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 Put simply, a retracted paper is a published research paper that has been formally withdrawn from the academic record because of serious errors, plagiarism or other integrity concerns.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

Read our Previous Policy Mandala :

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

  ---

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!

Share

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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!

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!

Share

Leave a comment

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

Take a guess.

Which Indian state:

• Has a per capita income that is 33% higher than the national average?

• Has the lowest population density?

• Houses over 35 unique tribal groups?

• Has more forest than farmland, and more length of rivers than roads?

• And is about to power nearly a quarter of India’s entire hydropower future?

Welcome to Arunachal Pradesh.

This is the land we once thought we might lose. But sixty years on, that same land is where India is building its most ambitious dreams.

The land of the rising sun, is set to now become the land of rising waters, rising wattage, and rising ambition.

And this is what today’s Policy Mandala is set out to capture!

Not just Arunachal’s quiet rise, but the enormous power it’s preparing to send across the rest of India.

On June 13, 2025, the Arunachal Pradesh government declared the next ten years as the “Decade of Hydropower”. A move aimed at harnessing the state's massive 58,000 MW hydro potential, which accounts for nearly 40% of India’s total.

But it wasn’t just this long-term vision that made headlines.

The real jolt came from the now: last week, the state approved projects worth 19,000 megawatts (MW). For a state with just 13 lakh people, that’s not just ambition, it’s a signal. Arunachal is quietly stepping into the role of a clean energy powerhouse for India.

That means the land which first sees the ‘light’, is now positioning itself to provide ‘light’ to the rest of India.

One might ask, how big is 19 GW?

To put it in everyday terms: 1 GW can power nearly 10 lakh Indian homes. So 19 GW could light up every household in a state the size of Maharashtra.

It’s also roughly equal to the entire electricity demand of Gujarat, and more than what India currently exports to Bangladesh and Nepal combined.

What’s more?

In the Northeast, Arunachal already contributes to Bhutan’s energy grid indirectly via eastern corridor exchanges. But with this scale, it may soon emerge as the hydro-electric heart of eastern South Asia, capable of linking with Nepal, Bhutan, Bangladesh, and even parts of Myanmar through cross-border energy trade networks.

India already facilitates exports of electricity to Bangladesh and Nepal. With the right policy framework, Arunachal’s rivers could soon be driving lights and industry across all 4 of the international borders: Nepal, Bhutan, Bangladesh, and Myanmar.

But before we get to geopolitics, let’s zoom in to what this project actually looks like.

This 19 GW push isn’t made of one big dam. It’s a constellation.

Part 1 of this constellation came on February 20, 2025, when the state announced 35 small hydropower projects totaling 570.75 MW, with investments of over ₹7,000 crore and an estimated 7,500 direct jobs. Two of them—Dikshi HEP and Khangtang HEP—are already generating electricity.

The next big element is the Siang Upper Multipurpose Project (SUMP), a 11,000 MW behemoth on the Siang River, which later becomes the Brahmaputra. If built, this would be India’s largest hydropower project.

Then there’s the long-stalled Etalin Project (3,097 MW) in Dibang Valley, which received in-principle forest clearance in May 2025, marking its revival. Add to this the Tato-II Project (700 MW) and a 240 MW project in Shi Yomi, awarded to Patel Engineering this year.

Together, they are the blueprint of a state staking its future on hydropower. Here's a snapshot of the major projects driving the 19 GW vision:

But what does all this power mean for the people of Arunachal?

As per the government estimates, 1 MW of hydroelectric capacity creates around 6.5 direct jobs during construction and about 0.4 permanent jobs in operations. This means Arunachal’s 19 GW could itself generate over 1.2 lakh jobs in the coming years, especially in construction, logistics, and local services. For a state with one of the lowest population densities in the country, that means livelihoods reaching the remotest corners.

Plus, there’s money to be made.

Arunachal is expected to earn over ₹4,525 crore annually from free power sales by 2035. In simpler words, under the power-sharing agreements, the state gets 12% of electricity generated from central projects free, and another 1% just for the local area development. This revenue, if managed well, could finance everything from schools and roads to hospitals in remote valleys.

But there’s more to this than numbers.

Zoom out, and you’ll see this energy push sits at the heart of a river system that binds nations.

The Brahmaputra is a moving map of power and politics.

It begins as the Yarlung Tsangpo in Tibet, cuts across Arunachal as the Siang, winds into Assam as the Brahmaputra, and finally fans out through Bangladesh into the Bay of Bengal. Along this journey, it drops nearly 3,000 metres, making it one of the world’s most powerful untapped river systems for hydropower.

It’s also a river on which China, India, and Bangladesh depend for water, food, and now, electricity.

China has already built multiple run-of-the-river projects on the upper Yarlung Tsangpo. Satellite images show at least 11 dams either planned or under construction. And now it is building a massive 60,000 MW “super dam” at Medog, just 30 km upstream of the Indian border, to be operational by 2033.

This isn’t just about power, it’s about riparian rights. That is, in international water law, the country that puts a shared river to use first often gains “prior use” or “established use” rights, which can strengthen its claim in future negotiations. So, building early isn't just development, it's diplomacy by other means.

India knows this. The Siang Upper project, in many ways, is a hydrological counterclaim. Building it affirms India’s first-use principle. It also acts as a geostrategic deterrent, strengthening India’s presence near the Line of Actual Control (LAC).

But, all this is not without a catch. The story gets more complex on the ground.

Tribal communities, especially the Adi and Idu Mishmi groups have been vocal. They fear losing not just land, but identity. The Etalin project alone will require the felling of nearly 47,000 trees, while Tato-II may cut down over 1.5 lakh. Add to this the risks of flash floods, seismic instability, and cultural displacement, and you see why some villagers have said, “We will die for our land.”

The state has responded with plans. The cabinet has set up New Yingkiong and Geku Development Authorities to build alternative towns. It has begun property compensation surveys, promised rehabilitation packages, and committed to community consultation.

But is it enough?

For many affected families, there’s still no clarity on resettlement timelines, livelihood transitions, or cultural safeguards. Some want tribal councils to co-monitor project impacts. Others ask for biodiversity credits or a seat at the revenue-sharing table.

So what should we do?

First, we believe Arunachal, with its overwhelmingly tribal population, offers a rare opportunity for India to move beyond tokenistic consultations. Instead of symbolic outreach, this is a chance to formally integrate tribal councils into the core of project planning and governance, ensuring both trust and continuity of indigenous knowledge.

Second, One of the least acknowledged risks of Himalayan development is how altered sediment flows can disturb seismic balance over time. In fragile zones like Arunachal, this can trigger unpredictable and uneven tectonic activity. That’s why we believe that all large-scale infrastructure, especially dams, must go beyond routine EIAs. We need advanced modelling of sediment dynamics, seismic risks, and long-term climate impacts to avoid creating a future disaster.

Third, India must urgently rethink its reliance on foreign cloud-based platforms for dam surveillance. Many “smart dam” systems today run on overseas SaaS tools, risking long-term data control and sovereignty. But India now has the capacity to do better. ISRO’s satellite programs like CARTOSAT for high-resolution terrain mapping and the Bhuvan geoportal, have significantly advanced domestic capabilities in hydrological and geospatial monitoring. It’s time to build on that momentum by developing open-source, locally governed systems. These must also uphold tribal digital rights—the principle that indigenous communities should have control over how data about their lands, rivers, and ecosystems is collected, used, and shared.

Fourth, Arunachal is on its way to becoming an energy-surplus state. But Arunachal, with its limited plain terrain, may not be able to host large-scale industries, while other Northeastern states like Assam, Meghalaya, and Nagaland can. This opens up a real possibility: can Arunachal power an industrial resurgence across the Northeast? It's time for policymakers to start connecting these dots. The recent Northeast Global Investment Summit was a welcome step, but hosting it in Delhi says a lot. If the roadmap for Northeast development still needs a pit stop in the capital, it’s clear the destination hasn’t quite been reached.

Fifth, overbuilding downstream in a mountainous terrain like Arunachal could also backfire environmentally. What Arunachal must offer is an opportunity to lead a third path: a state-led, people-aware, eco-balanced energy blueprint. That’s what the country needs.

And finally, a political question.
Should India match China dam for dam?

Well, this isn’t just about hydropower or river management anymore. These questions take on a new urgency in light of a recent statement by a senior Chinese official. After India suspended parts of the Indus Waters Treaty amid renewed tensions with Pakistan, China issued a not-so-subtle warning that it could use the Brahmaputra’s flow as leverage if India disrupted water arrangements with its allies.

The message was clear: Beijing holds the upstream advantage. If it ever chose to weaponize that by releasing excess water from its massive dams or abruptly holding it back, the downstream impact on India’s Northeast could be devastating. Entire districts could face floods, or crippling water shortages.

That’s the uncomfortable reality. And in this context, India’s own dams are not just about storage or energy, they are also buffers against external shocks. They are about generating confidence.

And thanks to One Nation, One Grid, Arunachal’s dams are also about making sure that India’s easternmost state doesn’t just see the first sunrise, but also powers the rest of the country long after the sun sets!

See you in our next edition, next week.

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: China's Water War in North-East India

Author: Dr. Santosh K. Guha

About the Book:
In China's Water War in North-East India, Dr. Santosh K. Guha lays bare a geopolitical faultline often overlooked: water. Focusing on the Brahmaputra River, whose origins lie in Tibet and whose flow sustains millions in India and Bangladesh—the book examines China's growing control over its headwaters. With plans for massive dams and possible diversion projects, Beijing’s hydro-strategy has stirred deep anxieties downstream. Guha explores how these developments risk triggering not just ecological harm, but diplomatic friction and strategic vulnerability. Far from speculation, this is a rigorously researched account of how water could become Asia’s next frontier of conflict.

Our Take:
This book is essential for anyone trying to understand why Arunachal Pradesh's hydropower push is not just about electricity, but deterrence. As India builds dams to secure its own riparian claim, Guha reminds us that rivers are not just natural resources. They are weapons, leverage points, and flashpoints. For policy researchers, defence watchers, and climate realists, China’s Water War offers a sharp, urgent perspective on why water security must now be at the heart of India’s strategic playbook.

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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“India has overtaken Japan to become the world’s third-largest economy.”

Fireworks, real and rhetorical, followed this announcement last month. Ministers tweeted. Media headlines boomed. WhatsApp groups churned out fresh memes and patriotic cheers.

We at India House wanted to celebrate too. But we paused. We fact-checked.

And the reality was slightly different.

India is close, but not quite there yet. As of early 2025, our GDP stands at about $3.93 trillion, chasing the $4 trillion mark that would officially rank us third in around a year’s time.

Still, with growth at 7.4 percent last quarter and an annual average near 6.5 percent, we’re undeniably on the move. Construction, manufacturing, and services are growing. Digital infrastructure is deepening. Foreign investors are watching closely. It’s only a matter of time before we cross that milestone.

So yes, the celebration is not misplaced.

But before we get into the GDP ‘party’, we need to pause and ask:

What does this mean for India? For Indians? Who’s getting a slice of this GDP cake, and what’s actually in that slice?

That’s what we’re unpacking in this Policy Mandala. Let’s go!

But, let’s quickly revise: GDP!

GDP, or Gross Domestic Product, is the world’s shorthand for economic power. It adds up the value of all goods and services produced in a country. That includes smartphones from Noida, AI tools from Hyderabad, wheat from Tripura, and coal from Jharkhand.

It’s the metric investors watch, sovereign credit agencies rate, and multilateral lenders use to set borrowing terms. It signals how strong an economy is and how much leverage it holds in global affairs.

It’s an important outcome of both conscious and unconscious policy choices.

Over the past decade, India has tripled infrastructure spending and rolled out Production Linked Incentive schemes that together sparked nearly ₹2 lakh crore in new investments. India drew over $80 billion in foreign capital last year alone, as global funds rushed to buy Indian government bonds and this also got included in JP Morgan’s Emerging Market Bond Index.

What’s driving this momentum?

Massive public investment in roads, rail, and energy creates jobs and builds long-lasting assets. PLI schemes pulling in fresh capital. And a 350-million-strong middle class that powers a significant percent of GDP through demand for housing, mobility, and digital services.

It’s no surprise that India is now the fastest-growing major economy, expanding around 6 to 7 percent even in a shaky global environment.

There’s no question that GDP growth matters. It gives us credibility, invites investors, and secures a seat at global tables. But GDP also hides as much as it reveals. It tells us how big the economy is, but not exactly how well people are doing.

Look at jobs. Urban youth unemployment sits near 18 percent. Only 12 percent of college graduates find formal jobs within a year. Most new work is informal, without contracts, health coverage, or paid leave. About 91% of India’s workforce of 5.2 crore is informal, who lack basic social insurance.

Per capita income, i.e. the average income per person, stands around ₹2.5 lakh a year. That places us roughly 110th globally when adjusted for prices. So while the economy grows, many Indians still hustle just to stay afloat.

Then there’s the work GDP doesn’t see at all.

Across millions of homes, women wake before dawn, cook, fetch water, care for elders, help with homework, clean, manage illnesses, and often still contribute to family incomes through farms or home-based businesses. This unpaid care work keeps households running. In truth, it underpins India’s largest social security system: the family.

But since no money changes hands, none of it shows up in GDP. Estimates suggest that unpaid care and domestic work add over ₹22 lakh crore in value every year, more than the entire national education budget. Yet because it’s not counted, it rarely becomes a priority in policy. If we measured it properly, we might see stronger investment in childcare centres, maternity support, or rural infrastructure that eases household burdens.

Instead, this massive contribution remains invisible. It doesn’t show up in our national accounts, so it doesn’t shape how we plan.

GDP also misses something else: the costs of climate damage.

According to a recent CEEW Study, 3/4th of Indian population is at 'high' to 'very high' heat risk. In 2024 alone, crop yields in Punjab and Haryana dropped 10 percent. Delhi’s air quality stayed hazardous for nearly three months, halting outdoor work and construction. Chennai has lost ₹20,000 crore to floods in 2015 and continues to lose in every subsequent flood since.

These aren’t rare events anymore. They’re becoming annual shocks that disrupt labor, logistics, and livelihoods.

Ironically, rebuilding after floods, buying more air purifiers, or treating pollution-triggered illnesses can all push GDP higher. Economic activity rises, even when people’s well-being sinks. That’s the blunt truth: GDP measures transactions, not human flourishing.

So how are we really doing?

India ranks 132 out of 191 on the Human Development Index, with an HDI score of 0.645. About 19 crore Indians still live with multidimensional poverty, lacking health, education, or decent living standards, even though 24 crore came out of it over the last decade.

It’s a messy reality. The economy is growing. Lives are improving. Yet too many are still left behind.

This is the classic policy paradox: better, but still bad.

Other countries have started asking deeper questions about what progress should look like.

Bhutan measures Gross National Happiness. New Zealand uses a Wellbeing Budget that directs money based on social outcomes, not just sectors. Scotland has a dashboard of 81 indicators that guide public planning, tracking everything from mental health to ecological resilience.

These aren’t casual experiments. They’re serious attempts to put human well-being on par with economic growth.

So why does GDP still dominate?

Because it’s simple. Because it’s familiar. Because it makes for powerful headlines and is easy for global markets to digest. “India at $4 trillion” sounds compelling. “Multidimensional poverty fell by 1.5 percent” doesn’t have the same ring. Metrics like HDI or the Social Progress Index lack glamour and often don’t influence trade deals or big loans. So GDP stays at the top.

But this obsession comes at a cost. When GDP becomes our only compass, we overlook the millions of lives hidden behind averages.

So what could India do differently?

First, focus less on aggregate GDP and more on GDP per capita and median income. GDP per capita shows roughly what each person’s share would be. Median income reveals what the typical Indian earns. Together, they cut through the illusion of sheer size.

Second, lead the way in building a GDP-plus framework that reflects India’s unique context. This means valuing unpaid care work, household savings, and informal sector contributions that sustain the economy but stay invisible. It wouldn’t replace GDP, but would sit alongside it, giving a more honest picture of how we’re doing.

Third, be transparent about trade-offs. India has rightly focused on macro stability, low inflation, and big infrastructure spending. This strategy has brought credibility and steadiness. But it’s also meant slower wage growth in rural areas and fewer new jobs. These are deliberate choices that deserve debate by all of us.

Fourth, stay committed to growing beyond services. PLI schemes are a start, but manufacturing still makes up only about 15 percent of GDP. Unlocking more here means making it easier for MSMEs to scale, for private investors to take risks, and for research and development to thrive. That’s how we build resilience and real industrial heft. And there is a lot of work that needs to be done on this front.

So yes, let’s celebrate India approaching $4 trillion. It reflects resilience, reform momentum, and growing clout in the global economy. That’s worth a genuine round of applause.

But let’s also stay clear-eyed. GDP tells us how big the economy is. It doesn’t tell us how fair, healthy, or hopeful it is.

That’s the kind of progress we should aim for. And that’s the kind of India Policy Mandala will keep rooting for.

See you next week.

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: GDP: A Brief but Affectionate History

Author: Diane Coyle

About the Book:

Diane Coyle, a leading economist and former adviser to the UK Treasury, offers a concise yet compelling history of one of the world’s most quoted — and misunderstood — numbers: GDP. Tracing its origins from the Great Depression to its central role in modern policymaking, Coyle explains how GDP came to dominate economic thinking, what it leaves out, and why that matters. With clarity and wit, she walks readers through the metric's evolution, its role in global politics, and the urgent debate over what we should be measuring instead in the 21st century.

Our Take:

This is the kind of book we at Policy Mandala love — crisp, insightful, and deeply relevant to how we think about growth. Coyle strikes a rare balance between economic rigour and accessibility, making it a great read for policy nerds, students, and curious citizens alike.

As India inches toward the $4 trillion mark and we reflect on what that number actually tells us (or doesn’t), this book offers critical context. It doesn’t preach, it invites you to rethink.

Co-authored by Meenakshi Singh 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.

You’re standing at the Dabolim airport exit, bags in hand, in vacation mode and eager to visit the beach. With the sea just 40 minutes away, you can almost hear the waves and feel the sand already.

A driver approaches and quotes ₹2,500 for the ride to Calangute, barely 30 km away. You hesitate. Instinctively, you reach for your phone. No Uber. No Ola. Just the realisation that the services you rely on every day simply don’t work here, because Goa has made a different choice.

A choice made by Goa almost a decade ago: to keep national aggregators out. While the rest of India books nearly a thousand cabs each minute, Goa has kept major platforms at bay. Locals and tourists are left to rely on what taxi drivers quote, with little to no room for negotiation or alternatives.

This choice by Goa forces us to ask: What has Goa prioritized? Local electoral calculus or strategic economic preservation?

But wait, why are we discussing Goa? Why taxis? And why is this in Policy Mandala?

Because earlier this month, the state introduced the Goa Transport Aggregator Guidelines 2025: arguably one of the clearest signals yet of how India might regulate its platform economy when it conflicts with the local economy.

Let’s understand the context first. App-based taxis have been a key tourist demand in Goa for over a decade. If the recent protests by taxi unions over the new regulations are any indication, avoiding these platforms has also been a long-standing political stance of Goa’s taxi groups.

Let’s first unpack the Goa guidelines.

The new rules allow local aggregators to function in Goa while mandating a zero-commission model, fixed minimum fares, mandatory health insurance of ₹10 lakh for drivers (even more for women), a 48-hour grievance redressal system, and EV adoption incentives. Platforms must maintain a physical office in Goa and deposit ₹10 lakh as security.

These rules are still awaiting formal enforcement. But if implemented, they would make Goa one of the most driver-friendly states in India when it comes to cab aggregator rules. Sounds great, right?

Here’s the twist: these rules don’t apply to Ola or Uber, because they’re not allowed to operate in Goa at all. Chief Minister Pramod Sawant has made it clear: national aggregators are not welcome.

So why draft detailed regulations that don’t even apply to the largest players?

It’s political math. Goa has around 24,000 taxi drivers. Add their families and friends, and you have roughly 1.5 lakh voters in a state of 12 lakh. That’s over 12% of the electorate. Enough to sway elections. Enough to shape policy. Tourists bring revenue, but not votes. Taxi unions do, and they hold real sway in Goan elections.

But what explains this intense opposition to national aggregators like Ola and Uber?

In a democracy, three things matter to any government: votes, revenues, and survival. If the government supports the unions, it secures the votes. If it charges high licence fees from cabs, it fills the state coffers. And any disruption to the status quo makes things risky.

That’s why local platforms like Goa Miles thrive. It’s a government-backed platform operated by Goa locals, charges zero commission, and reportedly completes over 15,000 rides a day.

Yet tourists complain. Fares in Goa are among the highest in India: ₹36/km for hatchbacks, compared to ₹20 to ₹25/km in most metros. In theory, zero commission should translate to cheaper fares. In practice, unionised pricing and lack of competition keep rates high. A 10 km ride costing ₹200 in Delhi or Mumbai might cost nearly ₹400 in Goa. That’s not just a tourist problem; it’s a local one too.

And Goa’s not alone.

Across India, regulators are grappling with the same dilemma: how to embrace platforms without losing control.

West Bengal’s 2022 rules required rider data to be stored locally. Karnataka banned bike taxis last week. Maharashtra capped aggregator commissions at 12%. Pune denied licences to Ola and Uber over insurance lapses just six months ago.

Every time the state draws a line, platforms find a loop. India’s aggregator economy has quietly mastered the art of bending without breaking. And yet, the platforms adapt.

In Maharashtra, Ola and Uber switched to flat subscription fees, allowing drivers to keep 100% of the fare. In Karnataka, Rapido rebranded its bike taxis as rentals and continues to operate. In Bengal, servers were tweaked just enough to meet localisation norms. With fare caps, users were nudged to tip more. It’s been a regulatory cat-and-mouse game, leaving drivers and consumers caught in the crossfire.

Let's come back to Goa.

Tourist complaints about pricing and reliability have surged in the last few years. Many blame the dominance of taxi unions for Goa’s tourism dip. The state saw only 1.5 million foreign tourists in 2023, significantly down from 8.5 million in 2019. Transport inefficiencies are often cited as a key reason.

But this debate isn’t just about fares. It raises a deeper question: should governments serve locals or outsiders?

Let's take the example of Varanasi to understand this binary. The Kashi Vishwanath Corridor, when under construction, had faced strong local resistance but became a hit with pilgrims. Locals bring votes. Outsiders bring visibility, revenue, and growth. So the question arises: in a democracy, who should take precedence in policymaking—today’s voters or tomorrow’s economy?

There are no easy answers.

But in Goa’s case, the choice made by the government appears clear: local drivers over tourists.

And yet, we believe it didn’t have to be a binary choice. Smarter regulation was possible.

Rather than protect the local by excluding the global, Goa could have protected the local by regulating the global: with benchmarks, incentives, and real-time accountability. To support local aggregators like Goa Miles, the state could have offered smart incentives, such as GST waivers, technology grants, or even backend integration into tourism platforms.

It could have demanded local reinvestment by outside players, through higher licence fees, EV infrastructure funding, or driver skilling.

Goa has already moved away from commission-based models, allowing drivers to keep 100% of fares. But more could be done to boost transparency. In the case of other aggregator platforms, drivers often complain more about hidden cuts than about flat fees. The regulations could have tackled this too, by mandating clearer models of ride financials.

There is also a deeper issue in Goa's latest taxi regulations. The policy charges ₹5 lakh per cab as a licence fee for three years. It also mandates a ₹10 lakh deposit and maintaining a local office. The message is obvious: only the well-funded may enter the aggregator business. It doesn’t look like a free market even for local aggregators; it’s a filtered one.

If the intent was local accountability, the licence fees may have been designed to scale based on operator size, or could have offered performance-linked renewals, as this may have invited both innovation and integrity.

Licensing is a great tool for governance and the economy, but it should not be a gate for exclusion. Any democratic government must protect its drivers, but also let innovation through the door and create a healthy mobility ecosystem for tourists and locals alike.

So next time your ride doesn’t show up in Goa, or anywhere in India, think beyond the taxi that never came. Think about the policy that still can.

If you’ve faced (or bypassed) Goa’s taxi challenge, or if your city is writing its own platform rules, tell us. The future of platform policy is still being drafted—one state at a time—and we are here to watch, suggest, and hopefully inspire a more systemic lens in policy.

See you in our next edition, next week.

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: Platform Revolution: How Networked Markets Are Transforming the Economy, and How to Make Them Work for You

Authors: Geoffrey G. Parker, Marshall W. Van Alstyne and Sangeet Paul Choudary

About the Book:
In Platform Revolution: How Networked Markets Are Transforming the Economy—and How to Make Them Work for You, authors Geoffrey G. Parker, Marshall W. Van Alstyne, and Sangeet Paul Choudary unpack the mechanics behind platforms like Uber, Airbnb, and Amazon. This is not just a book about tech—it’s a deep dive into how platforms rewrite the rules of competition, reshape industries, and challenge regulatory systems. The book offers powerful insights into what makes platform-based businesses tick: network effects, data-driven feedback loops, and the delicate balance between openness and control. It also explores the role of governance, trust, and policy in making platforms work for the many—not just the few.

Our Take:
For anyone trying to understand why Goa can say no to Uber while encouraging Goa Miles—or why India’s states are struggling to regulate platform-led services—this book is essential reading. It helps decode why aggregators thrive in some places and falter in others, not just due to business models, but because of the ecosystems around them. As India moves toward a platform-dominated economy—from mobility to education, from commerce to care work—Platform Revolution reminds us that getting the rules right isn’t optional. It's foundational.

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!

Share

Leave a comment

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

It’s June in Delhi.
Monsoon clouds loom large over the capital, and so does another kind of storm: school fees.

If you’re a parent in Delhi, chances are your WhatsApp groups have been buzzing. Not with memes this time, but with screenshots of fee hike notices. In this week’s Policy Mandala, we unpack the Delhi School Fee Crisis and the policy response that followed: The Delhi School Education (Transparency in Fixation and Regulation of Fees) Ordinance, 2025.

Today’s Mandala unfolds like a drama set in a documentary. Parents and schools are locked in conflict, and the government plays the ever-watchful big brother. At the core lies a delicate balancing act — affordability vs aspiration, autonomy vs accountability.

This edition explores what the government must do, and just as crucially, what it must avoid, to untangle the growing puzzle that is India’s education system.

Let’s go.

First, this isn’t new.
Not to Delhi. Not to India.
And this also isn’t the first regulation. Nor will it be the last.

So, why are we talking about it?

Because this is Delhi — one of the most educated regions in India, the launchpad of much-hyped and talked-about education reforms like Mission Buniyaad, the Happiness Curriculum, and a public school system that became a poster for political campaigns across states.

It’s also home to some of India’s most elite private schools. Nearly 8 of India’s top 20 private schools are located here. And yet, Delhi now finds itself at the heart of a growing public outcry — private school fees rising faster, unpredictably, and without much transparency.

Parents protested.
The media picked it up.
Politicians — both in power and opposition — jumped in.
And finally, the Delhi government responded.

The Delhi School Education (Transparency in Fixation and Regulation of Fees) Ordinance, 2025.

Cleared last week, the ordinance proposes a three-tier framework to approve, audit, and adjudicate school fee hikes. It bars schools from increasing fees more than once every three years — and only after committee approval.

The move is being positioned as a win for the middle class. Parents seem cautiously hopeful. Schools, less so — but accepting, for now.

But why an Ordinance, Not a Bill?

The Delhi government didn’t wait for the monsoon session. With the Assembly not in session and public anger rising — protests outside schools, legal petitions piling up, and social media outrage from parent groups — the government needed a quick fix.

An ordinance offered that. Instant enforcement, no legislative wait.

The DPS Dwarka incident became a tipping point — where parents were shocked by a steep fee hike and students were allegedly removed for non-payment. The government pulled the emergency lever and the ordinance kicked in immediately.

A full-fledged bill is still expected in the upcoming session — where it will go through debate, amendment, and vote.

So, what exactly does the ordinance say?

Picture this.

Mohan, a 40 year old, is a sales manager in a car showroom. His annual increment barely keeps up with inflation — 4 to 6%. It covers rent, food, petrol. But when his daughter’s school hikes fees by 22%, his entire budget falls apart. He’s not against paying for good education — he just didn’t expect the school’s inflation to outpace the country’s.

This is where the ordinance tries to bring some order.

First, it sets up a three-level oversight system — like an escalation ladder:

1. Start at the school-level committee.

2. If unresolved, go to a district appellate body.

3. If still stuck, a state revision committee steps in.

Each of these committees is meant to be diverse and balanced—comprising not just school management, but also teachers, parents, government nominees, and even financial experts.

Second, schools can only raise fees once every three years. No more annual shocks. And fee hikes must be justified — based on tangible inputs like infrastructure upgrades, audited accounts, and the services offered.

Third, the ordinance introduces strong safeguards:

• Penalties up to ₹10 lakh for violations.

• A ban on coercive fee collection methods.

• Time-bound dispute resolution — for instance, school-level committees must respond within 30 days, after which the matter escalates to the next level.

But the real question: Who does this actually help?

The Delhi elite — those paying ₹6–10 lakh annually — can absorb the shocks.
The urban poor mostly rely on government schools or low-fee private ones.

It’s the middle class — stuck between aspiration and affordability — that’s gasping for air. And they’re the ones who risk losing access to quality schools.

Opening a school in Delhi reportedly requires over 125 documents and 150 procedures. Regulatory overload suffocates small, low-fee schools — the only affordable option for many families. If regulation becomes too rigid, smaller schools may stop expanding, cut corners, or shut down. Between 2015 and 2018, over 2,469 schools were shut down across India for not meeting RTE norms.

Innovation may also stall. Think of AI-enabled classrooms, digital labs — they all need investment. But if increasing fees becomes a bureaucratic minefield, schools may choose to stay stuck in traditional curriculums.

To add to it, The Delhi High Court in 2023 ruled that private schools must pay teachers as per the 7th Pay Commission. Salaries are now a huge burden — especially in moderate-fee schools. And there’s no rule ensuring fee hikes actually benefit teachers.

So schools can raise fees — without improving salaries or quality.

So what makes schooling so expensive?

One word: land.

In Delhi, land is prohibitively expensive.
CBSE norms say urban schools must have at least 1,500–2,000 sq. metres of land. That’s ₹15–20 crore worth of land in many Delhi neighbourhoods — even before construction begins.

RTE norms add more pressure — playgrounds, labs, boundary walls, a classroom per teacher. Together, these rules choke supply.

The result? Few new schools, rising demand, and soaring costs.

Real estate dynamics quietly fuel fee inflation. Often, land is bought decades ago and schools are built later, riding on massive appreciation. These costs get passed on to parents. Meanwhile, schools with freehold land often escape regulatory scrutiny — slipping through the cracks.

This brings us to a deeper question: What are parents really looking for?

It’s not just academics. It’s safety, discipline, English-medium teaching, infrastructure, and increasingly — brand value.

But cost remains central.

According to NSSO 2017–18, the average annual private school fee in Delhi at the secondary level was ₹32,003 — nearly three times the national average of ₹11,026. For a family earning ₹5–15 lakh, schooling two kids can cost over ₹60,000 a year.

Add books, transport, coaching, and extra-curriculars — and education can take up 15–25% of disposable income. Especially for households juggling EMIs and high urban living costs.

And Delhi isn’t alone.

A LocalCircles survey of 31,000 parents across 309 districts found:

• 36% faced fee hikes of 50–80%

• 8% saw hikes over 80%

• 93% said state governments had failed to act

The problem is national.
Delhi just happens to be the epicentre.

So, what would a better solution look like?

First, regulate existing student fees — not new admissions.
If a child is admitted at ₹80,000, schools shouldn’t hike it more than 6–8% a year. But let them set market-driven rates for new students — like colleges do.

Second, link fee hikes to teacher salaries.
If fees go up, schools must show that a fair share supports better pay or improved facilities — not just admin perks or brand building.

Third, target regulation where it matters.
Schools charging more than ₹1.5 lakh or having over 1,000 students should face tighter scrutiny. But leave the budget private schools alone. They’re already struggling under infrastructure and recognition pressures.

Fourth, revisit the not-for-profit mandate.

Private schools in India don’t operate as charities by choice — they’re legally required to. The law mandates that schools be run by trusts or societies.

But here’s the irony — coaching centres for IIT and NEET prep can function as full-fledged businesses, charging ₹2–3 lakh a year.

So why not schools?

Why not let them be honest, tax-paying private enterprises, with transparent books and public audits — instead of operating in legal grey zones?

The current setup creates a shadow economy.
Schools route profits through complex fee structures or related-party deals.
It’s neither clean nor fair.

Finally, let’s not forget the real fix: public education.

Until government schools offer aspirational, reliable, and dignified learning — the pressure on private schools will stay high. Regulation will remain a band-aid.

The real cure lies in restoring trust in public systems.

The Delhi ordinance is a signal that the current model isn’t working.
But it’s also a warning, that regulation without reform can do more harm than good.

So here’s the question we leave you with:
Can India protect its middle class without choking the institutions that serve them?

Until next week,
Policy Mandala.

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: Rethinking Public Institutions in India

Authors: Devesh Kapur, Pratap Bhanu Mehta, and Milan Vaishnav

About the Book:
In Rethinking Public Institutions in India, editors Devesh Kapur, Pratap Bhanu Mehta, and Milan Vaishnav bring together a sharp and wide-ranging set of essays that dissect the institutional backbone of Indian democracy. From the Parliament to the judiciary, from the Election Commission to financial regulators, the book interrogates whether these public institutions are still capable of meeting the demands of a 21st-century India. Rather than romanticizing the state, it offers a clear-eyed analysis of where institutions are fraying, how accountability mechanisms are weakening, and why deep reform — not just tinkering — is urgently needed.

Our Take:
What makes this volume deeply relevant to today’s policy conversations — including those around education regulation — is its bold insistence that India's future depends on institutional renewal, not just policy ambition. In the context of school fee regulation, for instance, it reminds us that no ordinance or reform can succeed without strong, responsive, and citizen-centric public institutions. For anyone grappling with the complexities of governance in India — be it in education, health, or fiscal federalism — this book is an indispensable guide to both the promise and the perils of state-led reform.

Co-authored by Mrinal Rai and Aswathi Prakash.

Hope you liked today’s Policy Mandala!

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Hello Policy Mandala Readers,
We have a great news for you!

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 - https://theindiahouse.org/policy-pioneers/?utm_source=email&utm_medium=PM.

Sometimes, the biggest transformations don’t arrive with fireworks. They quietly slip into the fabric of everyday life, until one day, everything feels dramatically simpler.

India may just be standing at the edge of one such transformation. It’s not about space rockets, not about AI, not about electric cars. This time, it’s about something far more basic. An address. The one thing each of us uses countless times — to guide a friend to our house, to visit a new place, to receive deliveries, or for government documents — but never truly notices how broken it has been.

In this week’s Policy Mandala, we are here to decode this journey. Because if DHRUVA succeeds, it can rewrite how 1.4 billion Indians identify where they live, how businesses find them, how governments serve them, and how India’s digital public infrastructure quietly takes one more giant leap.

Today, if you want groceries delivered to your apartment in Ghaziabad, you probably type something like: “Flat 4B, near Sharma Medical Store, Mohan Nagar, Ghaziabad - 201017.” It sounds fine — until the delivery agent calls you frantically. “Bhaiya, landmark kya hai?” And that tiny, daily headache gets repeated across millions of homes, every single day.

India’s address system is wildly inefficient.

Our 19,000 PIN codes cover huge swathes of land — each PIN roughly maps 170 square kilometers. That’s nearly 10,000 cricket stadiums bundled into one postal code! No wonder a lot of deliveries fail, welfare schemes misfire, property records get disputed, and service providers struggle in reaching ‘you’. In fact, according to one 2018 estimate, India’s broken address system costs us nearly ₹83,000 crore to ₹1.16 lakh crore annually — around 0.5% of our GDP. Because when addresses are vague, deliveries fail, welfare benefits miss the right person, paperwork piles up, and people spend hours explaining “landmarks” over phone calls — across millions of people, that waste adds up fast.

Enter DHRUVA.

Launched in the first week of June by the Department of Posts in collaboration with ISRO and IIT Hyderabad, DHRUVA — Digital Hub for Reference & Unique Virtual Address — aims to finally fix India’s address problem at the root. And it does so with a fascinating twist at two levels: first, instead of our vague, text-based addresses, every location in India will soon have a unique 10 digit DIGIPIN — a precise 4x4 meter square, mapped through satellite-based geocoding.

Yes, 4x4 meters. That means your doorstep, not just your building or street. Across India’s 3.287 million square kilometers, that means about 205.4 billion possible DIGIPINs.

Much of this draws upon India’s growing geospatial backbone, built steadily through platforms like ISRO’s Bhuvan, which has been mapping India's physical infrastructure for years. DHRUVA builds on top of this to finally give every individual a precise, verifiable digital address.

The second is the Digital Address Layer — where users can create human-readable, customizable handles like rahul.kumar@dhruva, mapped to their unique DIGIPIN. Together, these two layers turn every location into a verified, shareable, and legally usable digital address.

Of course, the idea of digital addressing isn’t entirely new. India’s experiments with this began as early as 2016, when MapmyIndia launched eLoc, assigning unique 6-character codes to locations across India. Around 2020, startups like Pataa entered, allowing users to create personalized address short-codes paired with voice directions. More recently, platforms like BHASKAR, supported under Startup India, have also emerged to build digital addressing solutions for India’s evolving logistics and governance needs.

Globally too, countries like the United States (National Address Database), Australia (Geocoded National Address File), Ghana (GhanaPost GPS), and the United Kingdom (National Address Gazetteer using Unique Property Reference Numbers) have built national address registries to bring precision and standardization.

But isn’t this what Google Maps already does? Not quite.

Google Maps helps you navigate. DHRUVA ties your location to your identity. It helps you prove and securely share your address. Your Google location pin can’t be used as legal address proof, doesn’t give you control over who sees it, and can’t be officially verified for government or financial services. DHRUVA, on the other hand, allows you to create a personal handle — say, rahul.kumar@dhruva — that ties your physical location to a verified digital identity.

And unlike Google, where your data lives on corporate servers, DHRUVA’s architecture is fully privacy-by-design, consent-based, federated, and entirely governed by Indian law under the Digital Personal Data Protection Act, 2023.

But what does this mean for you and me?

Imagine applying for a government scheme that requires proof of address. Instead of submitting electricity bills, rental agreements, or Aadhaar printouts, you simply submit your verified DHRUVA handle. The official will be able to instantly validate your address through authorized verification agencies (AAVAs), no back-and-forth paperwork.

Ordering a parcel? Your DIGIPIN leads the delivery person directly to your doorstep — not somewhere near a random “Sharma Medical Store.” No more frustrating calls. No more failed deliveries.

And perhaps more importantly: life isn’t static — homes change, plots get divided, people move, tenants shift, land parcels mutate. Traditional GIS or address systems can’t keep up with these changes. But DHRUVA is designed for this dynamism.

If a property gets subdivided, DIGIPINs can be reassigned accordingly. When ownership changes, your Digital Address handle can simply be revoked or transferred to the next occupant while the location remains fixed. Even tenants or migrants can dynamically update their address handle as they move.

In short, DHRUVA introduces something India’s addressing system has long lacked: updatable, portable, citizen-controlled addresses.

For businesses — especially in logistics, e-commerce, fintech, proptech, and emergency services — DHRUVA could be a game-changer. Today, logistics eats up nearly 14% of India’s GDP, which is too high compared to 8-9% in developed economies like the US or Germany. Inefficient last-mile delivery and poor addressing are huge reasons why. Even capturing one-fourth of this inefficiency through DHRUVA could save us around ₹20,000 to ₹30,000 crore annually — that’s equivalent to around 0.1% of GDP.

Yes, DHRUVA is in the future — a window into what could soon become possible.

In not-so-distant future drone deliveries, too, could finally become practical at scale. With DHRUVA’s pinpoint accuracy, autonomous drones won’t have to “guess” where to drop a parcel — the 4x4 meter grids allow them to land precisely where they should, even in dense urban settings or remote villages.

The policy’s potential is equally massive for governance. From land record digitization, to identifying benami properties, preventing shell companies fraud, simplifying land acquisition, and even revolutionizing the Census process — DHRUVA’s granular data can plug into dozens of systems that today function in silos.

Of course, it isn’t perfect yet. For instance, DHRUVA currently doesn’t fully capture vertical separation — meaning two apartments stacked on top of each other may initially share the same DIGIPIN. But even here, the architecture allows descriptive add-ons (like “Flat 4B, 3rd floor”) and future upgrades as technology matures.

Beyond that, there are policy gaps — from lack of financial incentives for private players, to legal complexities around ID linkages, limited coordination with land records and AgriStack, and the need for robust data governance as adoption scales.

But amid these challenges, the government is also laying the groundwork to attract innovation and private sector participation.

The government has offered open APIs (Application Programming Interface) and plug-and-play integration, allowing startups and companies to build services atop DHRUVA — just like they did with UPI and Aadhaar. Think about logistics firms integrating DHRUVA to optimize their routes, or fintech startups offering faster, cheaper address verification for KYC.

And internationally, this isn’t just a domestic exercise. India’s DPI model which forms a major portion of the India Stack — Aadhaar, UPI, DigiLocker, e-KYC — is being actively exported globally, with over 20 countries adopting parts of it through platforms like MOSIP and NPCI International. As Industrial 5.0 approaches — an era of AI-driven, human-centric governance — India’s DPI leadership may well become a soft-power asset that shapes the global digital architecture.

What’s happening quietly with DHRUVA, therefore, is far bigger than an address reform. It’s India building the fourth layer of its digital public stack — after digital identity, payments, and data empowerment. It’s yet another audacious attempt to turn an everyday pain point into a globally exportable public good.

The real test now lies in how well we implement, how transparently we govern, and how much trust we can build among citizens to opt in. More importantly, we still await a clear timeline from the government — will this take decades like the Chenab Bridge, or move with the speed of UPI?

But if we pull it off, your simple act of sharing your address may soon become one of the most elegant proofs of India’s grand digital journey.

And that — is why we are talking about DHRUVA this week.

Book Mandala

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

Book: AI for Digital Public Infrastructure

Author: Karl N. Mehta

About the Book:
In AI for Digital Public Infrastructure, Karl N. Mehta offers a highly accessible, deeply practical blueprint for how governments can embed artificial intelligence into their public service delivery frameworks. Drawing from case studies across sectors, Mehta breaks down the building blocks of Digital Public Infrastructure (DPI) — including identity, payments, data sharing, and geospatial platforms — and shows how AI can make them smarter, more responsive, and more inclusive. The book covers everything from consent architecture and service personalization to real-time policy feedback loops, offering a grounded playbook for public sector leaders navigating the next wave of digital governance.

Our Take:
What makes Mehta’s work especially timely for India’s DPI journey is its clear articulation of how AI can serve as a “second layer” atop the robust DPI stack India is already building — Aadhaar for identity, UPI for payments, DigiLocker for data, and now DHRUVA for addresses. Mehta emphasizes that true AI-powered governance isn’t about replacing human decision-making but about making public services more adaptive, predictive, and citizen-centric — exactly the vision that platforms like DHRUVA could soon enable. For policymakers, technocrats, and young professionals working at the intersection of governance and technology, this book offers a crisp, globally relevant lens on where India — and the world — may be headed next.

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 tap your metro card to enter the station and breeze through DigiYatra boarding at the airport. But at immigration, it’s still long lines and passport stamps. That’s about to change—India’s stepping into the future with e-passports.

An ePassport looks like a regular passport but houses a secure Radio Frequency Identity (RFID) chip storing your name, photo, fingerprints, and digital signature — all encrypted and ICAO (International Civil Aviation Organisation) compliant, which makes global operability easier, bringing India in line with over 140 countries which issue e-passports. It’s like giving your passport a secure brain.

This chip does something more subtle, too: it rewrites how personal data is shared. Your address and parents’ names are no longer printed but stored inside the chip—accessible only to authorized officials via secure scans. Think of your passport putting on noise-cancelling headphones: it only listens and speaks to the right people.

Under the government’s Passport Seva Programme 2.0, e-passports launched a pilot in April 2024 across 13 cities, with a nationwide rollout set for mid-2025. Sounds great, right?

However, India is fashionably late to this party. Major economies like the US, Germany, Japan, and the UK started issuing e-passports as far back as 2005–06. Even peer economies —Indonesia (2011), the Philippines (2009), Brazil (2010), and Mexico (2012) — beat India to it. Closer home, Bangladesh and Nepal began issuing e-passports in 2020 and 2021, respectively.

So why the delay?

It wasn’t a lack of digital muscle. India, after all, built Aadhaar, UPI, and DigiLocker — some of the world’s most ambitious digital systems. The holdup was institutional: complex tenders, procedural reviews, and, of course, the COVID-19 disruption.

India’s e-passport journey technically began back in 2008 with a ceremonial issue to then-President Pratibha Patil. At the time, the use case was narrow, reserved for diplomats and senior officials with 20,000 e-passports issued. The broader push to enable e-passports for all citizens came in 2013, when the government invited bids for chip supply. That should have been the inflection point.

Instead, it triggered a decade-long slog. But something shifted after that. In 2022, the government earmarked a dedicated budgetary allocation for e-Passport rollout, and just two years later, in 2024, the pilot was up and running.

So, what exactly happened?

Over the past five years, international border security protocols have advanced significantly. Biometric authentication, chip-based identities, and ICAO-compliant travel documents have become standard in many countries. Between 2005 and 2021, around 90 countries adopted biometric passports. By 2024, the count soared past 140, with the adoption pace nearly tripling, signaling not evolution, but acceleration.

The world had moved fast, and India had to keep pace. Especially because India is the largest source of international emigrants. Nearly half live in the Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC) region and a quarter in the United States. The remaining quarter is scattered across the UK, Canada, Australia, and Europe — all jurisdictions that have already adopted biometric passports.

What makes this operational parity of e-passports more relevant is that in the global policy arena, e-passports aren’t just technical upgrades. They are trust signals. Their presence (or absence) shapes how other nations evaluate the authenticity of identity, assess security risks, and decide whom to let in and how easily. A chipped passport signals a country's seriousness about document security, border control, and global cooperation.

That seriousness matters because the physical passport has become increasingly vulnerable.

In 2024, in Delhi airport alone, police nabbed 108 agents for visa and passport fraud, double the 2023 count. Same year in Mumbai, two passengers were caught with tampered passports: one ripped out pages, the other doctored visa stamps — both betting on manual checks to miss it. And these are just the ones who got caught.

E-passports raise the bar. The chip is digitally signed, biometric data is encrypted, and any tampering attempt would require advanced cryptographic hacking, not just glue and scissors.

And when this security strengthens, trust increases, and doors open. Take UAE: in 2010, its passport ranked 62nd, offering visa-free access to about 60 countries. In 2011, the UAE rolled out e-passports, emphasizing that stronger security and global standards would boost mobility. By 2019, it jumped to 15th place with access to 172 destinations. Today, in 2025, it ranks 10th with access to 185 countries.

While diplomacy played a huge part in this jump, technical enhanced security, also played a vital role in enabling easier identity verification and fraud detection.

Even smaller nations reflect the same pattern. Jamaica, for example, introduced e-passports in March 2023. By early 2025, its global passport ranking jumped from 68th to 57th. Visa-free access rose from 85 to 108 destinations.

India, by comparison, currently ranks 83rd on the Henley Passport Index in 2025, offering visa-free or visa-on-arrival access to just 62 destinations. That’s lower than Botswana (66) and Ghana (77).

India’s e-passport push, then, isn’t just a back-end tech upgrade. It’s a foreign policy signal. It’s a way of saying: “We’re credible. We’re secure. We’re ready.”

But it isn’t just the world that notices the change — citizens will feel it too. But how?

India’s new ICAO-compliant e-passports will seamlessly work with e-gates—the automated border controls used widely in Europe, Singapore, and the UAE—so immigration queues might finally keep pace with your boarding pass.

At e-gates, travelers scan their passports, flash a fingerprint or face, and breeze through—no lines, no human delays. It’s the FASTag moment for passport control: from full stop to nonstop.

Check the numbers: NAIA Terminal in the Philippines, slashed check times from 45 to 8 seconds. Fiumicino Airport, Rome, cut time in half, from 40 to 20 seconds. Naples went from 1–2 minutes to just 20 seconds. Save 20–30 seconds per passenger, and airports move like clockwork.

Delhi’s IGI handles 22 million international passengers annually—about 2,500 hourly, more at peak. Manual checks take 1–2 minutes each. Trim 30 seconds per check, and you’re talking hundreds more passengers processed every hour, or fewer officers needed.

These time savings do more than speed up queues—they reshape airports. Fewer manual counters mean smaller immigration halls, fewer queue systems, and less staff behind desks. That frees up space for revenue-generating lounges and shops, or bigger boarding zones. Plus, with less grunt work, immigration officers can shift to higher-impact roles, like secondary screening or intelligence profiling, boosting both efficiency and security.

Of course, tech is only as good as the system behind it.

Take Bangladesh: though half the population has e-passports, only 5% of travelers at Dhaka airport use the 26 e-gates, as most sit idle due to poor maintenance and backend gaps. Even the UK isn’t immune. In May 2024, a glitch shut down most e-gates nationwide for hours, causing long queues and chaos. Indonesia’s 2024 e-visa glitch exposed travelers’ passport data via visa QR codes—proof that, without strong cybersecurity and data protocols, digital systems can backfire. Back in 2005–07, early adopters like the U.S. and Australia faced their own e-passport headaches: scanners struggled with chip reading, signature verification flopped, and ICAO had to step in through international discussions.

India should take note. Without strong backend integration, routine upkeep, and ground-level readiness, even the smartest passport risks becoming a bottleneck. The global rollout offers a clear word of caution: without follow-through, a fancy passport might just turn into a fancier bottleneck.

There’s reason for optimism. India’s success with DigiYatra—the facial recognition–based, paperless boarding system—has already shown that tech-led mobility can work at scale. Delhi and Bengaluru airports now routinely board passengers with just a face scan, proving that when execution meets ambition, systems can hum.

But this chip could do far more than speed up airport lines. Integrated with India’s Digital Public Infrastructure—DigiLocker, Aadhaar, UPI, ABHA—e-passports could evolve into a unified, secure identity layer for citizens. Imagine a future where your passport isn’t just a travel document, but a portable proof of identity, instantly verifiable for everything from immigration to public services.

In that vision, the e-passport becomes more than a travel tool—it becomes a key enabler of “One Nation, One Identity.” It bridges borders, yes, but also connects systems, services, and citizens into a seamless, secure ecosystem.

In a world where documents move faster than people, this tiny chip might just become your most powerful travel companion—and your smartest, most trusted ID, too.

Book Mandala

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

Book: Tarmac to Towers: The India Infrastructure Story

Author: Pratap Padode

About the Book:

Tarmac to Towers: The India Infrastructure Story by Pratap Padode offers a sweeping, data-rich examination of India’s infrastructure journey over the past 25 years. Padode — a veteran financial journalist and founder of the FIRST Construction Council — traces the country’s path from the ambitious Golden Quadrilateral project launched in 1998 to today’s dynamic landscape of expressways, airports, smart cities, and renewable energy grids. This isn’t just a catalog of projects; it’s a deep dive into the policy shifts, governance hurdles, financing innovations, and socio-economic impacts that have shaped how India builds. With sharp analysis and clear-eyed realism, Padode helps readers understand the vital interplay between infrastructure and India’s broader economic ambitions.

Our Take:

What makes Tarmac to Towers particularly insightful is its focus on how “smart infrastructure” isn’t just about physical assets — it’s about the systems and trust that connect them. Padode convincingly argues that the next leap for India won’t come from just building faster highways or taller towers, but from ensuring that these infrastructures are seamlessly integrated, secure, and globally benchmarked.

This is where the book connects most powerfully to today’s digital governance landscape. Whether we’re talking about the movement of people, identity, or data, the backbone is the same: reliable infrastructure designed for resilience, speed, and trust. Padode’s vision aligns with the idea that national systems — from transport corridors to digital identity frameworks — must work in harmony to deliver frictionless, future-ready services.

For policymakers and young professionals alike, this book reads like a call to action: it’s not enough to lay down concrete and fiber; we must build the institutional muscle to make them work together, securely and at scale.

Co-authored by Somya Kanwar 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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Imagine two vibrant nations: India, home to juicy Nagpur oranges and sturdy Ludhiana bicycles, and Indonesia, famous for its Batik textiles and tropical seafood. For years, they’ve traded oranges for tuna without much fuss.

But one fine day, when India tries selling its bicycles in Bali, alarms go off—“What about our own small cycle industry?” And when Indonesia tries exporting its Batik shirts to India, Surat’s textile industry isn’t too pleased either.

So, both countries pull out a familiar play: tariffs—those trade tolls that add a little price bump to protect homegrown goods.

Now, a Batik shirt in Mumbai? Pricier than it needs to be. An Indian bicycle in Bali? Suddenly not such a bargain. These taxes are like tolls on the global trade highway, making imported goods expensive and thus less preferred, and thus making it difficult for foreign countries to export them.

Then comes a moment of diplomatic warmth—perhaps over masala chai and fried fish at a regional summit. Leaders from both sides wonder, “Why not make trade smoother?” Enter the Free Trade Agreement (FTA)—a pact to reduce or remove tariffs and let goods, services, and investments flow with fewer hurdles.

Simple in theory. But if you’ve heard farmers in Punjab worry about foreign dairy, or read headlines on how ASEAN deals impact local businesses, you know FTAs come with fine print—and fireworks.

In this edition of Policy Mandala, we decode India’s journey with FTAs—how it all began, why it slowed down, and why it's surging again. So pour yourself a cup of chai, and let’s unpack India’s trade tango.

Globally, over 350 FTAs are in play right now, knitting economies together. They’re the engine of a world where nations lean on their strengths—India’s tech and pharma, say—to fuel growth. For India, with 13 FTAs and six PTAs (Preferential Trade Agreements - pickier than FTAs, cutting tariffs only on specific goods) covering over 50 countries, these deals act like a ticket to the global stage.

But mind you, India’s own FTA journey has been anything but linear.

Pre-1988, India kept to itself.

The India–Sri Lanka FTA nudged the doors open. Then came the 1990s liberalisation and a golden run in the 2000s—FTAs with Singapore, ASEAN, Japan, Korea, and Malaysia promised export-led growth.

Then came the brakes.

By 2012, trade deficits and domestic pushback led to skepticism. India exited RCEP in 2019, worried about Chinese imports.

Despite the promise of a seamlessly connected world, Free Trade Agreements (FTAs) remain a grey zone in policymaking.

While India’s exports to FTA partners rose by 31% between 2017 and 2022, imports surged by a staggering 82%, reviving the old debate—do FTAs unlock prosperity or invite peril?

India’s trade deficit with ASEAN is a telling example, ballooning from 500 crores in 2010 to 2600 crores in 2022. But beyond the numbers lie deeper structural issues. Only about 25% of Indian exporters actually use FTA benefits, compared to 70–80% in countries like Japan or the US. Why so low?

The usual suspects: complex documentation, rigid rules of origin, limited awareness, and the invisible wall of non-tariff barriers that trip up even the most competitive sectors.

Take the example of Priya* in Gujarat. Around 10 years back, she discovered her cotton fabrics could be exported to Japan duty-free under RCEP. She secured an order, produced the lot, but hit a paperwork wall, asking for a series of documentation which were difficult to obtain for her. Without a trade consultant or local support, the export deal collapsed, leaving her frustrated and financially strained.

Her cousin Mohan* in Ludhiana faced different woes. He was a small-scale manufacturer of steel for the domestic Indian market. His business was doing well, but in 2023-24, with the cheap Chinese steel flooding India via the ASEAN route, the prices suddenly fell. His production cost itself was higher than the steel market prices. Unable to compete, Mohan shut his business down.

Many MSMEs share their plight.

FTAs promise trade opportunities but often open import floodgates, overwhelming small players. Without robust shields—subsidies, simplified compliance, or local expertise—Indian businesses struggle to navigate complex trade rules, certifications, and cutthroat competition, risking closures and lost livelihoods.

These experiences shape India’s cautious approach to trade deals.

Electronics manufacturers worry about being undercut by global majors. Farmers in Punjab and Maharashtra fear foreign agri-imports eating into their markets. And MSMEs, which form the backbone of India’s employment, often lack the buffers or technical superiority to absorb global competition. These concerns generate strong domestic pressure that makes any new FTA politically sensitive.

But post-2021, with Make in India and PLI boosts, FTAs made a comeback: Mauritius, UAE, Australia. The India-UAE deal wrapped in just 88 days. The UK pact in May 2025 opened a 4260 crore corridor for Indian textiles and IT.

This resurgence is more than a policy reset—it’s strategic positioning. India is eyeing export-driven growth, countering China’s trade dominance, and strengthening ties with both the West and the Global South.

When designed well, FTAs create jobs, attract foreign capital, and enhance global competitiveness. The India–Australia ECTA is expected to add an estimated 10 lakh jobs, primarily in pharma and services. By cutting tariffs, FTAs make Indian products—textiles, pharma, leather—more attractive in global markets. The UK deal alone could add 1500 crores in trade by 2030, while the Australia agreement brought in 120 crores in FDI last year, helping international companies set up operations in India’s growing digital and manufacturing spaces.

Free Trade Agreements (FTAs) position India strategically in a world rethinking global supply chains. Provisions on digital trade, intellectual property, and financial services—like those in the India–Australia ECTA, support India’s ambition to grow its digital economy to 1,00,000 crores by 2025. FTAs, in this context, align with the Atmanirbhar Bharat vision—not by isolating India, but by building competitive capacity for global markets.

We now know why Trump wants Apple to set up its factory in the US, and why Apple wants it in India, and why it might be a good idea for India to have it in India.

So, where do things stand? India’s Free Trade Agreements (FTAs) remain a mixed bag—some breakthroughs, some roadblocks. Here’s a quick look at the latest innings.

Leading the scoreboard is the India–UK FTA, signed in May 2025. It opens up 99% of UK goods to duty-free access and boosts key Indian sectors like textiles, gems, and IT services. Indian techies and nurses get easier UK visas, filling skill gaps. Critics say gains are slim—many exports already had low tariffs—and fret over cheap UK whisky, but Indian farmers dodged trouble with UK dairy and poultry excluded from the deal. It also marked India’s first G7 FTA handshake.

Meanwhile, talks with the US, EU, and Canada stumble: the US deal, eyed for 2025, stalls over lost Generalized System of Preferences (GSP) status - largest and oldest U.S. trade preference program. The EU is pushing for steep tariff cuts of up to 13% and stricter green commitments, while negotiations with Canada have been on ice since 2023.

India’s FTAs showcase our tech edge but expose agriculture’s weak spots. Protecting domestic interests will require more than just cautious negotiation—it will call for targeted SME support, robust impact assessments, and a serious effort to improve FTA utilisation. Countries like South Korea offer useful templates, such as their KOTRA model which uses digital tools to help businesses access trade benefits.

India’s FTA story is still being written.

It is not simply a tale of tariffs and trade; it is a reflection of India’s evolving place in the world. As the country seeks to balance growth with self-reliance, global competitiveness with local resilience, FTAs become both a compass and a test. The coming years will demand sharper negotiations, smarter safety nets for small businesses, and a stronger push to help Indian exporters truly leverage these agreements.

Whether FTAs turn into pathways of prosperity or pitfalls of pressure depends on how well India aligns its domestic strengths with global opportunities. The trade tango continues—and we’re here to watch and cheer for India to lead the dance.

Book Mandala

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

Book: Trade Wars Are Class Wars

Author: Matthew C. Klein

About the Book:

Trade Wars Are Class Wars flips the script on global economics. Matthew C. Klein and Michael Pettis argue that the root of trade imbalances isn’t clashing nations, but internal inequality.

When elites in countries like China and Germany earn more than they spend—while workers earn too little to consume—the result is excessive saving, surplus production, and the need to export the difference. With sharp analysis and deep historical context, the book reveals why fixing the global economy starts with rebalancing power at home, not abroad.

Our Take:

This book rewires how we think about trade. It’s not about flags or deficits—it’s about fairness. Klein and Pettis show that trade surpluses aren’t signs of success; they’re symptoms of suppressed wages. And deficits? Often the byproduct of inequality and underpaid labor.

What makes Trade Wars Are Class Wars stand out is its clarity. It connects Wall Street crashes, Chinese overproduction, and German wage stagnation into one coherent story: when workers can’t afford what they produce, someone else has to borrow to consume it. That’s the real imbalance. This book is essential reading for anyone thinking about the future of globalisation, economic justice, or the politics of prosperity.

Co-authored by Meenakshi Singh and Aswathi Prakash

Hope you liked today’s Policy Mandala!

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Imagine you’re back in Class 8, nervously opening your report card. Maths? A proud A. History? A humbling C. That single sheet doesn’t just show how you did—it tells you where to double down and where to breathe easily. It’s part celebration, part course correction.

Now zoom out from the classroom to the country. Think of India’s digital dashboards as its report cards—only these update daily, weekly, even minute by minute. Every single minute, someone is punching in new data on schools, toilets, roads, or rainfall.

These dashboards turn raw numbers into charts, graphs, and map-based infographics. No more dusty files or long meetings to figure out what’s going on. The right data is just a few clicks away.

Picture a district collector in Chhattisgarh checking today’s toilet construction under Swachh Bharat or reviewing water pipe-laying under Jal Jeevan Mission—all on a screen, in real time.

The idea is simple: use data to drive decisions. Just like your report card helped your parents decide if you needed a tutor or a treat, dashboards help officials decide where to deploy funds, send staff, or celebrate success.

Dashboards typically serve three goals: they make progress visible (a village lighting up on a map as it gets electricity), they aggregate scattered data, and they track specific objectives—reducing malnutrition, improving learning, increasing access to clean water.

Some dashboards, like the Aspirational Districts one, are internal. Others, like Swachh Bharat’s, are public.

But here’s the real question: Are dashboards truly guiding better decisions—or are they just showcasing selective or irrelevant data?

India’s dashboard journey began with PMES in the early 2000s and picked up after 2014 with Ujala, electrification, and Swachh Bharat—each tracked in real time.

Then came the mega-dashboard moment: the Aspirational Districts Programme, launched by NITI Aayog in 2018. It focused on 112 lagging districts, tracking indicators from health to education to basic infrastructure.

By 2023, NITI Aayog was managing over 45 dashboards—yes, forty-five—each trying to bring some order to India’s famously chaotic data landscape.

In this edition of Policy Mandala, we’re going to uncover the magic of dashboards—how they shape policy decisions, where they shine, and where they seriously need a software upgrade.

Let’s now dive into the dashboards themselves—the good, the great, and the ones still buffering.

The first real poster child of dashboard-based governance was the GARV Dashboard, launched in 2014 under the Deen Dayal Upadhyaya Gram Jyoti Yojana. Its job? Track rural electrification. Every new pole or power line installed had to be geo-tagged with photographs. This meant ground staff couldn’t just say a village was electrified—they had to show it.

Thanks to daily updates and GPS-enabled uploads, officials had real-time visibility. By 2018, nearly all villages were electrified. As Economic Times put it: “Every pole was verified, ensuring transparency.” Of course, early on, poor internet connectivity in remote areas caused a few hiccups. But overall, GARV proved that with the right design, data could genuinely drive delivery.

From electricity to nutrition—the Poshan Tracker, launched under the Poshan Abhiyaan, monitors child malnutrition. Anganwadi workers use a mobile app to record children’s height, weight, and overall nutritional status every month. It also links to the SDG Dashboard and Aspirational Districts Dashboard, offering a harmonised view of ground-level implementation.

It has shown results. In 2020, it flagged rising malnutrition in Maharashtra’s Palghar district. That alert led to emergency food interventions. A DataDENT report even called it a “game-changer.” But field workers often face pressure to report improved trends, creating a risk of overly optimistic data. When dashboards reflect ambition instead of reality, the feedback loop breaks down.

The Aspirational Districts Dashboard, launched in 2018 by NITI Aayog, tracks 112 underperforming districts across themes like health, education, and infrastructure. It’s a bit like a leaderboard for governance—districts are ranked and nudged to improve through healthy competition.

Take Jharkhand, which saw a surge in school enrolments after a low ranking triggered focused intervention in 2019. As NITI Aayog’s Supreet Kaur said, “It fosters collaboration.” But rural internet gaps often delay updates, meaning dashboards might display outdated information—leading to poor decision-making despite good intentions.

Next, in education, the UDISE+ Dashboard (Unified District Information System for Education) tracks metrics like enrollment, facilities, and infrastructure. In 2021, it identified major sanitation gaps in UP schools, unlocking targeted funding for toilet construction.

However, officials in some districts have admitted that schools often inflate enrollment data to qualify for additional schemes. This distortion, driven by the pressure to perform, compromises the very purpose of the dashboard: honest visibility.

Now let’s zoom out to the SDG India Index Dashboard, created by NITI Aayog to track how states perform against the 17 Sustainable Development Goals. India’s overall score improved from 57 in 2018 to 71 in 2023–24. States like Tamil Nadu made significant progress on maternal health indicators and institutional deliveries. Similarly, Odisha’s focused efforts on sustainable livelihoods and forest regeneration contributed to improved SDG scores.

The dashboard has earned international recognition for its design and interactivity. But many local officials find the indicators too abstract or jargon-heavy. Simplifying the interface and guidance could unlock far more grassroots engagement.

On to water—the Jal Jeevan Mission Dashboard tracks piped water access in rural homes. By 2023, it reported that over 12 crore households had been connected. This visibility helped states like Uttar Pradesh ramp up pipeline projects in 2022. A ministry official called it “transformative.”

Yet, one core problem persists: data entry is not linked to on-ground validation. Unlike the Swachh Bharat Mission, which used geo-tagged photos from villages to track toilet construction, Jal Jeevan relies heavily on aggregated reporting. A more transparent system—village-level entries paired with GIS-tagged images—could ensure the taps on the dashboard match the taps on the ground.

Finally, the Composite Water Management Index (CWMI) dashboard evaluates state-level performance on water conservation, efficiency, and restoration. In 2019, Gujarat’s high scores on groundwater recharge and policy innovation nudged Rajasthan to adopt similar practices.

Here, dashboards have done more than monitor—they’ve enabled “competitive, cooperative federalism” in action. States borrow successful practices from one another, not just under pressure, but out of pride. The only drawback? Annual updates. For something as urgent as drought management, that’s simply too slow. Quicker, seasonal reporting could help states respond with the urgency water issues demand.

Across dashboards spanning electricity, nutrition, education, water, and development, a few clear patterns stand out. When built with real-time data capture, easy-to-read visuals, and strong last-mile accountability—like GARV or Jal Jeevan Mission—dashboards can transform governance. But when the data is delayed, inflated, or disconnected from ground reality—as in parts of UDISE+ or Poshan Tracker—they risk becoming glossy façades. The real power of dashboards lies in their ability to fuel competitive federalism—where states compete to climb leaderboards—and foster collaborative learning, where one district’s innovation becomes another’s model. To truly deliver, dashboards must shift from simply tracking activities to building transparency, triggering timely action, and enabling course correction.

Yet, several challenges persist. The pressure to “look good” often leads to data manipulation—fake entries in water pipeline connections under Jal Jeevan Mission, inflated school enrollments in UDISE+. Connectivity gaps delay updates, and in dashboards like Poshan

Tracker delays or skewed inputs can misrepresent ground realities. Oversimplification is another risk. For instance, Poshan Tracker once showed “low malnutrition” in Katihar, Bihar—even as hunger persisted due to poverty. The problem wasn’t lack of data, but the need for more granular insights. Village- or block-level data might have told a very different story. Without such depth, dashboards can miss what truly matters.

Now imagine an India where dashboards are not just digital displays, but the pulse of governance. Every piped-water connection under the Jal Jeevan Mission is geo-tagged and photo-verified, curbing data fudging and reducing the need for tedious follow-ups. Real-time data flows in from remote corners, thanks to offline-enabled devices that sync automatically once connectivity returns.

A health worker in rural Bihar logs accurate malnutrition data into Poshan Tracker. The system triggers nutritional support and maps the data alongside poverty indicators—enabling targeted welfare. A school in Uttar Pradesh enters enrollment figures into UDISE+, unlocking funds for toilets and classrooms—no middlemen involved. In Rajasthan, a dashboard confirms clean water access instantly.

Citizens are part of this data revolution too. Dashboards are available via panchayat kiosks or mobile apps, with features to flag incorrect data—whether unbuilt toilets or ghost enrollments. Officials use intuitive tools like the SDG India Index to set priorities, compare outcomes, and learn from others—fostering both competition and collaboration.

How do we make this vision a reality?

Start with verified, source-level data—using GIS-tagged photos. Enable offline-online syncs and train more data collectors, not just add devices. Create more citizen-facing dashboards that invite feedback. And integrate qualitative inputs—field observations, real stories, community voices.

Dashboards can transform governance—but only if treated as tools for service, not spectacle. India needs dashboards that are smart, sensitive, and rooted in local realities—designed for course correction, not just celebration. Only then can data truly drive better decisions, and digital governance become meaningful in both form and function.

Book Mandala

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

Book: Seeing Like a State: How Certain Schemes to Improve the Human Condition have Failed

Author: James Scott

About the Book:

Why do well-intentioned policies often fail? James C. Scott’s Seeing Like a State takes us deep into the logic of bureaucratic governance—and how it can go awry when it tries to impose order on the messy realities of human life. From Soviet collectivization to modernist city planning, Scott explores how large-scale planning projects—despite how noble in intent—often crumble because they ignore the lived experiences, local knowledge, and adaptive practices of real communities.

Using rich historical examples and a sharp interdisciplinary lens, Scott shows how states "see" societies not as complex human ecosystems but as simplified grids—leading to unintended consequences, inefficiencies, and at times, disaster.

Our Take:

Scott doesn’t just critique state planning; he lays bare the why behind the failures, drawing attention to the blindness that can come from too much faith in rational design.

We loved how the book balances philosophical depth with practical insight. It’s as much about power and vision as it is about rice farming in Tanzania or city blocks in Brasília. At its core, it reminds policymakers to stay humble—and to trust the wisdom embedded in lived, local realities.

If you’ve ever wondered why grand plans on paper fall apart in the field, Seeing Like a State will change the way you think about governance altogether.

Co-authored by Meenakshi Singh 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 can feel the difference, even if no one says it aloud.

It’s in the closed textile mill your uncle once worked in.
It’s in your cousin’s video calls from Chennai, where he finally found a job.
It’s in your father’s quiet words: “Yahaan toh kuch hota hi nahin.”

And it’s in the way cities across the border buzz with new warehouses, call centres, metro lines, and export hubs.

Why does one place surge ahead while another stays still?

Often, the answer lies in one thing: how seriously a state took industrial growth.

It’s about whether your state made it easy to set up a factory, offered land and power on time, and told investors through actions—not just words—you are welcome here.

That quiet but deliberate choice is called an industrial policy.

If it sounds abstract, think of it this way:
Whether you got a job near home—or had to leave—may trace back to a document your state wrote years ago. It shaped who came to invest, or why they stayed away.

Now, imagine someone like Ankit.

Ankit runs a small but growing startup that manufactures battery systems for electric vehicles. He’s built enough demand to consider opening a second unit—maybe in another state.

Where should he go? To decide, Ankit would turn to industrial policies of each state.

The right policy will help his startup grow. The wrong policy could slow him down or make expansion harder.

That’s why this week on Policy Mandala, we’re exploring industrial policies.
States are placing bold bets on their economic futures. Some are emerging as powerhouses. Others are racing to catch up.

It all started, quietly, in 1972, when Madhya Pradesh became the first state to draft its own industrial policy—well before liberalisation, and long before state competition became fashionable.

Today, every major state has one. But are they all the same? Not quite.

So what really makes a good industrial policy? And how can we tell which states are doing it right?

Let’s break it down.

1. Incentive Structures: The first thing Ankit checks.

Before anything else, Ankit needs to know if the numbers make sense. Will the state help reduce his setup costs? Will it reward him for the jobs he creates or the turnover he generates?

Incentives aren’t just sugarcoating. For someone like Ankit — running on thin margins and investor deadlines — they can decide whether a unit is set up at all.

Gujarat understands this. It moved away from the messy SGST-linked reimbursements and now offers direct capital subsidies. No upper limits. Disbursed over 10 to 20 years. Predictable, scalable, and clear. If Ankit invests ₹50 crore, he knows exactly what he’ll get back—and when.

Tamil Nadu goes deep too. Its Structured Packages can cover up to 40% of eligible fixed assets for FDI projects. It also offers training subsidies of ₹4,000–₹6,000 per worker each month. Incentives vary by project size—Large, Mega, or Ultra-Mega—and the state has a ₹500 crore Venture Capital Fund for startups in sunrise sectors.

Meanwhile, Karnataka has moved towards production-linked incentives (PLIs), adding a layer of support over the Central government’s scheme. If Ankit scales fast, he could earn back 2%–2.5% of his turnover annually for seven years. That’s not just cost relief—it’s growth capital.

And Uttar Pradesh? It's catching up through custom case-by-case incentives for Ultra Mega Projects, especially those relocating from abroad. If Ankit’s firm uses imported machinery, UP considers 40% of that cost as part of the incentive calculation.

But what if incentives get delayed or tangled in red tape?

That’s when Ankit turns to the next filter: Who’s running the show?

2. State Nodal Agencies: The invisible hands that make or break the deal.

Ankit doesn’t just need a policy on paper—he needs someone to pick up the phone. Guide him. Clear approvals. Push files.

Tamil Nadu leads here. Agencies like SIPCOT and SIDCO manage land, infrastructure, and cluster development. "Biz Buddy," its grievance platform, resolves issues within 30 days. The Guidance Tamil Nadu agency even runs international desks in Taiwan and the US for NRIs and foreign investors.

Gujarat follows with iNDEXTb and the Investor Facilitation Agency, offering single-window clearances and relationship managers for large investors. The Gujarat Industrial Development Corporation (GIDC) runs over 200 estates, with ready plug-and-play infrastructure.

Maharashtra has MAITRI—its single-window portal—but struggles with perception around delays. Still, for big projects, fast-track approvals and dedicated investor facilitation cells are in place.

Uttar Pradesh’s Nivesh Mitra portal offers 350 services across 29 departments online. It also ranks all 75 districts monthly on investor-friendliness, pushing local officers to deliver.

Ankit knows now: incentives matter—but delivery matters more.

3. Sector-Specific Focus: Is there a natural fit for what I do?

Ankit’s battery systems fall within EVs, energy storage, and advanced manufacturing. He’s not looking for generic support—he needs ecosystems.

Karnataka could be ideal. It’s laser-focused on EVs, aerospace, semiconductors, and biotech. It even offers ₹5 lakh subsidies to MSMEs adopting Industry 5.0 tech. Bengaluru hosts a Centre of Excellence for Industry 5.0, with ₹100 crore committed.

Tamil Nadu, too, has mapped out sunrise sectors: EVs, medical devices, renewable energy, aerospace. It’s building entire corridors—Chennai-Bengaluru, Chennai-Kanyakumari—to host these industries. It has dedicated policies, land banks, and incentives just for these.

Gujarat positions itself as a post-COVID hub for global supply chain relocation. Its special industrial zones—Dholera for EVs and GIFT City for finance, aren’t just projects—they are full ecosystem models.

Uttar Pradesh is investing in value chain integration via its One District One Product (ODOP) initiative and sector-specific clusters. But for deep-tech or future mobility, it still has some distance to cover.

4. Ease of Doing Business: The silent dealbreaker.

If Ankit had to choose between two equally promising states, he’d go where the paperwork moves faster than the chai queue.

In the 2024 the Business Reforms Action Plan (BRAP) rankings, Kerala, Andhra Pradesh and Gujarat, topped the charts. Gujarat retained its ‘Top Performer’ tag with reforms like allowing MSMEs to start with just a Declaration of Intent, digitizing inspections and offering capital subsidies de-linked from SGST.

Tamil Nadu, ranked second, pushed over 301 reforms under the Business Reform Action Plan and launched Biz Buddy to resolve grievances within 30 days. Its New Single Window Portal now covers 180+ services, fully paperless and faceless.

Uttar Pradesh was the fastest mover, climbing into the top six by radically improving Nivesh Mitra, which now offers 353 services across 29 departments, with no human touchpoints. Plus, it’s the only state to run monthly district-level EoDB rankings to create internal administrative competition.

Karnataka, while digitized, still suffers from a Bengaluru bottleneck. Zones 1 and 2 often face slow clearances, and while it introduced deemed land allotments after 60 days, execution is patchy.

On the flip side, Bihar, Jharkhand, and parts of the Northeast remain at the bottom, dragged down by weak online integration, poor grievance timelines, and fragmented single-window systems.

For Ankit, that means more than a slow start—it means riskier expansion.

5. Infrastructure: Where the promise meets the plot of land.

This is where reality bites.

Does the state have land? Is it litigation-free? Are roads and power lines already laid? For Ankit, it’s a question of whether he can start production in 6 months or 16.

Let’s compare.

• Tamil Nadu leads again with a 40,000-acre land bank across 57 SEZs and estates. Over 3,500 acres are ready-to-occupy. Linked to four airports and four ports, it’s India’s third-largest exporter. It even built worker housing for 20,000 people near Sriperumbudur—a “walk-to-work” model.
  
  

• Gujarat has invested deeply in infrastructure-heavy growth. With 920 sq. km at Dholera Special Investment Region (SIR), 49 ports handling 40% of India’s cargo, and land leased at 6% of market rate, it remains unmatched in integrated logistics. Gujarat also accounts for 17.72% of India’s total factory output.
  
  

• Karnataka is catching up. It’s developing 50 industrial parks, with mega logistics parks of 100+ acres. But KIADB’s land processing timelines are a known drag—especially in Zones 1 and 2.
  
  

• Uttar Pradesh is leveraging the Eastern and Western Freight Corridors. But its land availability often lags in terms of plug-and-play readiness compared to southern states.

So what more can states do?

Even with all the bold steps we’ve seen, the road ahead isn’t just about more—it’s about better. Here's what’s still missing in many state industrial policies, and what could change the game:

1. Measure more than money.

Most state policies obsess over investment inflow numbers—₹ lakh crore signed at summits, MoUs inked, FDI received. But few ask: Did those investments actually create jobs? Were they inclusive? Did they reach underdeveloped districts?

States need to go beyond vanity metrics. Create dashboards that track job creation, skilling outcomes, MSME survival rates, and regional equity.

2. Second-generation EoDB reforms.

Almost all states have single window systems. But many still stop at licensing. The next frontier is post-establishment support—faster utility connections, real-time land dispute resolution, municipal compliance easing, and MSME grievance monitoring. Tamil Nadu’s Biz Buddy and UP’s district competition model are promising starts—but others must follow.

3. Deep tech and R&D ecosystems.

Startups get lip service in most policies. But very few states actually invest in R&D infra. Karnataka’s ₹100 crore for Industry 5.0 and Tamil Nadu’s ₹500 crore Industrial Ecosystem Fund are outliers.

States must co-invest in testing labs, design centres, innovation funds, and university–industry linkages if they want to leapfrog in global value chains.

4. Real decentralisation.

In most states, industrial growth remains concentrated—Chennai and Coimbatore, Bengaluru and Mysuru, Mumbai and Pune. Policies must build economic corridors beyond metros. Tamil Nadu’s A/B/C district model and UP’s ODOP initiative show how incentives can be restructured to spread opportunity. Gujarat too offers higher subsidies in backward talukas. This approach needs scaling.

And now, we come back to you.

You might not read state industrial policies, but if you’ve ever moved for a job,
If your sibling’s new job appeared suddenly, or
If you’re waiting for your district to be noticed—
You’ve felt industrial policy’s impact.

So think about this:

Does your state have a clear industrial policy? Have you ever heard your local leaders speak of it?
If you could rewrite your state’s priorities, what would you focus on? Incentives? Infrastructure? Green growth?

India’s future isn’t being shaped in Delhi boardrooms anymore.
It’s being drafted, debated, and delivered in state capitals.

The only question is—will your state keep up?

Book Mandala

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

Book: Behold the Leviathan: The Unusual Rise of Modern India

Author: Saurabh Mukherjea & Nandita Rajhansa

About the Book:

India’s rise has long defied predictions—and Behold the Leviathan explains exactly why. Mukherjea and Rajhansa map the quiet revolutions taking place in unexpected places: among rural Indians, women, and historically disadvantaged castes.

The book uncovers the stories that statistics miss—from moon missions to a chess renaissance—and asks why, despite such dynamism, only a handful of Indian companies are truly thriving. Backed by deep research and field interviews, it’s part data, part insight, and part invitation to rethink India’s economic narrative.

Our Take:

Behold the Leviathan challenges the usual tropes that paint India’s growth story as either overhyped or undercooked. What makes this work stand out is its insistence on looking where most others don’t: at the progress brewing in rural districts, among women, and across caste lines. It’s refreshingly data-rich but deeply human, built not just on spreadsheets but on conversations with over 50 thinkers, entrepreneurs, bureaucrats, and academics.

What we appreciated most is the optimism grounded in realism. The authors don’t romanticise India’s rise. They document it, decode it, and challenge us to think differently about its future trajectory.

If you’ve ever felt that the big picture of India is missing its finer strokes, this book is for you.

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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In Rajkot, a teenage girl is sitting on her terrace, gazing at the deep blue night sky, tinkering with a small sensor in her hands. She dreams of building a satellite one day. The year is 2025.

Ten years ago, that would’ve sounded absurd. Today, it’s within reach.

India is now home to over 200 space-tech startups and a growing $8.4 billion space economy. The dream of space is no longer limited to rocket scientists or global tech giants. It belongs to everyone—from shopkeepers in Surat to farmers in Assam.

And we’re just getting started. India’s space economy is projected to grow to $44 billion by 2033. That translates to faster weather forecasts for a fisherman, smarter agriculture for a farmer, seamless mobile connectivity for a shopkeeper in the Himalayas, and real-time services for entrepreneurs delivered from satellites orbiting above.

No surprise then, that states like Gujarat and Tamil Nadu are entering the fray—with space policies of their own. While India’s national space policy was launched in 2023, these states are now building their own launchpads—literally and economically.

Let’s zoom in.

On April 17, Gujarat became the first Indian state to launch a dedicated SpaceTech Policy. The goal? Simple: attract private players. The state is planning a Space Manufacturing Park, a Centre of Excellence for research, and a suite of incentives to help startups build satellite components, develop communication systems, and innovate across the value chain.

Tamil Nadu followed quickly. On April 18, it launched its Space Industrial Policy 2025. The pitch is similar—support space-centric industries. But the approach is distinct. Tamil Nadu is setting up Space Bays in Madurai, Thoothukudi, Tirunelveli, and Virudhunagar, offering land, single-window clearances, and targeted subsidies. Think SEZs, but for space.

So what’s driving this momentum?

A big shift happened in 2020. India opened up the space sector to private participation. IN-SPACe—the Indian National Space Promotion and Authorization Centre—was created as the nodal body. FDI norms were liberalized, from earlier 0% to now ranging from 49% to 100% in various sectors.

This means foreign companies and Indian startups can now build, launch, and operate space systems from India—with access to ISRO’s infrastructure and fewer regulatory hurdles.

Suddenly, Indian startups could do what was once reserved only for ISRO!

And the numbers reflect it. From just 54 private firms in 2020, India now has over 200 in 2024.

This brings us back to Gujarat and Tamil Nadu.

Can these policies create new space-tech hubs beyond Bengaluru, Hyderabad, and Chennai?

Bengaluru, of course, leads—with major space agencies like ISRO HQ, URSC, ISTRAC, and startups like Pixxel and Bellatrix. Hyderabad and Chennai follow close behind, home to players like Dhruva Space and Agnikul Cosmos.

Gujarat has a steeper climb. But Tamil Nadu has some tailwinds: proximity to ISRO’s Propulsion Complex in Mahendragiri, the upcoming launchpad at Kulasekarapattinam, and an established industrial base with giants like L&T and LMW.

Execution will be key. Fortunately, both states are amongst the top five in ease of doing business rankings. With strong institutional networks, manufacturing ecosystems, and startup infrastructure, they are well placed to build momentum.

But let’s be clear: India has miles to go. The US has over 5,000 operational satellites. India? Around 60.

To close that gap, the government has launched a ₹1,000 crore space startup fund and backed it with execution muscle. IN-SPACe now runs a ₹500 crore Technology Adoption Fund—covering up to 60% of mission costs for startups, and providing grants of up to ₹25 crore along with technical mentoring.

The focus is sharp. India isn’t trying to do everything. It’s playing to its strengths:

• Small satellite launches

• Small satellite manufacturing

• Ground stations

• Data services

This isn’t just about rockets. It’s about climate resilience, precision farming, disaster response, and rural connectivity. Space-tech is no longer a curiosity. It’s becoming core infrastructure.

If Gujarat and Tamil Nadu succeed, they’ll not only create jobs. They’ll create belief.

Belief that space isn’t just for Silicon Valley or South Block. It’s for every young Indian with a soldering iron and a dream.

So the real question is: are we building space infrastructure—or are we building space imagination?

Can this girl from Rajkot be the next Elon or Somnath?

Only time will tell. But the countdown has begun.

Book Mandala

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

Book: Freakonomics

Author: Steven D. Levitt & Stephen J. Dubner

About the Book:

Freakonomics isn’t your typical economics book. Written by economist Steven Levitt and journalist Stephen Dubner, it takes big economic questions and applies them to everyday life—with surprising results. Why do sumo wrestlers cheat? Do real estate agents really act in your best interest? Why do drug dealers still live with their moms?

Told through six sharp, essay-style chapters, the book explores everything from crime and parenting to baby names and abortion policies. Originally published in 2013, Freakonomics shows that beneath the surface of daily life, there are hidden incentives, surprising truths, and unexpected patterns waiting to be uncovered.

Our Take:

What makes Freakonomics so compelling is not just its quirky questions, but the way it reorients your lens on the world. Levitt and Dubner show us that economics isn’t about money—it’s about how people respond to incentives. The book’s genius lies in its simplicity. There’s no jargon. No dense theory. Just sharp storytelling built on data and counterintuitive questions. Each answer reveals a hidden structure—an incentive that makes people do things that don’t seem logical at first glance.

At the same time, the book isn't perfect. It can sometimes oversimplify or risk causation where there’s only correlation. But its larger message holds: question your assumptions, follow the incentives, and trust the evidence over the anecdote.

If you’re interested in policy, governance, or social change, Freakonomics won’t give you answers. It’ll give you better questions.

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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How many business owners do you know?

Not startup founders with investors. Not Ambanis or Adanis. We mean everyday entrepreneurs—the ones running things on the ground.

The sabziwala who’s stood at the same corner for years. The woman running a boutique from her home. The guy who fixed your phone last week.

Chances are, you know quite a few. And here’s something you may not have realized: many of them—maybe three out of ten—started or grew their business thanks to a Mudra loan sometime in the last decade.

You’ve probably heard the name. It’s been on posters outside banks, in ads, in speeches by the PM. Even if you don’t know the details, Mudra has been hard to miss.

So why talk about it now?

Because this month, Mudra turns 10. Launched in 2015, it was built on a simple but powerful idea: give small entrepreneurs access to formal credit. No agents. No jargon. No collateral. Just a direct loan based on what your business needs.

In ten years, that idea has grown into one of India’s biggest credit movements. Over ₹30 lakh crore disbursed to nearly 48 crore borrowers. This isn’t just policy. It’s a quiet economic revolution unfolding all around us.

In this edition of Policy Mandala, we’re unpacking that revolution. We’ll look at how Mudra works, what it’s achieved, where it’s falling short, and how it could do better—with a few ideas of our own.

At its core, Mudra was built to unlock formal credit for informal businesses—the micro-enterprises that keep India’s economy running from the ground up. Think street vendors, tailors, local artisans, home-run beauty salons, and more.

To keep it simple, loans were structured in three tiers: Shishu: up to ₹50,000, for early-stage businesses Kishor: ₹50,001 to ₹5 lakh, for growing ones Tarun: ₹5 lakh to ₹10 lakh, for more mature setups

The process was designed to be low on paperwork. Loans could be accessed through banks, NBFCs, or platforms like Udyamimitra, which connects entrepreneurs to lenders under Mudra and other schemes.

So, has it worked?

In many ways, yes. The average Mudra loan size has nearly tripled—from ₹38,000 in 2016 to over ₹1 lakh in 2025. From better-off states like Tamil Nadu to poorer ones like Uttar Pradesh, Mudra has seen wide adoption. And beyond credit numbers, the Social Fabric Index—which tracks how marginalized communities engage with formal finance—jumped from 0.813 in FY17 to 2.640 in FY22. That’s a big leap, and Mudra has been a major driver.

It ticks a lot of boxes: less paperwork, easier access to finance, business maturity-based loans, wide coverage, and high policy visibility. But that brings us to a bigger question:

Is Mudra really ‘unique’? Was this the first time the government tried to improve credit access for small entrepreneurs?

Not at all.

India has a long history of credit-linked schemes. Priority Sector Lending guidelines already require banks to direct 40% of their lending to underserved sectors like agriculture, education, and small businesses. Institutions like NABARD and SIDBI were built for such roles. Self-Help Groups had bank linkages too.

But those earlier models were institution-led, complex, and rarely designed for first-time entrepreneurs. They relied on paperwork, guarantees, or past records—things most local entrepreneurs didn’t have.

That’s what sets Mudra apart.

It made credit more human—and more visible. By plugging into the Jan Dhan–Aadhaar–Mobile (JAM) trinity, it became easier to identify borrowers, transfer funds, and track usage.

It shifted the lens from lending out of obligation to backing entrepreneurs with real potential. It got political support, media buzz, and public trust. And crucially, the data shows it reached places most policies didn’t—rural, semi-urban, and urban India alike.

Still, if we really want to measure Mudra’s success, we need to flip the question.

Is it enough to count loans disbursed? Or should we ask: how many jobs were created? How many businesses survived beyond the first year? How many came back for a second—and bigger—loan?

Because here’s a reality check: only 2% of all Mudra accounts and just 24% of the total loan value fall under the Tarun category as of FY24. And this trend isn’t new. The numbers have been flat since 2019. That tells us most Mudra-supported businesses aren’t scaling. Few return for a second round, and even fewer are ready to move into high-growth territory.

The 2024–25 Union Budget rolled out something new: Tarun Plus—a loan slab that extends the cap to ₹20 lakh for those who’ve repaid earlier Tarun loans. A thoughtful move for those on a clear growth path. But also a bit like opening a bike showroom in a village where most folks are still learning to cycle.

Because if so few reach the ₹10 lakh mark, who benefits from the new cap? And more importantly, why aren’t more businesses moving up?

Another issue is the limit itself. Back in 2015, a Shishu loan of ₹50,000 could go a long way. One sewing machine, some fabric, a table, a chair, maybe a kettle for chai breaks.

But today? That same sewing machine costs over ₹30,000. Add raw materials, rent, and utilities, and that loan doesn’t stretch far. Inflation has eroded its value, and what once felt like a launchpad now barely covers the basics.

Then there’s the matter of NPAs—Non-Performing Assets. In plain terms, bad loans are unlikely to be repaid.

There’s no clear public data, but the government claims defaults are under control, thanks to a credit guarantee fund that covers up to 75% of losses. That feels more like risk-sharing within government accounts than a true fix.

The real concern? We don’t know where the risk lies. There’s no NPA data by loan category—Shishu, Kishor, or Tarun—so we can’t tell if defaults happen early or later. Without that insight, any policy fix is just guesswork.

And usage data? That’s another blind spot. We know how much was disbursed. But we don’t know what happened next.

How many businesses made it past Year 1? How many created jobs or income? What failed—and why?

It’s like cutting the ribbon on a new highway, celebrating the build, and never checking if anyone used the road.

So where do we go from here?

First, let’s stop pretending credit equals opportunity. A Mudra loan shouldn’t be standalone. Every Shishu loan could come with mentorship—maybe short digital modules in local languages, offered at bank branches.

Second, revise outdated caps. ₹50,000 today isn’t what it was in 2015. Adjusting for inflation isn’t reform—it’s basic hygiene. Loan limits should be revised periodically, linked to costs.

Third, build in impact tracking. We already have the tools—Aadhaar-linked systems, digital payments, mobile platforms. Use them. Not to micromanage, but to spot trends, track outcomes, and guide smarter policy.

Fourth, focus on urban poor entrepreneurs. Rural India gets policy attention through agriculture and MGNREGA. The urban poor—many of whom rely on Mudra—remain overlooked. Why not integrate credit, skilling, and community-level support for them?

Finally, make Mudra aspirational again. PM Vishwakarma worked because it blended tradition with training, credit with pride. Mudra needs that energy. Not just for branding, but for real outcomes. Shift the message from “loans for the poor” to “investments in potential.”

The bottom line? Ten years in, Mudra has made credit accessible. That’s a win.

But it hasn’t made entrepreneurship easier. Not yet. The scheme opened a door—but too many don’t know how to walk through it.

Maybe it’s time to stop measuring success in crores disbursed, and start counting livelihoods built.

Because a loan is just the beginning. What happens next—that’s what really matters.

As Mudra enters its second decade, here’s the question:

Can we turn one-time borrowers into long-term builders? Or will we keep writing small cheques for big dreams—with no roadmap in sight?

Book Mandala

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

Book: The Golden Road

Author: William Dalrymple

About the Book:

In The Golden Road, William Dalrymple retraces the old silk routes of culture, commerce, and faith that once tied the East to the West. With his characteristic mix of curiosity, lyricism, and dry wit, Dalrymple travels across ancient lands that were once bustling crossroads—Afghanistan, Central Asia, Iran, India—where civilizations collided, blended, and sometimes vanished. This is not a political commentary or a historian’s record, but a deeply personal exploration of how memory lingers in forgotten monasteries, bustling bazaars, and fading traditions. It’s a journey that reveals how interconnected the world once was—and how those threads continue to shape the present in quiet, surprising ways.

Our Take:

Reading The Golden Road feels like being guided by a companion who’s equal parts storyteller, historian, and wanderer. The book takes you to places that don’t usually make headlines, but were once at the heart of global exchange. In doing so, it reminds the reader how the boundaries we see on modern maps are far newer than we think—and often blurrier than we admit.

What makes the book stand out is not just Dalrymple’s prose, but his presence. He listens more than he speaks. He lets the landscapes and people tell their own stories—whether it's a carpet seller in Samarkand or a priest guarding a forgotten church in Armenia. For readers of Policy Mandala, it resonates in an unexpected way. Because at its core, this book is about systems of connection—economic, cultural, and human—that shaped the world quietly, over time. Much like the informal enterprises and local knowledge systems we explore in policy today.

It’s not a fast read—but it’s a rewarding one. Especially for those who like their journeys layered, like a good conversation that starts with trade and ends with poetry.

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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“Bacche do saal mein Kota se nikal jaate hain, par Kota saalon tak bacchon se nahi nikalta.”

If you chuckled, nodded, or sighed while reading that line, you know exactly what we’re talking about.
Maybe you’ve binge-watched Kota Factory. Maybe your cousin did a two-year vanvaas in Kota chasing that elusive IIT seat. Or maybe you’re one of the few who survived the daily practice papers, weekly tests, and the monthly “All India Test Series” in India’s most intense coaching town.

Because Kota isn’t just a city—it’s an emotion, and an industry. It’s also India’s coaching capital. Every year, over 2 lakh students descend upon it with dreams of cracking JEE and NEET, while a parallel economy rises to serve them—hostels, messes, autos, chai tapris, and a never-ending stream of photocopied question papers.

But why are we discussing Kota in Policy Mandala?

Because a few weeks back, the Rajasthan government introduced the Rajasthan Coaching Centre (Control and Regulation) Bill, 2025, which aims to bring some structure—and a little compassion—to this high-pressure industry. Though it primarily impacts Kota, it opens up a much-needed conversation for the whole country.

Before we dive into the fine print, let’s zoom out.

Kota’s coaching industry employs over 3.5 lakh people, pays ₹700 crore in taxes, and generates ₹5,000 crore in revenue annually. That’s more than 7 times what the Rajasthan government allocates for funding startups across the state in a year. Zoom out even further, and India’s coaching industry is now valued at ₹58,000 crore, growing at 15% annually.

But there’s a dark side. In 2023, 28 students in Kota died by suicide. That number shook the country. It forced policymakers to look closely at what’s broken in the coaching model—and how to fix it. The first result was a bill in 2024. It never reached the execution stage. So in 2025, a revised version made its way to the Assembly, with new energy—and a few notable changes.

The Rajasthan Coaching Centre (Control and Regulation) Bill, 2025, is structured around three big themes: government oversight, mandatory mental health support, and district and state-level regulatory committees.

Compared to the 2024 draft, this version carries sharper penalties, clearer mandates—and a few curious omissions.

One of the most welcome additions is a rule on fee refunds. If a student decides to withdraw, the institute must refund the unused portion of the tuition, hostel, and mess fees—within ten days. But this applies only to coaching institutions; independent mess and hostel owners are not covered under this mandate.

The fines have also been ramped up. The penalty for a first violation has jumped from ₹25,000 to ₹2 lakh. Repeat offences? ₹5 lakh, up from ₹1 lakh. Sounds tough—but in an industry where a top teacher might earn that much in less than a week, one wonders: are these fines serious deterrents, or just symbolic gestures?

Now, let’s talk about what the new bill quietly drops.

Between the 2024 and 2025 versions, the provision barring students under 16 from joining coaching institutes seems to have vanished. There’s no official explanation, but the coaching lobby had pushed back hard on this in 2024. So, did the government bend—or compromise? We can only guess until they clarify.

Also missing are requirements for disabled-friendly infrastructure and batch segregation based on academic performance. These were meant to support inclusivity and create healthier learning environments—but perhaps they were seen as “too much” for coaching centres to comply with. Again, the government hasn’t said why these have been removed.

To be fair, this isn’t Rajasthan’s first attempt at coaching regulation.

In 2022, the government tried to introduce a similar law—the Rajasthan Private Educational Regulatory Authority Bill—but it never made it to the floor, owing to objections from legal bodies. Even earlier, in 2018, the state had issued guidelines asking institutes to cap daily study hours and maintain attendance. But those were advisory.

Other states have tried too. Tamil Nadu, back in 2019, attempted to cap coaching fees. Several others—like Haryana (2024), Bihar (2010), Goa (2001), Uttar Pradesh (2002), Karnataka (2001), Manipur, and Jammu & Kashmir (2010)—have also passed coaching regulation laws in their respective jurisdictions. But enforcement has been patchy, and coaching lobbies, predictably, powerful.

Compared to those efforts, the 2025 Rajasthan Bill appears to have some legal and institutional teeth, finally giving regulators the power to intervene, at least in small but meaningful ways.

So where do we go from here? What should India’s roadmap look like when it comes to regulating—and ultimately, rethinking—coaching?

At India House, we believe it needs a multi-layered approach.

Let’s start at the top. At the central level, we need to break the tyranny of the once-a-year exam. Multiple attempts, multiple pathways—aptitude-based entry, even vocational routes—can help reduce the make-or-break anxiety students face in competitive exams. This is already part of NEP 2020’s vision—but we’re still waiting for it to move from paper to practice.

Next, we need a strong state-level push. States must invest in decentralised education hubs, so that students don’t have to leave their families and travel halfway across the country at 14 or 15. Better local infrastructure means students can study closer to home, in safer, less isolating environments. Some states like Telangana and Maharashtra have tried—but the effort has fallen short of what’s needed.

And finally, at the Rajasthan level, the current bill needs to go further. A minimum age cap for coaching admissions must return. Independent mental health counsellors should be made affordable and accessible—whether through subsidies, incentives, or other mechanisms. Coaching hubs like Kota should be mandated to offer well-being services—from mindfulness centres to sports facilities—so that students have outlets beyond their books. Everyone needs a pressure valve.

Because, for lakhs of students and their families, Kota is both a lifeline and a burden. It helps students reach their dreams—but often at the cost of their mental peace, social life, and well-being.

The bigger question we must ask is: should we keep fixing coaching institutes, or fix the education system that made them necessary in the first place?

The answer probably lies somewhere in between.

But the real work begins when we ask these questions—not just in Parliament, but in every parent-teacher meeting, every policy brainstorm, and every drawing-room conversation. Because the future of India’s young minds should not be left to chance, pressure, or photocopied notes. It should be built on care, creativity, and a system that believes in nurturing—not breaking—them.

Hopefully, our policies will evolve from mere regulation to also becoming a guiding light. Because let’s not forget—while the ink on the Bill is still drying, eight dreams have already been extinguished by the weight of expectation—and the calendar still reads April.

Book Mandala

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

Book: The Beautiful Tree: Indigenous Indian Education in the Eighteenth Century
Author: Dharampal

Dharampal’s The Beautiful Tree challenges the widely held belief that India lacked a structured education system before the British. Based on archival records from colonial surveys, the book paints a fascinating picture of a decentralized, community-driven schooling system that was inclusive, widespread, and largely self-sustained. It highlights how schools in 18th-century India functioned across regions, cutting through caste and economic divisions, and provided practical, need-based learning.

However, British interventions systematically dismantled this indigenous model, replacing it with a rigid, standardized system that prioritized administrative efficiency over holistic learning. The book compiles records from a survey ordered by Thomas Munro, Governor of Madras (1822), detailing indigenous schools across 21 districts of the Madras Presidency. It also includes reports by W. Adam (1835-38) and G.W. Leitner (1882) on education in Bengal and Punjab.

Our Take:

Dharampal’s research is both an eye-opener and a provocation. It forces us to rethink whether our present education system—marked by intense competition and coaching dependence—is a natural progression or a deviation from a more balanced, community-centered learning tradition. The Beautiful Tree serves as a reminder that the needs of the education system in India may not lie in borrowed models but in revisiting and reimagining its own historical strengths.

For those interested in education policy, history, and systemic reform, this book is an essential read. It not only questions the roots of our current learning crisis but also opens the door for rethinking what meaningful education should look like in India.

Co-authored by Mrinal Rai and Aswathi Prakash.

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