: Drawing a Political Line

Position tells the world where countries will stand publicly. Its vocabulary is stronger: condemns, rejects, reaffirms, underscores or demands. Yet a generic condemnation repeated every year may signal less than a specific formulation that members previously resisted.

The 2026 BRICS declaration condemned the April 2025 terrorist attack in Jammu and Kashmir “in the strongest terms”. It referred to cross-border movement of terrorists, terror financing and safe havens, and rejected double standards in counter-terrorism. BRICS members accepted a public stand on an issue of high political importance to India. But they did not assign national actions or create a new enforcement mechanism. The outcome belongs under Position.

The 2023 G7 Hiroshima communiqué strongly opposed attempts to change the status quo by force or coercion and applied that position specifically to the East and South China Seas. It also reaffirmed the importance of peace and stability across the Taiwan Strait. This was a clear, coordinated political line without a new instrument for enforcing it.

A shared position can matter immediately. Governments can cite it later and question conduct that contradicts it. Repetition can turn contested language into an accepted expectation. Position can change the political cost of future choices.

Delivery: Creating the Route to Action

Delivery is often quieter. Its language may say it establishes, appoints, tasks, adopts a roadmap or requests a report. It creates a route to action; it does not claim the final result.

The clearest test is ownership. Did the parties decide, direct or fund a next step, or merely encourage someone else to act? A request can be specific and verifiable without being owned by the signatories.

The 2026 BRICS declaration records a sub-working group, with terms of reference, for an integrated early-warning system on mass infectious diseases. It also supports a mental-health network, names NIMHANS as coordinator and provides for representatives from every member to govern it jointly. These have the structure of Delivery. But where the text welcomes rather than decides to establish, the wider record must confirm whether BRICS created the mechanism or endorsed earlier work.

Other documents provide cleaner examples. The 2023 G20 New Delhi Declaration agreed to create a Working Group on the Empowerment of Women and indicated that its first meeting would take place during Brazil’s presidency. The 2024 Quad Leaders’ Declaration announced a logistics-network pilot, a ship-observer mission planned for 2025 and an inaugural MAITRI training workshop to be hosted by India.

A working group can fail to meet and a network can remain unfunded. Even so, these clauses move from discussing an issue to owning a vehicle for action.

Commitment: Political Intent backed by an Executable Promise

Commitment combines a politically significant position with an owned and executable next step. Its strongest formulations tell us what will be done, by whom, with what resources, by when and under whose review.

This is usually the least populated quadrant in a large summit. Commitment asks sovereign governments with different interests and domestic constraints to accept responsibility for future action. The larger and more diverse the group, the harder the bargain.

Negotiators preserve discretion through phrases such as “as appropriate”, “on a voluntary basis” or “subject to national circumstances”. These do not always empty a promise of meaning. The question is whether they recognise a national process or allow parties to avoid the action.

The 2026 BRICS declaration is thin in this quadrant. Its mental-health network comes closest, but the lack of a shared budget and timetable keeps it closer to delivery. Every declaration need not fill every box.

Large forums can still make clear commitments. During the global financial crisis, the 2009 G20 London Summit agreed on a $1.1 trillion support programme. It specified resources, instructed finance ministers to implement the decisions and required monitoring and reporting.

The 2024 G7 Apulia communiqué similarly decided to make approximately $50 billion available to Ukraine by leveraging revenues from immobilised Russian sovereign assets. It joined a clear political position with a quantified financial instrument.

These are strong agreements on paper. Their material value still depends on what governments and institutions do afterwards.

The matrix can be applied one outcome at a time.

1. Check the Document Type: Who is the Party or Authority

2. Isolate One Outcome

3. Read the full formulation: Does it create, direct or fund, or merely report?

4. Test the position: Would a potential reversal be diplomatically noticeable?

5. Test the substance : Have the parties owned a verifiable next step?

6. Test the qualifiers: National process or an escape from action?

7. Place the outcome: Routine, Position, Delivery or Commitment

Read the full formulation, not the opening verb. “We commit” may lead only to further exploration. “We welcome” may refer to a funded institution that already exists. If an outcome sits between two quadrants, classify it conservatively. Keep it in the lower quadrant unless the stronger reading is supported by the full text and context.

Then return later. Did the designated body meet? Was money allocated? Was the deadline honoured? Did the next declaration strengthen the language, repeat it or quietly drop it?

What the Matrix Can and Cannot Tell Us

Diplomatic language can create political value immediately: reassuring partners, signalling resolve and shaping later negotiations. But every quadrant records an agreement on paper. Domestic politics, limited capacity, leadership changes and deteriorating relations can alter what follows.

International relations must often be read over decades, not summit cycles. Progress accumulates through repeated language, institutions and negotiations before it becomes visible in the world.

The framework therefore supports two readings. On the day of the summit, ask: What position did the declaration establish, and what did it set in motion? In the years that follow, ask: What became of it?

The distinction is simple. The matrix tells us what kind of agreement was secured. National interest tells us whether it was desirable. Implementation tells us whether it eventually mattered.

A Case Study: Applying the Matrix to the 2026 BRICS New Delhi Declaration

The six outcomes below were selected to show materially different combinations of position strength and execution substance. The 1–5 scores are analytical plotting aids only; the framework itself remains categorical. A score of 3 is used as the visual boundary between low and high on each axis.

What the Matrix Reveals

The most revealing feature of the six-outcome sample is the empty Commitment quadrant. It would be tempting to move the mental-health network into Commitment because its institutional architecture is detailed. But doing so would weaken the framework. The network has a coordinator and a governance structure, yet it has no shared financial commitment, no implementation timetable for the network itself and no measurable obligation to deliver a particular result. The conservative classification is therefore Delivery.

Taken together, the six examples suggest a declaration in which BRICS was capable of taking strong political positions and of creating practical delivery mechanisms, but the two rarely converged into hard, executable political commitments.

This is what frameworks like our matrix reveal and aids. Wordplay may tempt one into believing an action or development may soon follow; a guided analysis actually tells what is likely to follow as an aftermath of a diplomatic gathering.

Source Note

BRICS New Delhi Declaration: Building for Resilience, Innovation, Cooperation and Sustainability, 12 September 2026, Ministry of External Affairs, Government of India.

Authored By: Kumar Subham, CEO and Co-Founder, India House

For a routine transaction, this hardly matters. But in a case of UPI fraud, a cyberattack or a system failure, the precise sequence of events can become critical.

India increasingly runs on systems that depend on accurate timestamps. With nearly 66 crore plus digital transactions taking place every day, even small differences between systems can complicate how events are recorded, verified and reconstructed.

This is the problem behind India’s new “One Nation, One Time” framework.

But hasn’t India already had one standard time for more than a century?

IST, or UTC+5:30, has been India’s civil time since January 1, 1906. The issue is therefore not whether India has a common clock, but whether the clocks inside its digital systems agree precisely with each other.

Historically, different systems have relied on different technologies and timing sources, including foreign satellite systems such as GPS. Two systems could therefore both claim to follow IST while remaining fractionally out of sync.

The new rules seek to create a common reference. At the centre is the CSIR-National Physical Laboratory (NPL), which maintains India’s official time using atomic clocks. These clocks use the stable frequency of atoms to reproduce each second with extraordinary precision.

NPL’s reference can then be distributed through a high-precision network so that banks, telecom systems, government platforms and other institutions synchronise to the same source.

In effect, India wants its critical systems to be able to ask one authoritative source, “What time is it?”, and receive the same answer.

The reform is therefore not really about clocks. It is about creating a common digital standard for interoperability, traceability and trust.

But why create a policy mandate to tie its time standards to a national source?

There is also an interesting strategic reason underlying the move.

As digital infrastructure increasingly relies on satellite-based timing, including GPS, dependence on external systems raises a question of resilience. That concern has become more visible with GPS spoofing and jamming.

The point is not that GPS is inherently insecure. Rather, a country increasingly dependent on precise timing needs a system it can control, verify and rely on domestically.

A natural question comes to mind, does India have the required technological infrastructure to pull this off?

In July 2026, a White Rabbit Technology-based time-distribution network became operational at NPL’s Regional Reference Standard Laboratory in Bengaluru and was tested with institutions including SEBI, the National Stock Exchange and BSNL.

The sequence matters because India is building the infrastructure before making its use mandatory.

The move is right and India has developed the infrastructure to pull it off. But a few key policy questions follow.

Since the mandate requires a move from widely used international standards and systems like the GPS system housed in the US, which parts of critical digital infrastructure should depend on sovereign public infrastructure, and which can safely depend on global commercial or foreign systems?

Systems that are strategic, highly interdependent or too important to fail, such as defence, banking and telecom, make a stronger case for domestic control. India is already moving in this direction through NavIC, stronger domestic data infrastructure, data-localisation requirements in sensitive sectors, and the Digital Personal Data Protection Framework.

The rules are a natural extension of such policy moves.

The second question is about who will bear the cost? One Standard Does Not Mean One Cost

The rules cover government offices, public-sector entities, financial systems, telecom and internet providers, and private businesses where time is used for legal, administrative or commercial records.

For a large bank or stock exchange, synchronising with a national time reference may be relatively straightforward. For a smaller provider or business running on older systems, the same transition could require significant upgrades.

This creates a simple policy trade-off, a common standard can make the system more reliable, but implementing it will not cost everyone the same.

That makes the 180-day transition period more than an administrative deadline. Institutions will need to upgrade systems, test compatibility and establish reliable synchronisation before compliance becomes mandatory.

Effective implementation may therefore require not merely one standard, but risk-based compliance around that standard, with different accuracy, audit and transition requirements depending on the system being regulated.

Ultimately, a national standard is only as strong as its implementation across thousands of institutions.

We are also faced with a wider debate, should every part of India live by the same clock?

India’s single civil time creates a policy trade-off between national administrative simplicity and regional geographic realities. In parts of the Northeast, sunrise and sunset occur much earlier, yet work and school hours still follow IST, reducing effective use of daylight.

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This can increase evening electricity use and affect productivity and well-being. A separate time zone could improve alignment, but would add administrative complexity across government, transport, finance and inter-state coordination.

The new rules do not address this debate but bring attention to the issue again.

Finally, what will change for you?

For most citizens, almost nothing will visibly change. Phones will still display IST, offices will open at the same time, and trains will follow existing schedules.

The change will happen underneath.

While your clocks will continue to display the same time as usual, India’s digital infrastructure would have become more secure, sovereign and reliable than before.

Co-Authored by Avdhesh Pathak & Samridh Joshi

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Coal is extracted, transported to power plants and converted into electricity that travels across states. But while electricity moves, the mine does not. The land, environmental and infrastructure costs remain concentrated where extraction takes place.

This creates a basic contradiction in India’s mineral economy: the resource is found locally, its value is realised nationally, but many costs of extraction are borne by the states and communities where mining takes place.

This raises a fundamental question: who should control mineral resources, who should tax their value, and how should the benefits be shared?

Minerals matter to both the Centre and states, but for different reasons. For the Centre, coal, iron ore, copper, lithium and other minerals are strategic inputs for energy security, manufacturing and growth. For mineral-producing states, mining is a critical source of revenue.

This has long created a federal tension. The Centre has sought greater consistency and predictability in mineral policy, while states have argued for greater autonomy over resources within their territory.

The debate has returned after Parliament recently passed the Mines and Minerals (Development and Regulation) Amendment Act, 2026, which restricts states from imposing certain taxes and levies on mineral rights, with the stated aim of improving fiscal predictability.

In this edition of Policy Mandala, we explore two questions: How can India balance state revenues with national mineral priorities? And can better exploration and extraction expand the mineral economy itself?

The story started with the Mines and Minerals (Development and Regulation) Act, 1957 which created the central framework for mineral development, including mining rights, royalties and extraction rules.

However, the question of how far states could tax mineral resources remained contested for decades.

In 2024, the Supreme Court gave a landmark judgement which stated that royalty paid under the MMDR framework was not a tax and held that states retained the power to tax mineral rights and mineral-bearing land. The judgment therefore shifted the balance towards greater state’s financial independence.

The 2026 amendment seeks to rebalance this equation by placing greater limits on state-level levies on mineral rights and mineral-bearing land, with the stated objective of creating greater predictability and uniformity in the mining sector.

So, how much fiscal autonomy should mineral-producing states have?

Both the Centre and states have strong arguments in this debate.

The Centre’s case is built around predictability. Mining projects require large investments and operate for decades. Companies make decisions based on expected royalties, taxes, auction premiums and regulatory costs. Sudden changes can affect project viability.

The Centre also argues that minerals serve the entire country. Coal powers electricity, iron ore feeds steel production, and critical minerals are becoming important for strategic industries. Higher extraction costs can eventually affect the wider economy.

It also points out that states already receive a large share of mining revenues, with around 90% of public revenues from mining flowing to states through royalties, auction premiums, District Mineral Foundation contributions, GST and other charges.

And thus, for these states, mineral policy is also fiscal policy.

The debate is therefore not only about whether states will continue receiving royalties and auction revenues. It is also about how much control they should have over resources located within their territory, especially when they also bear the local costs of mining through pressure on land, infrastructure and administration.

There is, however, another side to this bargain: mining companies and consumers. If the cost of mining becomes too high, some deposits may no longer be viable and investment could slow down. At the same time, reducing mining costs does not automatically mean cheaper electricity or steel, as prices are shaped by competition and the broader market.

India therefore faces a difficult balance. Greater state autonomy can strengthen local decision-making but may increase uncertainty and costs. Greater national consistency can improve predictability but limit the flexibility of mineral-producing states.

But this debate will continue as long as India is only negotiating how to divide existing mineral wealth.

A more durable solution is to expand the mineral economy itself. More exploration, faster discovery of commercially viable deposits and quicker conversion of resources into operating mines can create additional value for both the Centre and states.

However, India’s mineral regime faces challenges at both ends of this chain. Since 2015, auctions have improved the process of allocating known deposits, but exploration requires a different kind of risk-taking: investing money to find resources that may never be discovered.

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The Exploration Licence regime introduced in 2023 attempted to address this gap, but the incentive remains uncertain. Explorers who discover resources do not automatically receive mining rights; they participate in a later auction and receive a share of the eventual proceeds. Of the 13 Exploration Licence blocks offered in the first Central tranche in 2025, only seven were successfully concluded.

Even after discovery, a deposit must still move through approvals, mine development and production before it generates revenue. State outcomes show the importance of this final stage: in 2025, around 54% of auctioned blocks in Odisha were conversion of resources into producing mines, compared with 29% in Karnataka and 9% in Chhattisgarh.

India’s mineral challenge is therefore not only about who receives revenue. It is also about whether the country can create the conditions to discover, develop and produce more minerals in the first place.

Canada and Australia offer useful lessons. Their provinces and states have greater control over mineral development, while explorers have clearer pathways from discovery to production. India need not replicate these models, but they show that state flexibility, exploration incentives and a strong national mineral market can exist together.

A more balanced mineral framework would therefore require three shifts: predictable national rules with meaningful state flexibility, stronger incentives for exploration, and greater focus on converting discovered resources into producing mines.

India’s mineral challenge cannot be solved only by deciding who receives a larger share of existing revenues. A lasting solution requires protecting the interests of mineral-producing states while creating the conditions to discover and extract more mineral wealth.

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While debates on federalism are unavoidable, the larger question remains whether India can make the mineral pie bigger in the first place.

Co-Authored by: Samridh Joshi & Avdhesh Pathak

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Rakesh works as a carpenter, lives with his family in a rented house and puts aside whatever he can with only one dream, a house of his own. But every few years, his dream moves further away from reality. His savings have grown, but the price of the house he wants to buy has grown faster.

Rakesh’s problem is not unusual. For millions of Delhi residents, buying a home increasingly feels like chasing a moving target.

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Besides market dynamics, underneath Delhi’s housing problem lies a more basic challenge. Delhi can add people, jobs and businesses. However, what it cannot add is land.

Spread across roughly 1,483 sq km, much of Delhi is already built up or committed to settlements, roads, public institutions and environmental uses. Yet around 19,074 hectares has been identified as poolable land.

Recently, Delhi notified the Master Plan for Delhi 2047 (MPD-2047), which sees unlocking this land as an important part of accommodating future growth. And its big bet is an old idea Delhi has struggled with for more than a decade: land pooling.

So, what exactly is land pooling? Can Delhi make it work? And will it really help solve Delhi’s housing woes?

These are the questions we explore in today’s Policy Mandala.

Before we begin, let us understand land pooling with a simple example.

Imagine 100 farmers or landowners owning adjoining pieces of land on Delhi’s periphery. Under traditional land acquisition, the government acquires their land, pays compensation and then plans the area.

Land pooling attempts something different.

Instead of exiting the process, landowners become participants in the future city. Their plots are brought together into a larger planning area. Some land is set aside for roads, parks, schools, utilities and public infrastructure. The remaining land is reorganised and returned as smaller, but developable, urban plots.

The bet is simple: you may get less land back, but the land you get back should be worth much more.

For the government, this reduces dependence on expensive acquisition. Landowners participate in the increase in land value, while private developers gain access to planned, developable land.

The idea looks good. But has it worked in Delhi before?

Land pooling entered Delhi’s planning framework in 2013 and was significantly revised in 2018. Yet willingness has been registered for only around 6,930 hectares, or 36% of the identified poolable land, without development at a comparable scale.

The problem was not necessarily the idea. It was the mechanism.

Under the earlier framework, development could proceed only after at least 70% of contiguous developable land in a sector had been pooled. Landowners also had to organise themselves into consortiums.

Suppose 72 out of 100 owners agree. Technically, the threshold has been crossed. But their plots may not sit next to each other. One plot may have several owners, only some of whom agree. Another may be disputed or encroached upon.

The result is a classic policy problem: the incentive makes sense for each landowner individually, while the system still fails collectively.

So, what does MPD-2047 do differently?

The new framework changes who solves the coordination problem.

Landowners with sufficiently large contiguous holdings can approach DDA directly, reducing dependence on large self-organised consortiums. More significantly, MPD-2047 introduces Town Planning Schemes (TPS) as an alternative route.

Under TPS, DDA can identify an area, prepare the planning framework, reserve land for roads and public infrastructure and reconstitute the remaining plots. Once an area is notified, participation can also be made mandatory, reducing the ability of a few holdout landowners to stall development.

In simple terms, Delhi is moving from landowners coordinate first and planning follows towards planning framework first and land is reorganised within it.

This may reduce holdouts, but it can create property-rights disputes, litigation and landowner distrust if plot reconstitution, infrastructure commitments or the distribution of gains is perceived as unfair.

Which raises the larger question: Has land pooling actually worked elsewhere in India?

Gujarat had experimented with Town Planning Schemes for decades, but implementation remained slow because authorities often had to wait before taking possession of land required for roads and infrastructure.

In 1999, Gujarat changed the mechanism, allowing authorities to take possession of land needed for roads and public purposes once the draft scheme was approved. This allowed infrastructure and land readjustment to move together. Over time, Town Planning Schemes became an important instrument through which Ahmedabad expanded its road network and brought peripheral land into planned urban development.

Around 29,000 farmers pooled more than 34,000 acres for Andhra Pradesh’s proposed capital in return for smaller serviced residential and commercial plots, annuities and other benefits.

It showed that landowners can part with land at enormous scale when they believe the developed plots returned to them will eventually be worth substantially more. But the project slowdown between 2019 and 2024 delayed infrastructure and weakened that confidence.

Together, Ahmedabad and Amaravati explain why land pooling succeeds or fails.

The government must be able to overcome coordination and holdout problems. Landowners must trust that the land returned to them will actually gain value. And that value materialises only when roads, water, sewerage and other infrastructure arrive.

Delhi appears to have redesigned the first part of this equation. The harder test is whether it can deliver the second.

Because even successful pooling solves only the land-assembly problem.

Land records remain complicated. Multiple ownership, inheritance disputes, encroachments and contested titles do not disappear because a Town Planning Scheme has been notified.

Infrastructure must then follow. A reconstituted plot becomes valuable only when connected to roads, drainage, water, sewerage, power and transport.

Private-sector economics matter too. Developers will build only when expected returns justify land costs, infrastructure charges, finance and regulatory risk.

And then comes perhaps the least visible problem: who delivers the neighbourhood once DDA reorganises the land?

A new sector may require DDA to plan it, revenue authorities to resolve ownership, Delhi Government agencies and utilities to provide infrastructure, MCD to deliver municipal services and private developers to build.

Land pooling may therefore solve the problem of fragmented land while leaving Delhi with the problem of fragmented government.

And even if all this works, one distinction matters.

Unlocking land is not the same as making housing affordable.

Delhi may successfully convert thousands of hectares into developable urban land and still see developers build homes that Rakesh cannot afford. Housing prices will ultimately depend on land values, infrastructure costs, financing, density, location, demand and what the market finds profitable to build.

MPD-2047 may therefore have found a better way to assemble Delhi’s land. But assembling land is only the first step towards creating a neighbourhood, and creating a neighbourhood is still only the first step towards making a home affordable.

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So, will land pooling make a difference to Rakesh?

We do not need to wait until 2047 to find out.

Watch five things: land converted into serviced development, time taken to reconstitute titles, infrastructure delivered alongside development, homes completed and occupied, and connectivity of new neighbourhoods to jobs and mass transit.

For planners, success may eventually be measured in hectares pooled and floor area created.

For Rakesh, the test is much simpler.

After years of saving for a home in Delhi, does the city finally begin to make room for him?

Co-Authored by : Samridh Joshi & Avdhesh Pathak

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Policy Mandala

#50 Is Deregulation 2.0 India's Next Major Economic Reform?

May 2026. One Reddit post, in particular, went viral. Unlike the usual discussions about relationships or workplace woes, it was an entrepreneur recounting his experience of trying to do business in India, and the frustration was hard to miss…

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2 months ago · 6 likes · Policy Mandala | India House

Policy Mandala

#49 Beyond Paper Leaks

Kahaan Patel was merely 17 years old on the day he jumped out of his six-story residential building. In his room, his laptop remained open, books and markers covered his desk, and a trophy stood nearby, along with an eerie silence…

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2 months ago · 8 likes · Policy Mandala | India House

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He wrote about endless documentation for GST, bank accounts, import-export registrations and customs clearances. Every shipment brought more paperwork, delays and repeated interactions with officials, often accompanied, he alleged, by harassment and corruption. The pain was unmistakable. Eventually, despite higher operating costs abroad, he shifted his business from Gujarat to New York.

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The episode captured an uncomfortable paradox. India wants entrepreneurs to build, invest and create jobs, yet dealing with the state can remain costly and unpredictable. When businesses spend more time complying than building, growth silently suffers.

To address this challenge, the Union Government has recently initiated what the Economic Survey refers to as the second phase of its comprehensive deregulation drive, popularly termed “Deregulation 2.0.” Though not an official designation, the term captures the next stage of reforms aimed at reducing regulatory barriers and improving ease of doing business. Led by Cabinet Secretary T. V. Somanathan, the exercise focuses on 28 priority areas across seven sectors, including land, labour, education, environment, building regulations and utilities.

So, does Deregulation 2.0 genuinely go beyond its predecessor? And can it transform the regulatory state itself, rather than become just another regulatory cleanup exercise?

As India marks its 80th Independence Day, this is the question we explore in today’s Policy Mandala.

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To answer that, we need to understand how India reached here.

For decades after Independence, businesses operated under the Licence Raj, requiring permissions to start, expand or invest. The 1991 reforms dismantled much of industrial licensing, but approvals, inspections and compliances across multiple authorities persisted.

Later reforms tackled parts of this burden. GST simplified indirect taxation, while the Jan Vishwas Act de-criminalised several minor business offences.

The first phase of the deregulation exercise launched in 2025, named Deregulation 1.0, then targeted specific compliance bottlenecks across states. By January 2026, 76% of its reforms had been implemented, with another 10% underway.

That is substantial progress. Yet regulatory friction persists because removing individual compliances does not automatically remove friction embedded in government processes.

This is where Deregulation 2.0 seeks to go further. While its predecessor focused on identified bottlenecks, 2.0 points towards a broader shift in how the government regulates: greater use of trust-based systems, fewer repetitive approvals, stronger coordination across departments, periodic review of rules and better state capacity.

The deeper challenge, therefore, is not just to remove regulations, but to build a state that continuously regulates better. But how exactly does it plan to do so?

Three things stand out. First, Deregulation 2.0 recognises the fact that regulations not only constrain businesses and the economy but also have a real impact on the daily lives of citizens. Thus, it expands beyond traditional business regulation into sectors such as education and healthcare, which were largely absent from the first round.

Second, the 28 priority items have some potent tools for wider systemic change. For instance, Deregulation 2.0 proposes, for the first time, a repository of all state Acts, Rules, Regulations and Government Orders, followed by a principle-based review. This can help identify outdated, overlapping and contradictory requirements, while bringing greater coherence between deregulation efforts at the Centre and in the states.

And finally, it flips the regulatory philosophy on its head. Two proposed moves towards self-declaration and protection from inspections for MSMEs, alongside a “permitted until prohibited” approach in land-use and construction, signal a shift from permission-first regulation towards more trust-based models, for instance self-attestation.

But can Deregulation 2.0 translate this philosophy into practice?

Deregulation 2.0 gets a few things correct; the philosophy is sound, the sectors are wide-ranging, and several of the proposed tools can enable deeper reform. What remains uncertain, however, is whether the institutional infrastructure exists to implement them consistently.

The first challenge is federal alignment. Under Deregulation 1.0, all 12 top-performing states were NDA-ruled, while politically adversarial West Bengal and Delhi were near the bottom. Yet results of deregulation in states like Telangana shows that political differences need not prevent reform where administrative intent exists. The lesson is simple: since many approvals and inspections sit with states and local bodies, deregulation requires Centre-state cooperation even amid political differences.

The second challenge is hidden regulation. Regulation does not always come in recognisable forms but may be hidden deep inside seemingly usual processes. Some of India’s largest business frictions also sit outside the conventional definition of regulation.

Such regulations can also sometimes border on the absurd. Until recently, opening a restaurant in Delhi could require an Eating House Licence from the police, alongside approvals from municipal, fire and food-safety authorities. In 2025, the requirement was finally scrapped after the government itself acknowledged the overlap.

The third challenge is regulatory accumulation. Crises routinely produce new rules and reporting requirements, while older ones are rarely revisited. Periodic regulatory reviews and sunset clauses can prevent today’s legitimate safeguard from becoming tomorrow’s unnecessary compliance. Without them, Deregulation 2.0 risks becoming another one-time cleanup.

So, what should India’s version of Deregulation 2.0 look like? While not enough information is available about the precise details of the exercise, here is our wishlist.

First, simplify before digitising. Remove unnecessary permissions, move low-risk activities towards self-certification and digitise only what genuinely needs to remain.

Second, follow the business journey. Map processes end-to-end, identify repeated documents, stalled files and overlapping inspections, and fix these nuts-and-bolts bottlenecks rather than counting only regulations repealed.

Third, institutionalise deregulation. Periodic regulatory reviews and sunset clauses should ensure obsolete rules do not quietly accumulate again.

Finally, take the bull by the horns. Bring harder structural bottlenecks such as contract enforcement, customs and tax administration within the reform conversation.

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The entrepreneur who moved from Gujarat to New York did not leave because India lacked opportunity. He left because accessing that opportunity became too difficult.

That will be the real test of Deregulation 2.0: whether entrepreneurs experience the state not as another obstacle to navigate, but as an institution that enables them to build for Bharat. At Policy Mandala, we will continue tracking whether that shift actually takes place.

Co-Authored by Samridh Joshi and Avdhesh Pathak

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Kahaan had appeared for NEET and was preparing for the rescheduled examination after the paper got leaked. And he was not alone. In the weeks following the leak and uncertainty surrounding the re-examination, media reports documented 21 student suicides.

A paper leak may look like a mere administrative failure. But for a student, it can make years of effort feel suddenly meaningless.

Since 2015, paper leaks have accounted for nearly 70% of documented examination fraud cases, up from about 32% before 2015. The consequences extend far beyond cancelled examinations, to public mistrust and psychological damage to millions of young minds.

But can tougher punishments and fear of punitive action solve the problem? Or do we need deeper systemic and institutional reforms? With the futures of crores of students each year at stake, we chose to explore these questions in today’s Policy Mandala.

Paper leaks are not new. From the Vyapam scam and the 2015 AIPMT leak to NEET-UG and UGC-NET in 2024, major examinations have repeatedly been compromised. Despite differences in scale, these cases point to common recurring weaknesses in India’s examination system.

But something has changed that makes today’s exams even more vulnerable.

Earlier, examination fraud was largely confined to the examination hall and a select few with the means to take advantage. Today, a single photograph of a question paper can spread to thousands before the first student enters the room.

The law today responds to this new reality by criminalising organised cheating, paper leaks and the unauthorised disclosure of examination material. The recent amendment is on the same line as it increases penalties, creates a Special Task Force, and sets tighter timelines for investigation and trial through fast-track courts.

But do punitive measures such as the new amendment actually work?

While punishments do create a certain sense of fear in the minds of those behind the leaks, deterrence does not depend only on harsher punishment. This is evident from the fact that even after the 2024 Act criminalised examination fraud, at least five widely reported paper-leak episodes surfaced across national, state-board and university examinations, including NEET-UG 2026.

Deterrence also depends on the certainty of detection and delivery of justice.

In many paper-leak cases, investigators catch local intermediaries, while the masterminds and sometimes even institutional insiders remain beyond the reach of law enforcement.

Stronger punishment alone cannot compensate for weak detection. Even when those behind a leak are identified, investigations and trials often drag on for years, while accused individuals secure bail long before the case reaches a conclusion. That is why the amendments also try to rely on designated courts to deliver faster trials.

But can faster courts compensate for weak investigations?

India’s own experience suggests otherwise. Fast-track courts under the Nirbhaya reforms and the POCSO framework continue to struggle with vacancies and case backlogs. As of August 2025, the average trial duration in POCSO Fast Track Special Courts ranged from 257 days in Andhra Pradesh to 1,717 days in Delhi.

The timing of these amendments suggests the changes were as much a political response to restore public confidence as a governance reform. Although this becomes necessary to restore public trust in the system, political responsiveness is no alternative for structural reform.

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So how do we move beyond punishment after a leak and towards a policy for securing the examination system itself?

First, secure the full examination supply chain.

A paper is exposed at each stage from question-setting and printing to transportation, storage and final conduct. A breach at any stage can compromise the entire process.

At the question-setting stage, paper setters should undergo rigorous vetting, disclose conflicts of interest and work through secure, access-controlled systems. JEE Advanced offers one useful example, with papers prepared under tightly controlled institutional processes led by senior IIT faculty.

Printing should then be limited to accredited, high-security presses with strict access logs, surveillance and clear chain-of-custody protocols. UPSC’s confidential printing arrangements, including printing across secure government facilities, offer one possible model.

Finally, distribution must be protected through secure storage, GPS-enabled transport, encrypted audit trails, time-locked access and round-the-clock surveillance. UPSC’s use of district administration for monitoring transportation and storage could inform wider examination reform.

Second, rebuild institutional capacity.

Over-centralisation and under-staffing of the examination ecosystem have taken a toll on the process. National Testing Authority (NTA), the designated body for conducting national examinations such as the NEET and JEE Mains, does not have any regional or state offices. Instead, reliance is placed on local coordinators, examination centres, government institutions and external service providers.

Even more strikingly, only about one in nine people working for NTA is a regular official, while everyone else is either contractual or outsourced. Today, the institution has only 24 permanent employees who manage examinations for more than 10 lakh students across the country.

Overhauling NTA, capacity augmentation through regional nodal offices and creation of a well-trained cadre for the examination system is hence a top policy priority. This also aids in accountability when things go wrong.

Unlike UPSC, which is a constitutional body, the NTA remains a society under executive regulation of the central government. Statutory recognition through a dedicated law could define its powers, governance structure, staffing norms, audit obligations and accountability for vendors and examination centres.

Third, protect the examinee.

When a paper leak cancels an examination, students lose fees, travel expenses, time and months of preparation, yet receive little beyond a new examination date.

Equally important is restoring trust through annual examination calendars, greater decentralisation and stronger institutional capacity, not just harsher punishment.

India now faces a clear choice. It can continue responding to every leak with arrests, cancellations and tougher penalties, or it can redesign the institutions and processes that allow leaks to happen in the first place.

Whether we will do justice to innocent lives lost like Kahaan remains to be seen, and we will keep tracking policy development in this field for you at Policy Mandala.

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Co-Authored by: Samridh Joshi and Avdhesh Pathak

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Yet behind each of these actions, rows of servers process information, cooling systems run continuously, and vast amounts of electricity and water keep the digital world moving. What feels invisible on our screens depends on very real physical infrastructure: massive facilities called data centres.

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Put simply, a data centre houses the servers and computing systems needed to store, process and transmit digital information. These critical engines of today’s digital world require enormous investment, uninterrupted power and substantial resources to build and operate.

Data centres are increasingly central to a nation’s digital sovereignty, ensuring that critical data can be stored securely within its borders. They also attract investment, create high-skilled employment and provide the computing capacity required for artificial intelligence, cloud platforms and digital innovation.

Gujarat’s ambitions, therefore, matter not only for the state’s economy but also for India’s larger digital aspirations.

So, how is India’s data-centre policy ecosystem taking shape? What distinguishes Gujarat’s approach from those of other states? And can the policy translate its ambitious targets into the infrastructure required to make Gujarat India’s data-centre capital? These are the questions we explore in today’s Policy Mandala.

To begin, let us briefly trace how data centres emerged in India and why they have received growing policy attention in recent years.

As digital payments, cloud services and artificial intelligence expanded, so did the need to store and process critical data within India. The Union Government responded by proposing a Data Centre Parks Policy in the 2020–21 Budget and releasing a draft national policy later that year.

Other states soon followed, with Uttar Pradesh, West Bengal, Andhra Pradesh and Rajasthan introducing dedicated data-centre policies. Gujarat is the latest to join this growing policy race.

The momentum is visible in the numbers. India’s operational data-centre capacity has more than tripled over the past five years, while investors have committed nearly US$32 billion to new projects in just the last two. What was once a niche infrastructure sector is now becoming one of the fastest-growing pillars of India’s digital economy.

So, what is Gujarat’s new policy and how does it compare to other states?

Gujarat’s new policy aims to attract investment by offering a ₹1 per unit power subsidy, electricity-duty reimbursement, SGST support, stamp-duty exemptions and relaxed building norms. This is similar to other states. But the scale and duration of incentives stand out.

For instance, Uttar Pradesh exempts data centres from electricity duty for ten years, while Rajasthan provides a seven-year exemption. Gujarat extends electricity-duty reimbursement to twenty years and also offers a ₹1 per unit power subsidy for the same period. Projects in Dholera can additionally receive a capital subsidy of 2.5% of eligible fixed investment.

The support is also highly selective. Only projects of 150 MW or more are eligible, while all qualifying projects must source at least 51% of their core electricity use from renewable energy.

Taken together, Gujarat’s policy is more selective and ambitious than most of its peers. It offers unusually long-term support, but directs it towards a small number of very large projects with clear renewable-energy conditions.

But the larger questions remain: Can the policy translate its ideas into action, and is Gujarat ready to support data centres at this scale? Three tests stand out.

The first is the return on incentives. Gujarat has offered long-term subsidies and tax relief which continue for two decades. The incentive quantum is also high. But the policy does not explain how it will measure whether these incentives generate enough investment, jobs and wider economic value.

The second test is water readiness. Large data centres require substantial and reliable water supplies for cooling. Gujarat’s support for captive desalination plants is an innovative response, but it also reveals that water availability may become a serious constraint as hyperscale projects expand, particularly in Dholera.

The third, and most important, is power. The policy requires 51% renewable energy, but does not explain how the enormous power demand associated with 7.5 GW of data-centre capacity will be matched by new generation, storage and transmission infrastructure.

In short, Gujarat has clearly laid out how it will attract data centres. It is less clear on how the infrastructure needed to sustain them will grow at the same pace.

So, what happens next?

Gujarat needs a clear implementation plan for managing the sector’s water and energy demands. Large parts of the state are drought-prone, making it important to clarify and plan how a mix of freshwater, recycled water and desalination will support future data centres.

The policy also needs measurable outcomes. Although it provides for annual review, it does not define clear indicators. Gujarat could track investment realised, operational capacity, jobs, renewable-energy use and water consumption, and link continued incentives to verified performance.

The European Union offers one useful example: data centres report common indicators covering total energy use, renewable power, cooling efficiency and water consumption, creating an evidence base for future policy decisions. Gujarat could build a similar monitoring framework and link continued incentives to verified performance. This could also be implemented at the national level.

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For Gujarat, the early signals are encouraging. Reliance Industries’ partnership with Meta for an AI-enabled data centre in Jamnagar suggests that investor interest is already translating into major project announcements.

Investment has begun to flow. The real test now is whether Gujarat can convert these announcements into operational capacity supported by reliable power, sustainable water use and effective implementation. And we will be tracking and keeping you updated with the latest policy developments in India’s data centre ecosystem.

Co-Authored by : Samridh Joshi and Avdhesh Pathak

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Tamang’s dilemma is part of a much larger shift. The Central Board of Secondary Education has recently issued new guidelines for implementing the Three-Language Policy in its affiliated schools. Under the policy, students are expected to study three languages, of which at least two must be Indian languages.

On paper, the policy adds languages. However, inside the classroom, it also means recruiting teachers, producing textbooks, finding additional hours and conducting more examinations.

These guidelines could shape the learning experience of nearly 2.5 crore students across the country. And thus, this week’s Policy Mandala examines why the Three-Language Policy is being pushed, how it is designed and whether schools are ready to make it work.

Before we go further, let us understand who is responsible for turning this idea into classroom practice.

The Union government sets the broad direction through the Ministry of Education and the National Education Policy. The National Council of Educational Research and Training (NCERT) develops curricular frameworks and learning resources, while boards such as CBSE translate them into school-level requirements. Ultimately, schools and teachers must turn these requirements into actual learning.

But why three languages, and why the renewed push now?

The policy is not new, but the reasons offered for it have changed over time. The idea began taking shape soon after Independence. In 1968, the idea was formalised for the first time through the Kothari Commission.

At the time, the Three-Language Formula was as much a political compromise as an educational policy. It aimed to balance Hindi, English and regional languages amid anti-Hindi protests and concerns in non-Hindi-speaking states.

Over time, however, its purpose has widened. The National Education Policy 2020 renewed the emphasis on multilingual learning, arguing that children should become comfortable using more than one language from an early age. CBSE’s latest guidelines now seek to move that vision from principle to classroom practice.

The idea is that this can improve how they think and learn, make communication across different parts of India easier, and help them stay connected to Indian languages and cultures.

There is evidence behind this argument. India has a migrant workforce running into several crores, yet workers moving across states often face language barriers while searching for employment, accessing public services and adjusting to unfamiliar communities. Learning another Indian language can therefore make movement and cultural adaptation across states easier.

Learning multiple languages may also support mental development. Studies have linked the regular use of multiple languages with stronger working memory and attention spans.

The problem, then, is not the idea of multilingualism. It is whether the current framework has been designed and resourced well enough to produce it. This is where three clear problems begin to appear.

The first is that the reform adds ambition before fixing basic learning gaps. ASER 2024 found that only 44.8% of Class V students in government schools in rural India could read a Class II-level text. At a time when many children are still struggling with foundational literacy and arithmetic, another compulsory language could add pressure unless schools protect enough time for basic learning.

The second problem is that the formula does not always reflect the languages children actually speak around them. For students like Tamang, the promise of multilingualism may feel hollow if Khasi, the language spoken at home, is not among the available options.

In reality, the Indian languages a student learns are often determined by curriculum requirements and teacher availability, rather than by the student’s home language or likely educational and employment needs. Thus the intent gets diluted by the design.

The third problem is whether schools are ready at all. There is no clear mapping of language demand, teacher availability, recruitment needs or capacity building. Without trained teachers, suitable textbooks and enough classroom time, the third language may become another subject to pass rather than a language to learn.

These weaknesses are already becoming visible. Several states have questioned the rollout over limited consultation, while schools raised concerns about teacher availability, resources and classroom readiness.

In simple terms, the policy turns out to be a poor design because it revolves around the output rather than the actual outcomes.

The focus has been on how many languages a child should study rather about which languages are useful, how will the choices be linked to employment futures and what meaningful multilingual ability should look like.

So what would a system designed around outcomes rather than mere language counts look like? Switzerland offers one useful principle.

Switzerland, like India, is multilingual, although on a much smaller and more territorially defined scale. It recognises four national languages and different regions predominantly use different languages. The education system embodies the same idea as India, a three language formula, where English is compulsory and two additional languages need to be learned.

However, the national government does not impose one identical language combination across the country. States or ‘cantons’ decide curricula, teaching materials and lesson hours, while coordinating through common frameworks across linguistic regions. And this has worked out successfully.

This is not a model India can copy directly. India’s linguistic landscape is far more diverse, and language communities do not always fit neatly within state borders. But Switzerland offers a valuable idea, to set multilingualism as the national goal, while allowing the route to be shaped locally.

Ultimately, the debate is not simply about whether Indian children should learn more languages. It is about who decides which languages matter, whether schools have the capacity to teach them, and who bears the burden when ambition is not matched by preparation.

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The success of India’s Three-Language Policy will not be measured by how many languages appear on Tamang’s timetable, but by how many he can meaningfully understand, speak and use.

Co-Authored by : Samridh Joshi and Avdhesh Pathak

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Policy Mandala

#46 Empowerment or Electoral Bidding

Thirty-year-old Gauri is washing dishes at her home in a village near Pune. It is 2024, Maharashtra is in election mode, and she has decided to vote for the Mahayuti alliance, partly because it has promised her ₹1,500 every month under the Ladki Bahin Scheme…

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3 months ago · 4 likes · 1 comment · Policy Mandala | India House

Policy Mandala

#45 Clean Air, Poor Design: Why Delhi's Pollution Control Policies Keep Failing

It is December. You take an early morning flight to New Delhi for a meeting. The plane lands, the doors open, and before the city can even greet you, your eyes begin to burn. Outside the airport, the skyline has disappeared into a thick grey haze…

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3 months ago · 9 likes · Policy Mandala | India House

Policy Mandala

#44 Counting Papers: How India’s Research Metrics Fail Academia

In 2025, India earned an uncomfortable distinction. Retraction Watch, a global database that monitors research papers, named six Indian universities amongst the world's ten institutions with the highest number of retracted research papers…

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3 months ago · 13 likes · Policy Mandala | India House

She is not alone. The Ladki Bahin Yojana turned a recurring unconditional cash transfer to women into a powerful electoral promise and helped the ruling alliance secure a decisive victory.

A later verification exercise removed 92 lakh beneficiaries, after an estimated ₹14,000 crore had already been transferred to their accounts.

Cash transfers are not new to India. Governments have used pensions, maternity benefits and targeted assistance for decades. What is new is the rapid rise of large, recurring and largely unconditional transfers to women, often announced close to elections.

These schemes can provide immediate relief and greater financial control. But they also place a heavy burden on state finances, test administrative systems, and raise a harder question: are they instruments of welfare and empowerment, or increasingly tools of electoral competition?

Cash Transfers reach over one-fifth of India’s women today, and this is why we chose to explore them in today’s Policy Mandala.

Before we analyse unconditional cash transfers, let us briefly understand what these schemes are and how they evolved in India.

Governments often provide cash assistance to support particular groups or encourage specific social outcomes. This assistance can either be conditional or unconditional. A conditional transfer is paid only when a specified action or milestone is completed, such as giving birth in a registered health facility. An unconditional transfer, on the other hand, is not linked to any target.

India’s modern cash-transfer journey began with Haryana’s Apni Beti Apna Dhan in 1994 and the National Social Assistance Programme in 1995. Conditional transfers later expanded through Janani Suraksha Yojana and Dhanalakshmi, while Direct Benefit Transfer, introduced in 2013, made it easier to deposit benefits directly into bank accounts.

These schemes were politically valuable, but they were generally introduced as programmes tied to specific welfare outcomes.

This marked an important shift. Transfers were increasingly announced close to elections, while parties included them in manifestos. From incidental political value, the scenario shifted towards political promises.

While unconditional cash transfers have turned into electoral competition today, the real question is whether these schemes can provide meaningful support to women while remaining fiscally sustainable and administratively doable or whether electoral urgency weakens their design.

To understand that tension, we must first ask what these transfers actually achieve.

If designed well, cash transfer schemes can lead to improved social outcomes and create a multiplier effect. A study by SEWA¹ and UNICEF in Madhya Pradesh², found that unconditional monthly transfers improved food security, nutrition, healthcare use, school attendance, savings and entrepreneurship.

For women, receiving money directly can reduce dependence on other family members and increase control over everyday decisions. SBI’s research on the Ladli Behna scheme in MP found signs of incremental savings and greater use of formal bank accounts among beneficiaries. This leads to increased labour-force participation and weakened restrictive norms around women’s work.

The benefits may extend to children and nutrition as well. Evidence suggests that greater female control over household resources improves children’s health outcomes, and better diets and lower malnutrition among girls.

However, the gains from these schemes are often weakened by their fiscal design. In 2025–26, twelve states were expected to spend about ₹1.68 lakh crore on unconditional cash transfers to women, a sum nearly 0.5% of India’s GDP. Six of these states were already projecting large revenue deficits. The Economic Survey warned that such schemes could shift expenditure away from other infrastructure and social sector investments, producing a strong opposite effect to the idea of such schemes.

The pressure rises further when parties begin competing over the amount promised.

What’s worse is that these figures are rarely tied to any clear estimate of how much cash is needed to improve nutrition, savings, employment or women’s agency. The amount is therefore shaped less by a measurable welfare outcome and more by what rival parties have already offered. As this bidding escalates, the fiscal cost rises even when the social return remains uncertain.

The larger weakness lies in policy design. Governments often try to cover the widest possible group from the start, without first testing eligibility rules, verification systems or grievance mechanisms. Maharashtra’s Ladki Bahin scheme enrolled about 2.43 crore women, only to remove 92 lakh after later verification.

Verification then becomes a post-facto clean-up, leaving room for duplicate records, ghost beneficiaries and genuine women being excluded over documentation failures. At the same time, success is measured through money spent and accounts credited, while outcomes such as greater financial control, better nutrition or reduced distress are rarely evaluated independently.

So, where are we heading?

Cash transfers to women are unlikely to disappear. Their political appeal is too strong, and their welfare value is too real. What can change is the way they are designed.

Two broad principles can help improve the policy design of such schemes. The first is incremental expansion. Begin with a clearly defined group, test the databases and grievance systems, study who is being missed, and only then widen coverage. The second is rigorous impact assessment, which may be achieved through techniques like Randomised Control Trials.

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For women like Gauri, ₹1,500 may still mean medicines, groceries or a little more independence. But for the state, the same transfer raises harder questions about who should receive it, how much can be sustained, and what the money is actually changing. The challenge is not choosing between welfare and politics. It is designing a welfare policy strong enough to survive politics.

Authored by Samridh Joshi

References:

1. A Little More, How Much Is It? Piloting Basic Income Transfers in Madhya Pradesh, India, SEWA Bharat, 2014.

2. Madhya Pradesh Unconditional Cash Transfer Project: Executive Summary

   SEWA Bharat, 2015.

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Policy Mandala

#45 Clean Air, Poor Design: Why Delhi's Pollution Control Policies Keep Failing

It is December. You take an early morning flight to New Delhi for a meeting. The plane lands, the doors open, and before the city can even greet you, your eyes begin to burn. Outside the airport, the skyline has disappeared into a thick grey haze…

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3 months ago · 9 likes · Policy Mandala | India House

Policy Mandala

#43 India's Experiments with Ethanol Blending: Future of Mobility or a Silent Villain

Imagine, next time you visit your nearby fuel station, you notice a new fuel option flashing on the price board. It’s cheaper than your usual petrol, and the maths seems simple: lower price, bigger savings. Or is it? Is this a steal deal, or is there something hidden beneath the savings…

Read more

3 months ago · 9 likes · Policy Mandala | India House

Policy Mandala

#41 AI enters India’s Ration Story: Revolutionary Move or Rebranding Exercise?

In a quiet village in Bihar, Ramprasad, an agricultural labourer, reaches the Fair Price Shop (FPS) to collect his family’s monthly ration. The season has been harsh for them, and the grain is their only cushion…

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4 months ago · 8 likes · Policy Mandala | India House

For nearly 6 crore residents of Delhi-NCR, this is not an occasional travel inconvenience. It is an annual reality.

Delhi’s air pollution crisis is not just about bad visibility or cancelled flights. It is a public health emergency, estimated to reduce the life expectancy of an average Delhi resident by nearly 8.2 years.

Faced with worsening air quality, the Government of India launched the National Clean Air Programme (NCAP) in 2019. Rather than being a single pollution-control scheme, NCAP coordinates the efforts of central ministries, state governments and urban local bodies to improve air quality across India’s most polluted cities including Delhi.

And yet, despite the efforts through the NCAP in the seven years that followed, Delhi’s average air quality only improved by 15% and still ends up in the ‘severe’ category.

We believe that NCAP got the diagnosis right. But it failed to build the machinery needed to act on that diagnosis.

But was the failure of NCAP driven only by the lack of funding? Or was it a systemic design flaw in the scheme? And can the new Mitigation Plan solve the crisis or will things still remain the same?

These are the questions that we will answer in today’s Policy Mandala.

To understand why air pollution control plans like NCAP struggle, we first need to understand Delhi’s pollution problem.

Delhi’s air pollution is driven by particulate matter and harmful gases from vehicles, construction, industries, waste burning, and seasonal crop-residue burning in neighbouring states. Winter weather then traps these pollutants close to the ground, creating Delhi’s toxic haze.

The problem becomes complex because the sources are spread across sectors and jurisdictions. Vehicles are regulated by transport departments, construction by urban bodies, industries by pollution boards, waste burning by municipalities, and crop burning by neighbouring states.

So how did the NCAP plan to solve this crisis?

In its core, the NCAP got one thing right: Delhi’s air pollution cannot be solved by one ministry or one city alone. Since pollutants come from various sources and locations, it created a framework where multiple levels of government could coordinate action instead of working in silos.

NCAP also equipped Delhi with a wide toolkit: expanded monitoring and forecasting systems, GRAP-based emergency measures, cleaner fuel and vehicle norms, crop-residue support, and a dedicated NCR coordination body through CAQM.

Then, why did Delhi still end up with a toxic haze in 2026?

Our argument is that NCAP’s components are heavily weighted toward monitoring, standard-setting, and reporting infrastructure or the diagnostic layer. What was missing in the original design was a dedicated enforcement or fund-disbursement mechanism at the city level.

A policy is as good as its implementation mechanism and a lack of such a mechanism in the NCAP led to its ineffectiveness.

This becomes more evident when we look at the facts. Delhi spent only 17% of the ₹81 crore allocated over seven years. Pollution-control bodies remained nearly 30% understaffed, and NCAP created no statutory authority to coordinate implementation.

So, will the new mitigation plan deliver what it promises, a ‘Clean Air’ for Delhi ? We believe it will solve some deficiencies of NCAP but will still remain short of its promise.

The biggest advantage of the new plan may not be the ₹8,300 crore itself, but the discipline attached to it. World Bank-backed programmes typically come with stricter monitoring, audits, and fund-utilisation requirements. If Delhi wants the money to keep flowing, it will have to show better planning, implementation, and financial accountability.

The second highlight is pollution source monitoring. Since we cannot precisely trace pollution to where it originates, control becomes extremely difficult. The new plan includes creating a pollution source inventory by 2027. This, combined with a Project Management Unit (PMU) and an Integrated Command and Control Centre (ICCC), should make monitoring more targeted.

But, better monitoring is not the same as better enforcement. Neither does the plan fix critical administrative issues including staffing, nor does it create a statutory implementation unit.

Delhi’s updated clean-air policy already passes some of these tests. It is socially desirable. The World Bank funding makes it financially more viable. Source inventories, PMUs and command centres improve technological feasibility.

But the weak points remain political acceptability and administrative doability.

Take stubble burning. A significant part of Delhi’s winter pollution comes from crop residue burning in Punjab and Haryana. NCAP recommends alternatives, but enforcement remains politically difficult because these measures impose costs on farmers, an important voting bloc. As a result, stubble burning has actually increased over the years.

This is where policy design matters. A politically acceptable solution may not always begin with a ban.

Studies suggest that even nudging farmers to burn stubble a few hours earlier could reduce air-quality impacts and avoid thousands of deaths annually, without requiring new machinery or subsidies. It is not a complete solution, but it shows how small behavioural changes can reduce harm when larger reforms are politically difficult.

The administrative challenge is equally serious. Delhi’s new mitigation plan should tie funding to measurable milestones: filling vacancies, strengthening pollution-control bodies and devolving enforcement authority.

The lesson is simple, targets do not clean the air, institutions and policy design does. The new plan brings money, monitoring and technology. That is progress. But unless it also builds authority, accountability and political buy-in, Delhi may still return to the same winter script.

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Delhi’s problem is no longer identifying pollution. It is implementing solutions.

We will be tracking Delhi’s air over the next few months. As winter approaches and the fires reignite across the farms, it remains to be seen whether Delhi will finally breathe easier, or whether your eyes will burn again when you land in the capital.

Co-authored by Samridh Joshi & Avdhesh Pathak

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Before we proceed, let’s understand what retractions mean in the academic world. Put simply, a retracted paper is a published research paper that has been formally withdrawn from the academic record because of serious errors, plagiarism or other integrity concerns. More often than not, it reflects academic misconduct.

But today’s Policy Mandala is not about retracted papers. It is about the incentive structure that makes such outcomes increasingly unsurprising.

In this edition, we are de-cluttering the world of research promotion policies in India, how we may have unintentionally incentivised the wrong metrics of research, and how that may be corrected.

To begin with, let’s go back to the case of retracted papers. When a university gets named in such a list as this one, it often points towards deeper institutional issues in research quality and integrity, where publishing a poor research paper may carry fewer consequences than it should.

But why do academicians do it?

Well, the simplest answer is the case of academic incentives.

You see, India, like any other developing nation, is focused on improving the quality of its research ecosystem and has created a system of incentives around the same.

NIRF uses three main parameters. First is the Quantum of Research, measured through the number of published papers, carrying 50% weightage. Second is Citation Count, carrying 25% weightage and measuring the impact/utility of research. Finally, it measures Quality of Research through the quality of the journal where the papers are published, also carrying 25% weightage.

This sounded like a balanced approach to us. That changed after we spoke to academicians, revealing a gap between intent and practice.

We realised these incentives had long been gamed by the very academicians they were meant to evaluate.

For example, the incentive for the quantum of papers has led to a proliferation of poor-quality journals, easing publications while adding little fundamental value to the world in terms of knowledge creation. Similarly, the incentive of citations has led to the practice of self-citations as a way to increase citation counts and, often, the creation of ‘citation rings’ that enable academicians to mutually cite each other’s papers, irrespective of their academic value.

These research evaluation frameworks are used to assess both individual researchers and institutions. They influence promotions and career growth for researchers, while shaping rankings, funding, partnerships, faculty recruitment and student attraction for institutions.

Institutions with stronger research metrics are also better positioned to secure grants and special government schemes. Under the Anusandhan National Research Foundation (ANRF), India’s apex research funding body, institutions featuring in the top 25 of the NIRF Overall Rankings over the previous two years are eligible under certain grant categories.

At Policy Mandala, we believe India has unintentionally created a distorted incentive ecosystem in research, one that pressures academics to focus on the number of publications rather than the questions that truly matter.

While writing this edition, we spoke to over 20 professors, including across IITs and IIMs. One concern came up repeatedly: the growing pressure to prioritise paper publications over asking meaningful questions and conducting impactful research. A 2025 study of 252 faculty members in Indian private universities found pressure to publish as a key element shaping motivations.

So, how do we move ahead from here?

First, reduce the weight of absolute publication counts. Instead, reward quality through field-specific multipliers. A paper in a top journal or conference in its discipline should count far more than multiple low-value publications. This would shift incentives from publishing more to publishing better.

The proposed Viksit Bharat Shiksha Adhishthan, a new regulatory body in the making, as announced in 2025, offers an opportunity to rethink how research excellence is measured in India.

China has also begun reforming its research evaluation system by reducing the emphasis on publication counts and encouraging universities to value originality, research quality and real-world impact over simply producing more papers.

Second, metrics must recognise that research takes time to create impact. One simple way to do this is by including papers only after a delay of at least a year. That gives enough time for citations, scrutiny and early signs of impact to emerge.

Third, evaluation systems should flag suspicious journals and malpractice patterns using research-integrity analytics. This is already common among leading research publishers. For example, Clarivate, which maintains one of the world’s largest journal citation databases, suppresses journals for abnormal citation behaviour. Springer Nature, one of the world’s largest academic publishers, uses AI tools to detect irrelevant references, AI-generated content and problematic images. These technologies are almost ready to use and can be directly incorporated into public research rankings.

NIRF has also begun recognising this challenge and has signalled its intent to act by introducing negative marking for retractions in 2025. That is an encouraging start. The next step is to proactively identify patterns that indicate compromised research quality.

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We also believe that better policing alone cannot solve a flawed incentive structure. Change in behaviour requires a fundamental change in incentives.

The consequences of getting this wrong extend far. When researchers are rewarded for publishing more instead of solving difficult problems, the nation risks writing mere papers without generating commensurate advances in knowledge, innovation, or technological breakthroughs. In the long run, this weakens India’s ability to emerge as a global leader in science, technology and ideas.

India needs a deeper redesign: reward originality over volume, integrity over optimisation and long-term impact over short-term output. Only then can India become a true knowledge hub for the world.

We will be watching this space closely. Building a great nation requires path-breaking research, and policy is one of its strongest enablers. Ultimately, every evaluation system answers a simple question: what kind of behaviour are we trying to reward?

If India aspires to lead the world in knowledge creation, its research metrics must move beyond publishing more and towards asking the right questions, which truly advance society.

Co-authored by Kumar Subham, Samridh Joshi & Avdhesh Pathak

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Imagine, next time you visit your nearby fuel station, you notice a new fuel option flashing on the price board. It’s cheaper than your usual petrol, and the maths seems simple: lower price, bigger savings. Or is it? Is this a steal deal, or is there something hidden beneath the savings?

Earlier this month, India introduced the E85 blend in petrol for the first time. The blend was available at a discount of ₹20 on the present petrol price per litre. However, this announcement sparked deep debates and divided opinions on social media.

With over 40 billion litres of petrol sold annually and over 50 million cars on India’s roads, ethanol blending is no small experiment. It impacts fuel prices, vehicle performance, farmer incomes, oil imports, and even the crops India chooses to grow.

And this is why today’s Policy Mandala chooses to untangle the debates behind ethanol blends, and shows how an idea with the right intent can create real costs when policy design ignores the consumer.

When ethanol is mixed with petrol, the blend is named by the share of ethanol in it. For instance, petrol with 20% ethanol is called E20, while petrol with 85% ethanol is called E85.

This blend is cheaper to manufacture, and unlike petrol, which comes from crude oil, ethanol is produced from crops such as sugarcane and foodgrains, making it a renewable alternative.

India’s ethanol experiment is not new.

Ethanol blending in India began in 2003. For years, it remained a modest experiment before scaling into a national fuel policy. By July 2025, India achieved its E20 target of complete and uniform coverage throughout India, five years ahead of schedule.

Today, nearly all fuel stations dispense E20 petrol.

There are four major drives behind the government’s push for higher ethanol blends.

At one level, it is energy security. With nearly 85% crude oil dependence and an import burden of over ₹11.5 lakh crore, ethanol blending helps cut fuel imports and save valuable foreign exchange reserves. By 2026, the E20 programme has reportedly saved India around ₹1.84 lakh crore.

At another, it supplements India’s agricultural economy. Sugarcane procurement for ethanol production has transferred nearly ₹1.25 lakh crore to farmers, especially benefiting sugarcane-producing regions like western Uttar Pradesh and Maharashtra, where cane pricing and procurement are politically and economically significant.

Also, ethanol blending has helped avoid over 736 lakh metric tonnes of CO₂ emissions, supporting India’s Net Zero goals. This is because ethanol emits less CO₂ per litre than conventional petrol.

And finally, ethanol blending creates productive use for surplus grains, damaged stocks, and agricultural waste through first and second-generation ethanol production.

Thus, the intent is not in question. Then why do we call the ethanol blending program a poorly conceived policy design, and what led us here?

The first reason is that it does not transfer benefits to the consumers. The key principle of user-centricity in policy has been ignored.

Petrol prices remained broadly the same as earlier unblended petrol, even though ethanol blending was expected to reduce fuel costs.

What made this worse was the loss of choice.

E20 became the default fuel across stations, while unblended petrol quietly disappeared from the consumer’s options. Even premium performance fuels, including Indian Oil’s XP100 and HP’s Power99, now come with ethanol blending. So the consumer is left with no real alternative.

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The second reason is a neglect of the individual economics of transport. This aggravates the first problem.

Ethanol has a lower energy value than petrol, which means vehicles need more fuel to travel the same distance.

Pure ethanol produces roughly 30% less energy per litre than petrol. In practical terms, E20 can reduce mileage by around 1 km per litre, while E85 could reduce it by around 4 km per litre compared to unblended petrol.

So even if the pump price looks just right, the real cost may be higher. At current prices, this could mean an effective loss of nearly ₹7 per litre for E20 and around ₹28 per litre for E85. In short, the consumer may be paying less at the pump but more on the road.

Thirdly, the policy design gap becomes even more visible when we look at whether India’s vehicle fleet is ready for blended fuel.

Ethanol absorbs water more easily than petrol, increasing risks of rust in tanks, pipes, and injectors. In older vehicles, it can also damage rubber and plastic parts such as fuel lines and gaskets. At high blends like E85, non-compatible vehicles may even face stalling.

At very high blends like E85, the risk becomes sharper. Vehicles that are not designed for such blends may face serious performance issues, including engine stalling.

India reportedly has only one E20-compliant vehicle for every hundred vehicles on the road. That leaves a large share of vehicles potentially exposed to compatibility risks.

This is a classic example of putting the cart before the horse.

Finally, the government is trying to solve one resource problem by deepening the other. Ethanol is expensive, but not in the usual way.

Producing one litre of ethanol can require nearly 1,500 to 3,000 litres of water. In a country where 600 million people face water scarcity, and demand is expected to double by 2030, this is a serious hidden cost.

The pressure also reaches the soil. Ethanol procurement risks rewarding water and nutrient-intensive crops like sugarcane, at a time when India should be moving towards crop diversification, pulses, legumes, and natural soil restoration.

Identifying the policy failures, the natural question that comes to mind is, ‘Should India roll back ethanol and go back to square one?’

Not really. Ethanol has clear benefits for energy security, farmers, and emissions. The problem is not the intent; it is the design.

The better path is to make ethanol a choice, not a compulsion. Unblended petrol should remain available, especially for older vehicles and premium fuels. E20 and E85 should be priced competitively enough for consumers to choose them willingly, not absorb hidden mileage losses silently.

India should also move ethanol away from sugarcane dependence. Second-generation ethanol from agricultural waste, and eventually third and fourth-generation fuels, can be explored.

Finally, flex-fuel vehicles need a serious push through lower GST, road tax concessions, registration benefits, and purchase incentives. If we want higher ethanol blends, engines must be ready before fuels are forced.

The EV transition worked because it built consumer trust, incentives, and choice. India’s ethanol story should learn from that. Ethanol is not the villain. Poor policy design is.

Co-authored by Samridh Joshi and Avdhesh Pathak

June 3, 8:30 AM, Malviya Nagar, New Delhi. A raging fire spread through five floors of Flourish Stay Inn, trapping the guests who were soon burnt alive in a horrific episode. 23 people were dead, and several more were injured in a span of merely a few hours. Many of the deceased were foreign nationals and tourists.

Nearly 1 person loses their life every hour to fire accidents in India, with residential buildings accounting for a staggering 54% of all deaths. This is despite the existence of the National Building Code, National Disaster Management Authority (NDMA) guidelines and dedicated fire safety squads.

This week’s Policy Mandala deals with the question of why buildings continue to burn in India despite regulations and how to remedy the alarming situation. The first question we will ask is whether there is an inadequacy of fire-safety regulations and their integration into building construction practices. The second is about preparedness for fire incidents. And the third is what can be done.

India’s fire safety regulatory structure is built around four layers. The first layer is the National Building Code (NBC) 2016, the second is the Unified Building Bye Laws of the State, the third is the Municipal Administration, and finally the Fire Department. The NBC dictates principles, the Bye Laws dictate precise provisions, the Municipal Administration enforces compliance, while the Fire Department reviews the plans for No Objection.

Every layer is a distillation of the National Building Code, which will be our focus of discussion.

The National Building Code of India, developed by the Bureau of Indian Standards, is a comprehensive set of rules to manage the design, construction, upkeep, and operation of buildings all over India. Part 4 of the Code deals specifically with fire and life safety and prescribes requirements relating to fire prevention, means of escape and evacuation, fire-resistant construction materials, smoke detection systems and more.

The NBC thus devotes an entire section of more than 150 pages to fire and life safety requirements, making it one of the most comprehensive building safety codes in the developing world.

On paper, India does not suffer from a complete absence of fire safety rules. The problem is that a detailed technical framework sits on a weak legal, enforcement, and capacity base.

First, while the NBC details fire safety regulations in building construction and approval, the codes are not legally binding, leaving legal enforcement in the lurch.

And secondly, the codes do not apply to residential buildings less than 15 meters in height, leaving a significant fraction of India’s homes out of the regulatory ambit of the codes.

But would a legally binding, uniform application of the Building Codes solve the problem? As it turns out, the answer is no.

Firstly, enforcement remains poor and dependent on the intent and will of the municipal authorities, most of whom fail at the task. Building plans and maps are passed by the officials in a shroud of non-transparency, often masked under heavy bribes. Popular sources suggest that the amount may go as high as ₹ 2 lakhs per building. Amidst this, regular inspections are a rarity.

Household surveys are a major missing link in the problem of enforcement. After a plan has been passed, there is no subsequent enforcement of construction and maintenance, leaving no incentive for compliance.

However, even if the ambit of prevention and building safety is satisfied, India’s fire services are simply not equipped to deal with the challenges. A good case study is the Delhi Fire Services.

Delhi Fire Services (DFS) is supposed to operate approximately 71 stations, including headquarters and training facilities, out of which only 4 are operational during daytime. These four stations are hence supposed to deal with approximately 100 emergency calls per day and cover an area of nearly 1500 square kilometres.

And why this state? Nearly one-third of DFS’s positions are vacant. And one fourth of the critical operational positions have no staff.

A testimonial from a senior official at the Geetanjali Fire Station, one adjacent to the Malviya Nagar fire site, reads that while the station got a new fire tanker, the staff capacity remains the same.

Recent reports and older CAG audits have repeatedly flagged outdated communication equipment (such as radios), insufficient modern vehicles, maintenance issues, and slow infrastructure expansion.

But how do we remedy this situation? How do we make India’s infrastructure and systems fire resilient?

We believe that traditional suggestions won’t cut it. Compliance needs not only to be legally enforced but also driven through social pressures and market incentives.

Firstly, a star-based rating of commercial buildings needs to be introduced. This rating needs to be based on objective criteria, evaluated by third-party agencies for instance, the Bureau of Energy Efficiency (BEE), which deals with electricity ratings.

Tokyo’s Yu Marksystem building system, which recognises excellence in fire safety, is a good model where establishments can display the mark at entrances and in advertisements, making fire safety visible to users and customers.

Parameters of such ratings can include visibility of fire safety rules, compliance with building codes, equipment readiness and self-efforts at fire safety. Marketing of such ratings widely, especially amongst tourists, both domestic and abroad, can create strong market pressures for fire safety.

Secondly, enforcement should move beyond prosecution to incentivization. Penalisation and incentivization should follow tax structures. A non-compliant building can be slapped with higher rates, while a highly rated and voluntarily compliant entity may get attractive GST rebates.

Thirdly, aggregators such as OYO, MMT, Booking.com, Agoda, amongst others should be mandated to enforce ratings and information based on fire safety norms and compliance with their clients and vendors.

Just as food delivery platforms display hygiene and restaurant information, travel aggregators must display fire safety status. A guest should not discover a blocked exit after the fire has already started. This creates a market penalty for unsafe buildings.

Fourthly, India should move from “NOC at approval stage” to a live compliance model, where hotels, hospitals, schools, malls, coaching centres, and high-occupancy buildings must maintain an active, publicly verifiable fire safety status. Singapore’s model may guide where a three-year Fire Certificate renewal cycle with annual submission requirements in between is the norm.

Finally, there is no training or grading system for private architects to promote fire safety compliance in mapping and planning of residential and commercial spaces. Modular training courses and certifications for architects can help create a skilled force for fire-resistant designs in construction.

Fire safety in India is a combination of enforcement, compliance and capacity. While there appears to be robustness on paper, the implementation simply does not stand up to scrutiny. Incentives may help as suggested, but what merits even more attention is effective civic awareness and training.

For incentives to work, fire safety has to move from policy rooms to households. And civic volunteer training is to complement the same, geared towards developing instincts in case of a fire accident.

Ultimately, there is no “opportune time” to implement disaster preparedness measures, because disasters rarely arrive with warning. The Malviya Nagar incident is a painful reminder that fire safety is not a procedural formality, but a life-saving obligation.

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Had emergency exits and other basic safety requirements been ensured in compliance with the National Building Code, 23 lives may have been saved. Their loss must not be treated as an unfortunate accident alone, but as a consequence of systemic defects in India’s fire safety structure.

No citizen deserves a painful death because systems failed to do what they were already mandated to do. The time for remediation is not after the next tragedy. It is now.

Co-authored by Samridh Joshi and Avdhesh Pathak

But the sack feels lighter than it should.

Five of the 25 kilograms meant for his family have disappeared somewhere in transit within the Public Distribution System (PDS). For the system, it is merely a leakage, but for Ramprasad and his family, it means sleeping with an empty stomach.

Ramprasad is not alone. Nearly 22.1% of India’s PDS rations are siphoned off or diverted, leaving countless families wanting for food as every 3 in 5 Indians depend on the same for meeting their basic needs of food and nutrition.

Today, in this edition of Policy Mandala, we will talk about how the government is trying to solve this crisis through the use of Artificial Intelligence in the downstream logistics of this Public Distribution System through SARTHAK.

SARTHAK (Scheme for Assistance in Ration Transport and Handling-Income with Automation) in PDS, is a newly consolidated, technology-driven umbrella welfare program with a massive outlay of over ₹ 25,500 Crores over the next five years.

While integrating existing schemes, it introduces three new AI-driven initiatives to cover and reduce leakages in the entire gamut of downstream logistics, including transportation, last-mile delivery, and public grievances.

The first, SAKSHAM AI is a unified, interoperable PDS architecture aimed at ensuring last-mile service delivery. The second, NIRMAL AI is a real-time registry that tracks and verifies PDS beneficiaries. The third, ASHA AI is a regional language, AI based IVRS for beneficiaries.

These three form the core AI backbone of SARTHAK-PDS. One solves leakages, the second fake and misplaced beneficiary records, while the third grievances. If they can deliver the commitment, it is likely to be both a policy and political win for the government: after all, this is one of the few policies that have survived for more than 6 decades.

To begin, the most important highlight of SARTHAK is its integration of all existing PDS systems in India at both the state and national levels. And this matters.

Firstly, when a beneficiary’s record exists across disconnected systems related to PDS, no single authority can see the full picture. SARTHAK’s unified architecture means a discrepancy anywhere in the chain becomes visible in real time.

The second impact is related to the Indian PDS’s biggest nightmare, Ghost Beneficiaries, people who appear on records, take rations in real time on systems but do not exist on the ground. Tonnes of this ration makes its way every month across the borders to Bangladesh and Nepal.

With SARTHAK, its component, the NIRMAL AI system will drive AI analytics across inter-ministry records such as the CBDT, MoRTH and civil registration records, and records in the SMART-PDS system, effectively eliminating this menace. AI is best suited for this task due to its inherent capability of detecting patterns in large datasets.

The second highlight of SARTHAK is tracking every mile of the PDS supply chain. This is enabled through SAKSHAM AI, which integrates AI QR code traceability and GPS-enabled vehicle tracking with the AI ecosystem, effectively creating a chain of custody that cannot be broken.

When a truck leaves an FCI godown with 10 tonnes and arrives at the FPS with 9.3 tonnes, the system should flag the gap. Right now, that gap is invisible. QR code traceability with AI means each consignment has a verifiable chain of custody at every handoff point.

This addresses nearly 10% of India’s PDS leakage. However, how will the remaining 10% be taken care of?

This leakage happens at the Fair Price Shop level. Probably the FPS shopkeeper himself siphoned off the grains, but Ramprasad has no redressal mechanism. Already in a hand-to-mouth state, Ramprasad cannot afford to go door to door at government offices.

This is where the third part comes into play.

Ramprasad can now simply dial a number, speak out his grievance in his vernacular language, and done. The grievance will be updated on the PDS system before the relevant official, and also in the larger database against the shopkeeper. All this, thanks to ASHA AI.

The government exchequer is also to benefit.

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With annual food subsidy expenditure exceeding ₹2 lakh crore, even a 10% improvement in delivery efficiency through better storage, transportation, and beneficiary management could save the exchequer around ₹20,000 crore every year.

However few critical questions remain unanswered or absent from the public discussions.

Is this move backed by a clear executionary pathway, or is it merely another gimmick in the age of AI?

Will SARTHAK change the face of India’s PDS system, or will it just be another of the various schemes launched by the government ?

Firstly, there is no detailed allocation profile in the SARTHAK scheme specifically for its AI components. The ₹25,530 crore headline figure is largely a repackaging of existing spends. A large portion is likely to go to the state agencies as financial support for existing regular spends.

Secondly, the tender for the scheme will, in all probability, be awarded to NIC. SARTHAK is not the first digital move in India’s Public Distribution System. SMART PDS, which is the existing precursor to SARTHAK and the SMART PDS 2.0 portal were also delivered by NIC. The inference is clear.

And NIC’s history of delivering complex, AI-driven systems at welfare scale remains unproven. While capability exists on paper, there has not been any demonstration till date.

Thirdly, AI is inherently biased in Data.

AI models learn from historical data. If legacy PDS databases contain inaccuracies or reflect existing administrative biases, AI may simply automate those biases.

If SARTHAK uses historical PDS transaction data to flag anomalies, areas involving vulnerable groups such as migrants, tribal communities, or households with irregular purchasing patterns could face disproportionate scrutiny unless algorithms are independently audited.

Fourthly, the ability of the government to execute a robust data management framework with complex systems is probably the biggest concern of the lot.

A centralized AI-enabled PDS platform could become an attractive target for ransomware attacks, database breaches, manipulation of beneficiary records and supply-chain cyber intrusions.

And NIC’s track record has not been particularly impressive nor has it been one of India’s databases. The ICMR Data Leak of 2023 is a case in point where a complex, interconnected and distributed data system was breached, exposing datasets with more than 100,000 records to malicious entities.

To add to the troubles, the recent CBSE case draws even more concern. Not only did the government fail on vendor procurement, but also exposed its data storage and access vulnerabilities.

There is no guarantee that things won’t go the same route again. And with a data of over 80 Crore people at stake, things look scary.

While the idea is good and the proposed components are well thought of in terms of technical design and the flaws they target, the policy is on shaky grounds when seen from the lens of data management, technical expertise and funding and implementation modalities.

What the scheme needs is a medicine that will cure nearly every announced policy in India, a detailed plan of implementation and financial commitment with its announcement. And with it, a robust way to actually design these systems with a transparent and effective tendering mechanism.

And with all this, NIC will need to develop indigenous capabilities to develop such systems at scale.

In the meanwhile, we can only adopt a wait and watch approach to see whether the scheme ends up revolutionizing the support system of millions or ends up as another of the government’s rebranding exercises that end up in the cold storage.

All this so that people like Ramprasad can finally get their due.

Co-authored by Samridh Joshi & Avdhesh Pathak

The Great Nicobar project is not just another infrastructure project. It is India’s attempt to convert geography into economic and geopolitical leverage.

Situated near the Malacca Strait, one of the world’s busiest maritime chokepoints, Great Nicobar sits close to a route central to global trade and energy flows. For decades, it was seen largely as a remote island territory. Today, it is being reimagined as India’s gateway into the Indo-Pacific.

However, ⁠Great Nicobar is also a test of India’s strategic state capacity: can India turn geography into maritime leverage while protecting ecology, indigenous rights, disaster resilience, and democratic accountability?

We deep dive into this project in today’s Policy Mandala.

The Great Nicobar Project is a ₹72,000 crore mega development project , one that includes an International Container Transhipment Terminal (ICTT), a Greenfield International Airport, a Gas and Solar-based Power plant, and a new township along with expanded military and maritime access on the southernmost island of the Andaman-Nicobar group.

In-principle approval of the project has been obtained for a sum of ₹ 81,000 crores over thirty years.

Why does this project matter? And why is India building it now?

Two key ideas are driving the thinking and urgency behind the project.

First is the evolving geopolitical scenario.

Rising geopolitical turmoil, while the Hormuz crisis has shown the world the power of strategic maritime zones, China is aggressively building its presence near Malacca. The Great Nicobar project comes as India’s move on the Indo-Pacific chessboard and a rising ambition to be a maritime superpower. We will come to this in detail soon.

Secondly, apart from the geopolitical significance, the project holds key economic value.

To see this, we need to look at transhipment, the idea that maritime cargo has to be offloaded from large vessels and moved to smaller vessels which can dock at usual continental ports. These operations need to be done at specialised ports with high depth and clearance.

Today, nearly 75% of India’s transhipment operations are conducted at foreign ports. India still relies on foreign ports such as Singapore, Colombo, and Port Klang for transhipment before reaching global markets.

Great Nicobar seeks to reduce this dependence by positioning India closer to major international shipping routes.

Developing the Galathea Bay terminal at Great Nicobar is projected to save Indian ports ₹ 2,200 Crore per year on transhipment cargo. This, and more in the form of increased revenue. For comparison, the Singapore Port generates approximately ₹ 80,000 Crore in revenue annually, a major share coming from transhipment.

To appreciate the geopolitical relevance of islands, let’s go back a bit in history.

According to Chola inscriptions the Nicobar Islands (Nakkavaram) held particular significance in Chola maritime geography. These islands acquired strategic significance as outposts for naval expeditions against the Srivijayan (Sumatran) territories.

But modern India gradually became continental in its strategic thinking. Securing borders and solving territorial disputes dominated policymaking for decades, while the seas remained secondary in our priorities.

That mindset is now beginning to change, and perhaps nowhere is this transition more visible than in Great Nicobar Island. India’s geopolitical policy chambers have finally begun to focus on maritime strategy and the critical role of islands in the same.

The Indo-Pacific is rapidly becoming the centre of global strategic competition. The term appears eight times in the US National Security Policy, more than any other similar region.

The establishment of the Andaman and Nicobar Command in 2001 already reflected India’s growing recognition of the strategic importance of the island chain in the eastern Indian Ocean. Yet further developments eluded for long.

Great Nicobar lies close not only to the Malacca Strait but also to the wider Indo-Pacific Sea routes linked to the Sunda and Lombok Straits, both increasingly important amid rising geopolitical competition and concerns over maritime disruption.

This is where Beijing enters the room.

Over the last two decades, China has invested aggressively in maritime infrastructure to strengthen the string of pearls, its landmark maritime move, across the Indo-Pacific, from Gwadar in Pakistan to Hambantota in Sri Lanka and ports across the wider Indian Ocean region, a willingness to reshape geography itself.

⁠In the South China Sea, it has transformed reefs and submerged features into militarised artificial islands, with airstrips, ports, radar systems, and military facilities. By some estimates, China has created more than 3,000 acres of new land across the Spratly Islands alone.

With these moves, China has fundamentally challenged India’s assertion of the Indian Ocean as our strategic backyard. China wants to close in on Malacca and Great Nicobar is perhaps India’s best bet against the dragon’s dance.

While the easy part has been accomplished, the long road awaits with the project facing financial, ecological and anthropological challenges.

Because Great Nicobar is not a blank spot on a strategic map. It is a living island, with forests, coral systems, endangered species, indigenous communities, and memories of disaster.

The island forms part of the UNESCO-recognised Great Nicobar Biosphere Reserve and contains dense tropical forests, coral ecosystems, and habitats for endangered species including the leatherback turtle and Nicobar megapode.

Large-scale infrastructure expansion has triggered fears over deforestation, biodiversity loss, and irreversible ecological disruption.

The island is also home to the Shompen tribe, classified as a Particularly Vulnerable Tribal Group, whose relationship with the island’s forests and ecological systems has evolved over generations in relative isolation.

There is another uncomfortable reality often ignored in strategic discussions that is, Great Nicobar is also geologically unstable.

The region was severely affected during the 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami, with tectonic shifts altering parts of the island landscape itself. The Nicobar belt remains seismically active and raises difficult questions about the long-term sustainability of large-scale urban and maritime infrastructure in one of the Indian Ocean’s most disaster-prone zones.

Yet dismissing the project entirely would also oversimplify reality.

Maritime infrastructure, logistics corridors, ports, and islands are increasingly shaping geopolitical influence. Every major power is repositioning itself accordingly. Especially in the case of China’s attempted dominance, India cannot remain absent from this transition and it makes Great Nicobar such a defining project.

However, unlike authoritarian systems of the likes of China that can impose strategic projects with limited public scrutiny, India faces a more complex democratic challenge.

Can India build strategic infrastructure without weakening ecological safeguards? Can maritime ambition coexist with indigenous protections and environmental caution? Can India pursue geopolitical influence without replicating the extractive logic often criticised in other major powers?

At the centre of the answer to these questions lies a single term, state capacity.

State capacity is not just about money. It is about continuity, coordination, monitoring, diplomatic partnerships, and the ability to build under geopolitical pressure without cutting ecological corners.

To illustrate further, take the case of transhipment.

The Great Nicobar port will not become a success merely because it exists. It will become successful when global shipping lines trust it, when neighbouring countries route cargo through it, when customs processes are fast, when turnaround time is predictable, and when the port is integrated into regional trade networks. All this requires state intent and capacity.

Great Nicobar’s transhipment will therefore need not only construction capacity but commercial diplomacy: partnerships with shipping lines, port operators, Southeast Asian economies, and Indian exporters who must see it as a reliable alternative to Singapore, Colombo, or Port Klang.

Similar challenges will lay across the project execution and the long road ahead it paves. India’s state machinery has to run the project across governments, ministries, investors, local communities, environmental regulators, defence priorities, and global shipping networks without losing momentum or legitimacy.

Where do we see the project if India is able to pull this off amidst hurdles?

If the project succeeds, India could achieve transhipment independence and generate valuable revenue for future projects. Local economy will get a boost as projections estimate the port could generate ₹30,000 crore annually by 2040 and create up to 50,000 jobs.

In the future, control over data routes and undersea communication networks such as SEA-ME-WE could become as significant as control over sea lanes themselves, placing the island and the project at the centre of India’s emerging maritime and technological ambitions in the Indo-Pacific.

The development will function as a forward operating base for the Indian military, boosting the nation’s rapid response capabilities and building a strong first line of defense in the eastern Indian Ocean.

If Great Nicobar eventually integrates port infrastructure, naval access, surveillance systems, and submarine cable connectivity, it could become a rare strategic node where trade, security, and data routes meet.

And eventually Great Nicobar would be the first of many.

India’s future maritime ambitions in Great Nicobar Island may also encourage the development of advanced resilient infrastructure designed for one of the world’s most dynamic oceanic regions.

Future projects could integrate earthquake-resistant engineering, tsunami-resilient port systems, climate-adaptive infrastructure, and secure submarine cable architecture into a new model of island development.

In this vision, Great Nicobar would not only represent India’s expanding maritime reach, but also its capacity to build technologically sophisticated and future-ready infrastructure at the crossroads of the Indo-Pacific.

Hence, somewhere along the coastlines of Great Nicobar Island, India may be deciding what kind of maritime power it wants to become.

References:

• Sen, Tansen. (2009). The military campaigns of Rajendra Chola I and the Chola-Srivijaya-China triangle.

• R. Champakalakshmi. (1996). Trade, ideology and urbanization: South India 300 BC to AD 1300. Oxford University Press.

• PIB, 01 May 2026

• MOEF, Environment Impact Assessment

• Holistic Development of Great Nicobar Island at Andaman & Nicobar Islands

• Kaplan, R. D. The South China Sea is the future of conflict. Foreign Policy, August 15, 2011.

• Asia Maritime Transparency Initiative. Center for Strategic and International Studies (CSIS), June 16, 2015.

• U.S. Embassy in Georgia. China’s construction companies sow chaos worldwide. U.S. Embassy in Georgia. September 10, 2020

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There’s always that one name from your childhood.

Maybe it was a girl in school who outran everyone at Sports Day. Or a boy in your neighbourhood who could twist a cricket ball like magic. Maybe it was you, until the world slowly told you that dreams like these don’t make it in India. Not unless you’re born rich. Or in the right city. Or into the right family that knows someone in a federation.

You never forget that feeling. Of being good. Of being seen. Of watching it fade.

That’s where we begin this week’s Policy Mandala. Because something rare is happening in India’s policy landscape. Something that just might decide how many more children grow up believing that sports is not a gamble, but a career.

The National Sports Governance Bill, 2025, tabled this monsoon session, is not imagined as a quick fix, but rather it aims to make a more fundamental shift: it writes into law the idea that every athlete deserves fairness, dignity, and a chance. Or at least that is the objective. Let’s explore the details to find out.

Let’s begin with why India’s sports governance needed a reset, what the new law brings, where it still falls short, and how other countries got it right long before we did. This is a story about ‘new’ law, but also about ‘old’ loss, of time, of talent, and of what could have been.

You see India is currently ranked number one in population, third in GDP (by PPP), and 71st in Olympic medal tally.

That gap is not just statistical, it’s systemic.

In the 2024 Paris Olympics, India sent 117 athletes and returned with just 6 medals. Meanwhile, the US, whose university sports system doubles as an Olympic nursery, sent 595 athletes and won 126 medals. China and the UK, despite much smaller populations, have consistently outperformed India by margins that force us to rethink our sports potential.

Like most cases, the burden of this ‘failure’ doesn’t lie with the athletes. It’s about the structure around them.

For decades, India’s sports governance has been plagued by dynastic control, opaque selections, budget leaks, lifetime presidencies, and a culture where politics often trumps performance. Today, over 350 cases involving athletes, federations, and selections are currently pending in courts across India. That’s almost three times the size of India’s entire Olympic contingent being left in limbo, waiting for someone to decide their fate. In sports, where careers peak in a handful of years, a delay like this doesn’t just hurt, it ends futures.

The new Bill changes this on paper and perhaps, if implemented well, in practice.

First, It sets up a National Sports Tribunal, a quasi-judicial body with powers of a civil court, meant to address all sports-related disputes.

Second, it makes independent Ethics and Election Panels compulsory in every federation for the first time, ensuring free and fair leadership transitions and rooting out conflicts of interest that have long plagued Indian sports bodies.

Third, It imposes term limits and age caps on office-bearers, ending the era of lifetime leadership.

Fourth, It brings athletes into governance, with at least 25% seats reserved for sportspersons, and makes RTI compliance mandatory for all publicly funded bodies.

And fifth, It also introduces annual grading of federations based on transparency, inclusion, athlete welfare, and performance. These grades will determine funding and privileges. For the first time, bad governance might actually cost something.

In many ways, this sounds like a quiet revolution in the making.

India has never had a binding law for sports governance before. The 2001 National Sports Policy was only a guideline, and the 2011 Sports Code barely enforceable. This Bill finally gives legal teeth to long-pending demands: clear rules, fair elections, independent audits, and enforceable athlete rights.

But the harder question is - will it work?

Because a law is only as good as the implementation, and the implementation is only as good as the will to implement it. After all, in a democracy, political will precedes any action.

Take the Tribunal, for instance. It promises fast-track resolution, but stops short of committing a window. Will it deliver decisions before an athlete’s window of opportunity closes? Will NSFs actually comply with Safe Sport norms, or will they treat them like another tick-box? Will putting athletes in executive committees change the culture of federations being a minority in those boards, or will it tokenise their voices?

And then there are the structural questions the Bill does not answer.

Firstly, if athletes are now part of decision-making bodies, are we also training them in sports law, management, governance principles, and financial oversight? Or without capacity-building, are we setting them up to fail?

Secondly, while the law mandates welfare frameworks, it does not specify pension schemes, post-retirement skilling, or job security. Today, many retired athletes, some of them international medalists, struggle to find dignified livelihoods. Sports quota jobs, once a reliable cushion, are dwindling. The CBIC and other government bodies now recruit athletes only at Group C and D levels. Even private sponsors like TATA or Indian Oil have scaled down, with contracts tied more to form than long-term welfare.

And we must remember why the government is pushing this Bill with such urgency: India has already submitted a Letter of Intent to host the 2036 Olympics, and a committee is in place to overhaul funding norms in preparation for it.

The stakes could not be higher. Which is why we believe the government must go further:

First, strengthen the presidency rule further not just with term limits, but by explicitly barring family members from succeeding each other. This will break the dynastic control that has hollowed out federations for decades.

Second, grant athletes veto power on a few critical decisions such as changes in selection criteria or disciplinary actions, where conflicts of interest have historically undermined fairness. This would make athlete representation meaningful, not symbolic.

Third, while the Bill already mandates CAG audits and RTI compliance, it should go one step further by requiring public disclosure of player selection scores and budget allocations. Genuine scrutiny can only happen when this information is visible and comparable.

Fourth, adapt the Capacity Building Commission’s accreditation system used for Civil Service Training Institutes (CSTIs) to National Sports Federations. An independent accreditation mechanism can assess and rank federations on governance, transparency, and athlete welfare, creating a real incentive for reform.

That’s what India needs. A system where sports is not a detour, but a legitimate path with structure, support, and second chances.

Private initiatives like Olympic Gold Quest (OGQ), founded by former India hockey captain Viren Rasquinha along with other celebrated athletes like the billiards legend Geet Sethi, Prakash Padukone, and Viswanathan Anand among others, the organisation has worked to support athletes where the system often falls short. OGQ provides world-class physiotherapy, coaching, analytics, and nutrition to elite sportspersons. Many Indian Olympians, from PV Sindhu to Lovlina Borgohain, have benefited from its support. But OGQ is still a non-profit with limited reach, and its work, while vital, cannot substitute for the systemic reforms that only strong governance can deliver.

A nation of 1.4 billion cannot depend on goodwill alone.

And that’s why this Bill matters. For the first time, athletes in India have enforceable rights—not just dreams. A player wrongly dropped from trials can appeal to a Tribunal. A young girl facing harassment can turn to a Safe Sport system. A whistleblower in a corrupt federation can seek protection without fear.

But rights on paper are only the first step. Does the system truly support the sportsperson?

That is the real test.

And it begins not in Parliament, but in the next playground where a child wonders if sports is worth the risk.

Book Mandala

In this section, we suggest a book to be read/listened to each week, for the inner policy enthusiast in you :)

Book: Go!: India’s Sporting Transformation

Author: editors Nandan Kamath and Aparna Ravichandran

About the Book:
Go!: India’s Sporting Transformation, brings together an extraordinary collection of essays from India’s top athletes, sports administrators, and thinkers—including Abhinav Bindra, Rahul Dravid, Aparna Popat, and Pullela Gopichand. The book traces how a country once starved of sporting success is now producing champions in multiple disciplines, while also confronting deep structural challenges in talent pipelines, governance, and infrastructure.

From homegrown leagues drawing global stars to grassroots athletes battling odds for a shot at the podium, these essays capture the scale and complexity of India’s sporting revolution. The narrative doesn’t shy away from hard questions on systemic failures, making it both celebratory and unflinchingly honest.

Our Take:
This book is essential reading for anyone seeking to understand the reforms Indian sport truly needs. As the National Sports Governance Bill 2025 takes shape, Go! offers rich context on why athlete-first systems and accountable institutions are critical for India’s sporting future. It is as much a roadmap as it is a reminder: medals are not just won on the field, but built long before, in the corridors of governance.

Co-authored by Mrinal Rai and Aswathi Prakash.

Hope you liked today’s Policy Mandala!

We believe nation-building needs a community of changemakers—so we’re creating Bharat Mandala, an ecosystem for impact. Be part of our journey here!

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You flick the switch. The light comes on. The fan whirs. The fridge hums back to life.
It happens in a second. No ceremony, no thought. Electricity flows, invisibly — like it always has.

But what we don’t see is what it takes to make that happen. The coal burned. The smoke released. The sulphur in the air. The weight of every watt.

For most of us, that bargain feels distant. Until the headaches come. The breath shortens. The air turns bitter before the monsoon. And we wonder — wasn’t coal pollution supposed to go down? Didn’t we pass a law?

Well, we did. Back in 2015, India decided that coal power plants would need to clean up, specifically by installing Flue Gas Desulphurisation systems (FGDs) to cut sulphur dioxide emissions. It was a big moment. For the first time, we said thermal power couldn’t stay dirty forever. For once, clean air had a seat at the policy table beyond urban cities.

And then came July 2025. Quietly, through a government notification, 78% of India’s coal plants were given a pass. Just like that, they no longer needed to install FGDs. No filter. No fix. Just a legal nod to carry on as usual.

You see, India still depends heavily on coal to keep the lights on. Over 75% of our electricity still comes from thermal power. While that share dipped slightly — from 76% in 2010 to 72% in 2024 — overall electricity demand has exploded. Per capita consumption rose over 45%, from 957 kWh to more than 1,395 kWh between 2013 and 2023. So in real terms, we’re burning more coal than ever.

Which is why the July 2025 decision matters. And which is why, we’re talking about it in this week’s Policy Mandala. Because the decision can shape the air we breathe for years to come.

So what’s an FGD, anyway? It’s a pollution-control system that scrubs sulphur dioxide from coal emissions. That one compound — SO₂ — might not sound scary, but it’s the silent architect of PM2.5 particles, the fine pollutants that lodge in lungs, trigger asthma, cause heart disease, and travel hundreds of kilometres beyond the chimney.

Installing an FGD in just one 500 MW plant can stop over 1,000 tonnes of SO₂ from entering the atmosphere each year. To match that, we’d have to take 20,000 diesel cars off the road. Or stop crop burning across entire districts. That’s the scale of impact — and the promise we once recognised.

Which is why, in 2015, India tried to act. The mandate laid out deadlines for every plant based on age and location. But most missed them. By early 2025, less than 10% of India’s coal fleet had functioning FGDs. Enforcement was weak. Data was patchy. And so, instead of pushing for compliance, the government quietly rewrote the rules.

The official explanation? Indian coal is low in sulphur. Air near most plants is within “safe” limits. Water use goes up. CO₂ emissions rise only slightly. FGDs are expensive. And there aren’t enough vendors anyway.

But most of this rests on shaky ground.

One, the studies used to justify the rollback — from IIT-Delhi, NEERI, and NIAS — all acknowledge deep gaps in monitoring. Over 60% of plants don’t have continuous emission tracking systems. Several “compliant” regions had no baseline SO₂ data. In other words, we’re claiming it’s clean — without measuring.

There’s another truth hiding beneath the sulphur. While about 65% of exempted plants belong to public sector giants like NTPC — which supplies nearly a quarter of India’s electricity — several private operators also benefit. Groups like Adani, Vedanta, JSW, and Essar run older plants that have long delayed FGD compliance. Now, those delays have paid off. This isn’t just about pollution or cost. It’s about shielding both PSUs and powerful private players from penalties — and quietly writing off a decade of regulatory failure.

And the cost argument? Sure, installing FGDs costs ₹800–900 crore per large plant. But what about the cost of doing nothing? According to the State of Global Air 2023, India sees nearly 156 air-pollution deaths per 100,000 people — three times higher than the US, and far above even China. Much of this is due to PM2.5 exposure, with coal plants as major culprits. Children grow up with weaker lungs. Entire districts live with chronic illness.

So if cost is the reason for rollback, here’s the real question: what’s the price of inaction, and who’s paying it?

And then there’s the tariff story. FGDs raise generation costs by 15–16 paise per unit . For consumers, this could mean a 4–7% bump in electricity bills, depending on the state. So we either pay a little more in rupees, or keep paying with our lungs.

But before people could even choose for themselves, the government made the decision for them. With elections around the corner and discoms already struggling, price hikes are a political no-go. So instead of fixing the system, we exempted it. A temporary escape, dressed as reform.

And here’s what that escape will cost us.

The 78% of exempted plants are mostly located in rural and semi-urban India — in Chhattisgarh, Jharkhand, Odisha, Madhya Pradesh, parts of Maharashtra and Telangana. These are regions with poor monitoring, fragile ecosystems, and already stretched health systems. The pollution won’t stay local either. Atmospheric modelling shows SO₂ and secondary PM can travel up to 200 kilometres — emissions from Korba could drift into cities like Nagpur or even Varanasi.

And all this while India is trying to position itself as a clean energy leader.

Yes, we’ve pledged to reduce coal dependence. We’ve made global commitments under the Paris Agreement and COP summits. We’ve electrified over 280 lakh homes under Saubhagya. We’re pushing for electric vehicles, electric cooking, and 24x7 digital access. But the bottom line remains — we’re not cutting pollution, just shifting where it comes from.

And while other countries are upgrading, we’re stepping back.

China, with a thermal-heavy energy mix, installed FGDs in over 95% of its coal plants before 2015. The EU didn’t just mandate FGDs, it tied compliance to carbon pricing, created real-time pollution dashboards, and made emissions a matter of public accountability. Even South Africa, with all its constraints, has made SO₂ limits non-negotiable for new plants.

So the big question is: what should we have done instead?

Well, here’s what we suggest:

First, move beyond static zone-based exemptions and adopt a dynamic, real-time approach to prioritising FGD enforcement. Plants should be required to install FGDs based on real-time pollution levels, ecological vulnerability, and health risk — not outdated administrative maps. Use actual AQI data, satellite imagery, and pollution modelling.

Second, reward compliance. Offer longer-term power purchase agreements, priority dispatch in load order, or performance-linked incentives. Cleaning up should come with benefits.

Third, offer capital subsidies or input tax breaks for FGD installation, especially for older but efficient plants. We do this for solar and wind. Why not for clean air?

Fourth, make pollution visible. Every thermal plant should be required to install and maintain real-time emission monitors. The data should be public. If power plants affect our air, we have a right to know.

Finally, accelerate the phaseout of ageing coal plants. Units older than 25–30 years that operate below efficiency benchmarks or lack modern pollution controls should be retired in a time-bound manner — paired with investments in cleaner base-load alternatives like pumped hydro, round-the-clock renewables, and grid-scale storage. This won’t just clean the air — it’ll modernise the grid.

Because here’s what this is really about.

It’s not just about SO₂. Or FGDs. Or one rollback.

It’s about making sure no child grows up thinking dirty air is normal. About whether clean energy means cleaner lives or just cleaner headlines.

But none of it will change unless clean air becomes political.

As long as it stays off the ballot, governments will keep choosing polluters over people and expect us to live with it.

So what do we do when silence becomes policy?
And how do we build an energy future that doesn’t trade off health for electricity?

We talk.

The team behind Policy Mandala has launched a 4-month policy program for professionals, the Policy Pioneers Program, in collaboration with IIM Raipur and the Public Systems Lab at IIT Delhi.

Know more about it here.

Book Mandala

In this section, we suggest a book to be read/listened to each week, for the inner policy enthusiast in you :)

Book: India’s Long Road

Author: Vijay Joshi

About the Book:
In India’s Long Road, economist Vijay Joshi offers a lucid and sharp-eyed analysis of what it will take for India to achieve sustained, equitable prosperity. While the book covers a wide spectrum from fiscal reform to social spending, it doesn’t shy away from the thorny dilemma of coal and energy.

Joshi argues that India’s growth path must confront its environmental contradictions head-on, especially its dependence on coal and the governance failures that prevent a shift to cleaner alternatives. With data-driven insight and policy realism, the book situates India’s energy future within its larger development story.

Our Take:
This is essential reading for anyone tracing India’s energy policy crossroads. At a time when clean air and coal transitions hang in the balance, Joshi’s work reminds us that prosperity and sustainability are not parallel tracks—they must converge. Policymakers and readers alike will find clarity in his unflinching, economically-grounded vision of India’s long and winding energy road.

Co-authored by Mrinal Rai and Aswathi Prakash.

Hope you liked today’s Policy Mandala!

We believe nation-building needs a community of changemakers—so we’re creating Bharat Mandala, an ecosystem for impact. Be part of our journey here!

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Thanks for reading Policy Mandala! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support our work.

If you like fresh flowers in your living room, chances are you're a polluter.

Sounds harsh, right? But it's true.
From roses flown in from Bangalore to mangoes trucked from Andhra Pradesh, everything we consume carries a carbon footprint. That means every time you buy something like flowers, fruits, or even furniture, you’re also using a bit of diesel, and adding a bit of smoke to the air we all breathe.

And in India, that footprint? It’s usually riding big on diesel trucks.

You see, trucks make up only 3% of all our vehicles, but they account for 42% of transport-related greenhouse gas emissions across India.

But here’s the good news.

For the first time, the Government of India has decided to change that.

Last week, under the PM Electric Drive Revolution in Innovative Vehicle Enhancement (PM E-DRIVE) scheme, the Ministry of Heavy Industries rolled out its first-ever direct subsidy for electric trucks.
It’s not just an incentive. It’s a shift away from diesel and towards something cleaner, quieter, and long overdue.

And in this week’s Policy Mandala, we decode what this bold policy could mean for India’s economy, its environment, and its roads.

Let’s start with the basics.

The scheme offers a maximum of ₹9.6 lakh per vehicle for heavy-duty e-trucks in the N2 (3.5–12 tonnes) and N3 (above 12 tonnes) categories.

Here’s how the incentives stack up:

• 3.5–7.5 tonnes → up to ₹2.7 lakh

• 7.5–12 tonnes → up to ₹3.6 lakh

• 12–18.5 tonnes → up to ₹7.8 lakh

• 18.5–35 tonnes → up to ₹9.6 lakh

• 35–55 tonnes → up to ₹9.3 lakh

Note that these are based on a ₹5,000/kWh subsidy cap, with a maximum of 10% of the ex-factory price. In short: the heavier the truck, the bigger the battery, the higher the incentive.

But to unlock these incentives, there's a catch: the buyer must scrap an old diesel truck. That truck must be registered in their name and meet certain age and registration conditions.

So how many trucks are we then talking about?

For now, the government has earmarked ₹500 crore to support 5,600 electric trucks. Of these, 1,100 are allocated to Delhi alone. A decision driven by air quality concerns and the Centre’s direct oversight of the Capital Region.

But the number of trucks isn’t the real story here.
The real story is who benefits, who might hesitate, and where do the real challenges lie?

And over the next few minutes, we will unpack just that. From cost math and charging gaps to infrastructure, oil economics, and the policy signals still missing.

Let’s talk money. Because for most transporters, that’s what this decision comes down to.

Right now, a typical N3 e-truck costs ₹30 to ₹40 lakh. A diesel version? ₹15 to ₹20 lakh. Even with the maximum subsidy of ₹9.6 lakh, the gap is significant.

And there’s more.

Scrapping an old diesel truck costs ₹1–2 lakh through authorised centres, and that cost isn’t covered. It doesn’t increase the subsidy. It’s just an added expense.

So what’s the actual math?

Even after subsidies, an electric truck could cost ₹21–32 lakh. A diesel one? Still ₹15–20 lakh.
That’s a difference of ₹8–10 lakh upfront.

And that’s a lot to ask from a small fleet owner, which, by the way, is who runs most of India’s transport economy.

But hang on, because there is a brighter side to it.

According to recent studies, a diesel truck costs about ₹15.15 per km to operate, while an e-truck clocks in at ₹13.96 per km. That’s a saving of ₹1.19 for every kilometre.

Now scale that over time.

If the cost difference is ₹9 lakh, a transporter would need to drive around 7.5 lakh kilometres to break even. That’s about five to six years of long-haul operations.

And remember, that’s without assuming diesel prices go up or cities start restricting fossil-fuel trucks more aggressively.

So yes, the savings are built in, you just have to keep moving.

But here’s the twist.

You can’t drive an e-truck without a charger. And this is where India may hit a real bump in the road.

Right now, India has around 25,000 public EV chargers. But most are designed for scooters and cars. High-capacity megachargers for trucks? Still rare. Still expensive. Still being tested.

Yes, some early pilots are running along the Delhi–Mumbai Expressway and the Bengaluru–Chennai corridor. But across most freight routes, charging infrastructure is still missing. And that changes everything.

Without a charging network, e-trucks don’t stall, they overcompensate.

Operators are forced to install oversized battery packs just to avoid getting stranded. These packs can raise truck costs by 35–40%. With battery prices still at ₹12,000–₹15,000 per kWh, that’s a steep premium for infrastructure that doesn’t exist.

Bigger batteries also mean heavier trucks, lower payloads, and capital that’s locked in lithium instead of logistics. They make it more expensive, more uneven, and more frustrating.

That’s exactly why the government is starting with a few key freight routes like Delhi–Jaipur, Pune–Aurangabad, and Indore–Bhopal, where truck-friendly charging stations are being planned every 40 to 60 kilometres.

It’s a smart beginning. But it needs to move faster than the trucks it aims to support.

Because the urgency is real.

Trucks aren’t just vehicles, they’re India’s most powerful logistics engine. Over 70% of all freight in India moves by road. Railways handle bulk cargo like coal and cement. But everything else like groceries, milk, e-commerce, machinery, moves on trucks.

And that movement isn’t cheap.

India’s logistics sector consumes 13–14% of our GDP, almost twice the global average. That inefficiency makes our exports costlier, crowds our cities, and clogs our highways.

Electric trucks won’t fix all of this. But they can definitely lower costs, reduce diesel imports, and cut pollution, if done right.

And that brings us to where India’s biggest opportunity lies.

Because the highways are already here.

The Delhi–Mumbai Industrial Corridor spans over 1,500 km and accounts for nearly 20% of India’s industrial output. The Golden Quadrilateral connects Delhi, Mumbai, Chennai, and Kolkata, moving a massive share of national freight. The 350-km Bengaluru–Chennai stretch links two booming manufacturing hubs.

These are not just highways. These are corridors of scale. And they’re ready for an electric transformation.

Take the Eastern Peripheral Expressway around Delhi.
It already diverts truck traffic, has toll automation, and the structural space for megachargers. It could be a national model for EV-friendly freight corridors.

In short: we’ve built the skeleton. India has Dedicated Freight Corridors. It has Unified Logistics Interface Platform (ULIP) for real-time cargo tracking. It has multi-modal logistics parks. And an EV-friendly Bharatmala network is underway.

But now we need the muscle to match them with – charging stations, smart incentives, and green logistics standards.

So far, we’ve talked roads, trucks, and batteries.
But there’s one more reason electric freight matters, and it's spelled D-I-E-S-E-L.

Freight trucks guzzle a huge chunk of India’s diesel.
We import 85% of our crude oil. That’s billions of dollars leaving our economy every year.
Even if just 10% of trucks go electric by 2035, we’d carve a real dent in that oil bill.

That’s not just a climate win. It’s an energy security win.

But here’s the catch!
As soon as the announcement came, we looked for the follow-through.

Where’s the deployment calendar? Where’s the Make in India roadmap? Where’s the Phased Manufacturing Programme (PMP) that links subsidies to local manufacturing?

But… nothing.

No localisation targets. No Original Equipment Manufacturer (OEM) delivery expectations. No PMP.
Without these, manufacturers can’t invest. Buyers can’t plan.
And the scheme risks becoming just another pilot.

Sure, public firms like SAIL have pledged 150 e-trucks by 2027. But that’s still a distant milestone. And unless public and private players get clarity soon, the 2025–26 window may slip past.

So while this hasn’t been announced yet, here’s what we wish for:

First, let public-sector giants like SAIL, CONCOR, and FCI take the lead, just as EESL did with EVs for government fleets.

Second, we need a clear deployment timeline, localisation rules, and a PMP that ties subsidies to domestic production—this year.

Third, we need cities to plan low-emission freight zones, starting with curbs on diesel trucks during peak hours.

Fourth, we need a policy for India’s ₹60,000 crore truck component industry. One that helps suppliers and manufacturers shift toward EV parts with phased incentives and support.

Because someday, maybe not too far from now, India’s freight system will go net-zero.

And we won’t meet our climate targets just in negotiation halls.
We’ll meet them where it matters the most.

On our roads. And on our highways.

The team behind Policy Mandala has launched a 4-month policy program for professionals, the Policy Pioneers Program, in collaboration with IIM Raipur and the Public Systems Lab at IIT Delhi.

Know more about it here.

Book Mandala

In this section, we suggest a book to be read/listened to each week, for the inner policy enthusiast in you :)

Book: Long Hard Road: The Lithium-Ion Battery and the Electric Car

Author: Charles J. Murray

About the Book

In Long Hard Road, author Charles L. Murray takes us deep into the messy, uncertain, and fascinating evolution of a technology that is now driving the world—literally. This is the story of the lithium-ion battery, told not as a miracle moment, but as a decades-long relay race between scientists, corporations, and unlikely champions across continents.

From early indifference to eventual dominance, the book traces the battery’s journey from lab benches to camcorders, laptops, and finally, to the heart of the electric vehicle revolution. The narrative culminates in how mainstream auto giants finally embraced lithium-ion as the battery chemistry that could turn electric cars from a curiosity into a commercial force.

Our Take

This book is a must-read for anyone trying to decode the electric truck push unfolding in India. As India dreams of electrifying its freight highways, this story offers vital lessons: that technology adoption is slow, often chaotic, and shaped as much by policy and corporate risk as by science. For policy thinkers, clean-tech entrepreneurs, and mobility researchers, this book delivers a compelling backstory on how the EV revolution was built—cell by cell, deal by deal.

Co-authored by Mrinal Rai and Aswathi Prakash.

Hope you liked today’s Policy Mandala!

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