Opinion
Sun 25 Jan
This article has been published with:What made 2025 different was not one dramatic announcement, but the way a series of interconnected reforms reshaped everyday economic life. Taxation, labour, energy, investment, and digital governance were not treated as isolated silos but as part of one system that ultimately affected how Indians earn, save, spend, work and power their homes.
What made 2025 different was not one dramatic announcement, but the way a series of interconnected reforms reshaped everyday economic life. Taxation, labour, energy, investment, and digital governance were not treated as isolated silos but as part of one system that ultimately affected how Indians earn, save, spend, work and power their homes.
The most visible impact has been felt by the middle class.
When Finance Minister Nirmala Sitharaman told a public gathering that the government would press ahead with deeper reforms, including a full overhaul of the customs duty structure, she wasn’t announcing just another policy tweak. She was signalling something more fundamental — that India’s reform strategy had moved from stealth to conviction.
Prime Minister Modi described 2025 as a ‘defining phase’ in India’s reform journey and urged investors to ‘keep trusting India and investing in our people.’ The phrase matters. This was not the language of crisis management or emergency repair. It was the language of long-term restructuring of a government increasingly willing to own its reform agenda openly rather than disguise it as technical housekeeping.
The new income tax framework delivered tangible relief, with salaried individuals effectively seeing breathing room of up to ₹12.75 lakh in annual income through exemptions and slabs. This was not symbolic; it showed up directly on salary slips, in household budgets, and in consumption patterns. More disposable income meant better household savings, stronger demand for goods and services, and rising confidence.
In economic terms, this was growth driven by confidence, not compulsion. The middle class was no longer treated merely as a tax base but repositioned as the engine of demand.
GST 2.0 continued this simplification logic. Rationalised slabs and clearer structures reduced disputes, increased predictability, and made consumer goods more affordable. The shift was from complexity to clarity and from opacity to trust.
Since 2014, around 25 crore Indians have moved out of poverty, forming what policymakers now call the “new middle class.” 2025 arguably marked the moment when policy finally began speaking directly to them.
For decades, labour reform in India was the political equivalent of a live wire — everyone agreed it needed fixing, but no one wanted to touch it. Successive governments avoided it because the costs were immediate, visible and politically painful, while the benefits were long-term. That political logic quietly changed this year.
Labour reform is where the government crossed its political Rubicon. Twenty-nine outdated labour laws were replaced with simplified codes. Gig and platform workers were formally recognised. Employers were offered a “one nation, one compliance” framework.
This wasn’t merely about making life easier for businesses. It sent a signal that India wants growth, but not jobless growth.
Manufacturing responded. Quarter after quarter, it grew steadily. Capacity utilisation rose. Logistics improved. Policy stability reduced risk. India began looking more like a manufacturing base, and the credit goes to structural conditions finally aligning.
Perhaps the most underrated reform of 2025 was the recent nuclear energy liberalisation. The opening up of atomic energy, including through the SHANTI Bill, was not cosmetic. It was about future-proofing India’s energy security. India cannot industrialise, urbanise, and digitise while burning coal indefinitely. Clean, stable base-load power is not a climate luxury; it is an economic necessity.
This reform recognised that energy security is national security.
Beneath the headline reforms sits an equally important transformation — India’s digital public infrastructure. Jan Dhan, Aadhaar, and DBT linkages have quietly rewired the state’s delivery capacity. Welfare now flows directly. Leakages have reduced. Administrative friction has fallen.
This is not ideological reform; it is an operational one, and arguably more powerful than any speech.
For all its achievements, 2025 still cannot be considered a complete miracle year, as challenges still persist.
The manufacturing sector has not translated into a larger share of overall GDP. Urban air quality remains dire. Smart cities still don’t feel very smart. Private investment remains cautious. Real wages have not quite surged. Employment growth has lagged behind output growth.
Most importantly, the government continues to avoid the most politically explosive reforms, such as land acquisition and agriculture. The farm laws collapse remains a reminder that structural reform still collides with social reality. Conviction exists, but it is selective.
Now, the governing mantra has been pragmatic: deliver public goods, incentivise participation, reduce political friction, invite private players, and avoid direct confrontation. It has produced stability and steady growth, but perhaps at the cost of deeper transformation.
So, has India pivoted from stealth to conviction? Yes, but within boundaries.
The state now openly owns its reform agenda. It is less defensive about being pro-business. It is more confident about structural change. It is more willing to talk about productivity. However, it remains cautious about reforms that provoke social rupture.
This is not necessarily a flaw. It may be India’s version of reform realism.
Now the real question is whether India is ready to extend that conviction to the reforms it still fears, and whether political courage can eventually match economic ambition. That will decide whether this was a chapter — or the beginning of a longer story.
Uncategorized
Sun 25 Jan
This article has been published with : Inside Trump’s ‘board of power’
The Board of Peace (BoP) is best understood not as a genuine multilateral initiative, but as a quasi-international body personally engineered by Donald Trump. While the United States initially sought UN backing for post-war plans in Gaza, the BoP’s final structure was unilaterally altered, hollowing out any claim to collective legitimacy.
Crucially, the Board does not even explicitly mention Gaza, the very crisis it claims to address.
This is not a small omission. Gaza was the moral and political justification for the initiative. Removing it from the formal mandate points toward a shift from humanitarian responsibility.
Organisationally, the BoP departs sharply from accepted international norms. Trump has appointed himself chairman, while the executive board reportedly includes family members and close associates. More troubling is who is not represented: there is no Palestinian political leadership on the Board.
At best, a handful of Palestinian “technical experts” are included without any democratic mandate, and without recognition of the Palestinian people’s right to decide their own future.
Perhaps the most disturbing inclusion is that of Benjamin Netanyahu, even as he faces serious allegations of committing acts of genocide.
A peace forum that sidelines the victims while offering a seat at the table to those accused of grave crimes sends a clear message that ‘power speaks louder than justice’.
Trump has defended the Board of Peace as an alternative to the United Nations, arguing that the UN is fractured, slow and ineffective. Many would agree that the UN has its flaws, but frustration with multilateralism does not justify abandoning it altogether.
Creating a parallel international structure based on personal authority is not reform, it is replacement by force of influence.
This move also fits a broader pattern. The US withdrawal from the World Health Organisation weakened global public health coordination. His great ‘MAGA’ ambitions now seem to undermine public health as well.
Additionally, his disregard for the Paris agreement which jeopardises collective climate action. In each case, institutions were dismissed as unfair or inconvenient.
Well, the Board of Peace follows the same logic; when global rules limit power, build a new table and decide who gets a seat.
For Palestine, this is more than bad diplomacy, it is a betrayal of the very principles meant to protect stateless and occupied people. Decisions about governance, security and reconstruction are being shifted away from international law into a US-controlled forum where accountability at its helm remains absolutely vague.
This brings us to India now. As India was among the 22 countries invited to join the Board of Peace, yet New Delhi chose not to attend the launch. That hesitation was not diplomatic indifference it was prudence.
One immediate red flag is that Pakistan has already joined the Board, complicating India’s strategic position in a forum shaped largely by US preferences.
India, with its diplomatic tradition rooted in strategic autonomy, non-alignment and respect for international law, has little to gain from joining such an ad-hoc and personalised initiative.
A board tied so closely to one political figure’s authority and preferences lacks durability and credibility. It could easily lose relevance once Trump exist the political stage.
Importantly, staying out does not mean disengagement. India has consistently supported Palestine through humanitarian aid, medical assistance, engagement with UNRWA, and quiet diplomacy via its office in Ramallah.
India has previously resisted U.S.-led unilateral ventures. In 2003, the Vajpayee government declined Washington’s request to send Indian troops to Iraq, reaffirming that peacekeeping must be conducted only under the UN framework.
Supporting Trump’s Board of Peace, would weaken India’s moral standing. Rather than endorsing it, New Delhi should press for its integration into the UN Department of Peace Operations ensuring a multilateral oversight, and accountability, in which Gaza is included.
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Opinion
Sat 18 Oct
This article has been published with: Why Gen Z protests are shaking the world
Unlike their predecessors, Gen Z is not content with gradual change. They have grown up in a digital world where progress is instantaneous and transparency is expected. Their protests are organised online, powered by memes, videos and digital solidarity. The internet is not just their stage; it is their weapon.
For years, the world watched the protests erupted from Hong Kong to Cairo marking 2019 as the so-called “year of protest.” But in 2025, a different kind of uprising has taken shape. This time, it is much younger, sharper, and more connected.
From Nepal to Indonesia, the Philippines to Morocco and Madagascar, a restless generation has taken to the streets, transforming frustration into defiance. Experts are calling it the wave of ‘Gen Z protests,’ and it may redefine how dissent looks in the modern age.
The sparks that ignite these protests differ from one country to another, yet the underlying fire is the same: anger over poor governance, inequality, corruption and a future that feels increasingly out of reach. In Nepal, the outrage began with a government-imposed social media ban that was quickly reversed, but not before triggering a nationwide reckoning. For a generation raised online, the ban was not just an attack on communication but a silencing of identity and expression.
It became the final straw in a long history of corruption, nepotism, and political failure. Prime Minister Oli’s resignation soon followed, exposing a deep disillusionment among young Nepalis who feel their democracy has been hijacked by the elite.
In Indonesia and the Philippines, the frustration runs parallel over widening inequality, soaring youth unemployment, and an economy that no longer guarantees dignity. Many young people are working multiple low-paying jobs, watching the promise of education dissolve into a market that no longer rewards effort.
A recent World Bank update highlights that one in seven people in China and Indonesia is unemployed, and that much of the region’s job creation has shifted from factories to unstable service work. The ladder that once lifted millions into the middle class has started to crack.
In Morocco, protests have flared up around social justice reforms and the state of public services. The country’s youth are furious that billions of dollars are being pushed into hosting the 2030 FIFA World Cup while healthcare, education, and transport systems remain broken. To them, it is not just about sports, it is about misplaced priorities.
The glittering stadiums are being built on the back of neglect. The government’s vision of progress feels hollow when water shortages, unemployment and social inequality persist.
Across the Indian ocean, in Madagascar, young protesters are demanding something even more basic: electricity and clean water. The island nation faces an ironic dilemma, while political elites make grand promises of development, ordinary families continue to suffer from erratic power cuts and unreliable water supplies, often left in darkness and neglect.
What unites these different uprisings is not just ideology, but exhaustion, a generation that feels cheated by those who claim to lead them.
Well, it’s quite clear that this generation does not want symbolic reforms or slow-moving promises. They want results they are visible.
Unlike their predecessors, Gen Z is not content with gradual change. They have grown up in a digital world where progress is instantaneous and transparency is expected. Their protests are organised online, powered by memes, videos and digital solidarity. The internet is not just their stage; it is their weapon.
Every government scandal, every instance of elite privilege, every broken promise becomes public within seconds.
Older generations often dismiss this as performative outrage, but it is much deeper than that. For Gen Z, activism is survival. They are fighting for jobs, dignity and relevance in systems that continue to exclude them. Their rebellion is not simply about demanding reforms; it is about reclaiming agency in societies that ignore them.
In many ways Gen Z protests of 2025 are not just reactions to crisis; they are reflections of a larger global fatigue. The world has been living through years of economic uncertainty, climate anxiety and political stagnation. For young people who have inherited these challenges, protest is not a choice it has become a necessity.
What is happening in these parts of the world is not chaos, it is clarity. These protests reveal a generation that refuses to wait, one that demands accountability now, not later.
Governments can either listen or continue to pretend that stability is the same as peace. But the truth is clear: this generation is no longer asking for permission to change the world, it is already doing it.
Opinion
Mon 13 Oct
The article has been published with: As the first phase of US president Donald Trump’s 20-point peace plan for Gaza gains traction, with both Hamas and Israel cautiously signing onto its initial framework, a new moment of reckoning arises not just for the region but for India, whose interests and ideals converge at the heart of Gaza’s fragile peace.
As the first phase of US president Donald Trump’s 20-point peace plan for Gaza gains traction, with both Hamas and Israel cautiously signing onto its initial framework, a new moment of reckoning arises not just for the region but for India, whose interests and ideals converge at the heart of Gaza’s fragile peace.
The plan, which emphasises large-scale international investment in water, energy, health, and infrastructure, has drawn careful support from the European Union and several Arab states, including Egypt, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, and the UAE.
While many remain concerned over the absence of a clear timeline for Israel’s withdrawal, the momentum itself is significant. Prime Minister Modi welcomed the plan as “decisive progress” and a “significant step forward,” signaling India’s willingness to see stability return to Gaza after years of destruction and despair.
For India, peace in Gaza is not an abstract moral issue but a question deeply linked to its historical diplomacy, energy security, and regional aspirations. New Delhi’s engagement with the Palestinian question predates its own independence.
In 1947, Jawaharlal Nehru ensured India’s participation in the UN Special Committee on Palestine, where India defied the Western bloc to support a single federal state with Arab and Jewish provinces, a stance consistent with its postcolonial belief in coexistence and self-determination.
In the following decades, India extended sustained financial support to the United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees (UNRWA) and contributed troops to successive UN peacekeeping missions, including the UN Emergency Force in the Suez and Sinai, where Indian soldiers even lost their lives during the 1967 Arab-Israeli conflict.
India’s solidarity with the Palestinian cause has never been merely symbolic. In 1988, it became one of the first non-Arab nations to recognise the State of Palestine, a step that many Western democracies only began contemplating decades later. Yet, the early 1990s marked a recalibration. When India established full diplomatic relations with Israel in 1992, it was not a repudiation of its commitment to Palestine but a response to the changing geopolitical order.
The Madrid Peace Conference has brought new players to the table, and India, wary of being excluded from the evolving peace process, adjusted its strategy to engage with both sides. Since then, India has attended donor conferences, participated in UN committees on Palestinian rights, and provided development assistance and technical training to the Palestinian Authority (PA), while simultaneously building robust defence, agricultural, and technology partnerships with Israel.
This dual approach, combining principled support for Palestinian sovereignty with pragmatic engagement with Israel, has been the defining feature of India’s Middle East policy for over three decades.
India has repeatedly condemned terrorism in all its forms, including attacks on Israeli civilians, while also expressing concern when Israel’s military operations inflict civilian suffering in Gaza. Its response to the recent conflict, particularly after the airstrikes near Doha, was carefully worded but deliberate, reiterating the need to respect international humanitarian law and resume dialogue toward a two-state solution.
At the heart of India’s interest in the new Gaza plan lies not just diplomacy but economics as well. With the Abraham Accords reshaping West Asia, India finds itself part of a new cooperative architecture that bridges both Israel and the Gulf.
The India–Middle East–Europe Economic Corridor (IMEC), announced in 2023, exemplifies this shift, a project linking India’s ports to the Gulf, Israel, and onward to Europe through rail and maritime routes. Its success depends on regional stability.
A peaceful Gaza, integrated into a broader framework of reconstruction and trade, directly serves India’s interests in securing energy supplies, ensuring uninterrupted trade flows, and maintaining safe conditions for over eight million Indians living and working in the Gulf region, whose remittances exceed $40 billion annually.
Israel’s ambassador to India recently suggested that New Delhi should take an active role in Gaza’s reconstruction, citing India’s expertise in infrastructure, water management, and digital governance. Indian companies such as Larsen & Toubro and Tata Projects have already demonstrated their capacity to execute large-scale civil works across the Middle East.
India’s engagement in the region would not only consolidate the nation’s image as a development partner but also reinforce its credentials as a responsible power capable of constructive mediation.
Beyond economic calculations, India’s participation would resonate with its broader foreign policy doctrine, one that blends strategic autonomy with normative leadership. As a founding member of the Non-Aligned Movement, India has historically positioned itself as a bridge between the Global North and South.
Today, that legacy continues through new minilateral groupings such as the I2U2 (India, Israel, UAE, United States), which promote cooperation in food, energy, and innovation. By constructively engaging in Gaza’s recovery while upholding Palestinian sovereignty, India can project itself as a moderating force that values peace without partisanship.
However, the path ahead demands caution. Aligning too closely with the Israeli or American approach could alienate traditional Arab partners, especially those sensitive to Palestinian sovereignty.
The challenge for India, therefore, is to sustain a credible middle course one that upholds humanitarian principles while remaining anchored in realpolitik.
In Gaza’s fragile future, India’s role could go beyond financial assistance. Its record in peacekeeping, institution building, and capacity training makes it uniquely positioned to help restore basic governance, healthcare, and education systems.
Indian NGOs and development agencies, working alongside UN bodies, could contribute to skill-building programmes that empower Palestinian youth and reduce dependence on aid.
From Nehru’s moral idealism to Modi’s pragmatic outreach, India’s policy on Palestine and Israel has been marked by adaptation without abandonment. The new Gaza peace plan presents yet another test of that balance.
Whether India chooses to remain a cautious observer or an active participant in reconstruction will reveal how it defines power in the twenty-first century.
Opinion
Fri 3 Oct
This article has been published with: Rethinking free speech through Sahyog
Sahyog can serve public good but only if backed by transparency, statutory clarity and judicial review. Otherwise, it will remain a contested experiment seen by some as shield against cybercrime and by others as a step toward state overreach.
From the very beginning, India’s free speech story has been a push and pull between expansive liberty and cautious regulation. When the framers of India’s Constitution enshrined freedom of speech and expression in Article 19(1)(a), they understood that democracy thrives on debate, disagreement and dissent. Yet they built in caveats; Article 19(2) that permits the State to impose “reasonable restrictions” in the interests of sovereignty, public order, morality and security.
In this regard, the Supreme Court has often stepped in. In Romesh Thappar v. State of Madras (1950), it struck down a ban on a political journal, declaring that freedom of speech lay “at the foundation of all democratic organisation.” In Shreya Singhal v. Union of India (2015), it famously scrapped Section 66A of the IT Act, holding that vague powers to police online speech violated constitutional guarantees.
Time and again, the judiciary has stressed: restrictions must be narrowly tailored, reasoned and subject to oversight. Which brings us today to the Sahyog portal. Launched by the Union IT Ministry last year, it is a centralised digital platform through which government agencies and police can issue takedown requests to social media intermediaries. Officially designed to combat cybercrime and harmful online content, it allows authorities to flag and demand removal of posts directly.
The controversy arises because critics argue that the portal bypasses the safeguards of Section 69A, operates in secrecy and risks enabling censorship.
Yet, in a recent ruling, the Karnataka High Court took a different view: it upheld the government’s use of this digital tool, dismissing X Corporation’s plea that labelled the system “extra-legal censorship”, and instead described the portal as “an instrument of public good” and a “beacon of cooperation” against online harms, and that it is a cooperative mechanism to tackle cybercrime.
Soon after, Elon Musk’s company declared it was “deeply concerned,” warning that Sahyog allows millions of officers to demand removals in secrecy, bypassing safeguards of Section 69A, infringing on constitutional rights.
So, is this really censorship?
Supporters say this is not an arbitrary censorship but enforcement. The internet is flooded with deepfakes, child exploitation material, hate campaigns and frauds. Harm spreads at the speed of a click, while legal blocking orders often take weeks. A centralised portal, they argue, makes cooperation efficient, protects victims swiftly and reflects the State’s duty to maintain public order.
Seen in this light, Sahyog is a policing tool against criminal misuse not a muzzle on political dissent.
The high court’s view fits this reasoning: challenging the portal is, in its words to ‘misunderstand its very purpose.’
Yet critics, civil society, legal scholars and X see danger in how Sahyog operates. Unlike Section 69A, which requires reasoned, reviewable orders, Sahyog enables opaque takedown requests. No public record, no notice to users, no guaranteed oversight. This, they argue is ‘arbitrary censorship,’ not in its declared intent, but in its unchecked potential.
The real threat is that an officer in one corner of the country could order content down in another, with the citizen left unaware of the grounds. Genuine dissent or inconvenient reporting may vanish under the same framework meant to remove harmful content. When removals happen without transparency, it often seems as silencing even if done unintentionally.
Well, censorship is not always about intent, but also about a process. A system that removes content without reasoned orders, without notice, and without accountability resembles censorship in practice, even if born of noble objectives. Sahyog, as currently designed, can risks blurring that line.
The government insists that “the Constitution wins.” Musk insists that free expression is under threat. The truth lies in neither extreme. Sahyog can serve public good but only if backed by transparency, statutory clarity and judicial review. Otherwise, it will remain a contested experiment seen by some as shield against cybercrime and by others as a step toward state overreach.
India’s constitutional journey has always been about negotiating liberty and restraint. Whether Sahyog becomes a cooperative safeguard or a creeping censor will depend less on its technology, and more on how faithfully it is made to follow the spirit of Article 19.
Opinion
Sat 27 Sep
This article has been published with: Will Ladakh’s demands finally be met?
Ladakh is simmering, and the latest violence has brought long-standing frustrations to a head. Four people have been killed, at least 50 injured and a community once known for it’s peaceful strikes now find itself in the eye of a storm.
Well, the spark is clear: demands for statehood and the extension of Sixth Schedule protections, issues that go beyond politics and strike at the heart of identity, autonomy, and democracy in this fragile Himalayan region.
Climate activist Sonam Wangchuck, who had been on a hunger strike for 35 days in solidarity with Ladakhi’s demands, called off his fast amid escalating tensions. The unrest erupted just days before talks were scheduled between the Centre and the Leh Apex Body on October 6, after a four-month haitus, with reports suggesting that Wangchuck was deliberately sidelined, seen as a stumbling block by the authorities. One might wonder, is there a better way to bridge communication gaps in such sensitive negotiations?
Frustration runs deep. Locals feel promises made in previous elections have gathered dust, and with national elections looming, patience has worn thin.
The roots of Ladakh’s unrest lie in a democratic deficit. When Article 370 was abrogated in 2019, Jammu and Kashmir retained a legislative assembly but Ladakh was left without any local governing body. Control over land and other powers was stripped away, leaving residents voiceless in matters that affect their daily lives. This is not mere political tussle; it is a fight for recognition, representation and survival.
The demands being voiced are measured, residents seek recognition by including the territory under Sixth Schedule that confers judicial, legislative and executive powers similar to those enjoyed in the north-eastern regions of Mizoram, Meghalaya, Tripura and Assam. Additional requests include job reservations for locals and an increase to two parliamentary seats to ensure regional perspectives are represented at the national level.
These are not demands for special treatment, but a call for balanced governance and equitable representation. But at the same time, it begs the question, how can such aspirations be harmonised with wiser administrative and strategic considerations.
Well, the government has taken steps in response. Measures include 85% job reservations for local, one-third of seats in hill development councils reserved for women, and the formation of a high-powered committee under the Ministry of Home Affairs to engage with leaders from both Leh and Kargil. Yet, challenges remain with the path forward requiring careful navigation.
However, several factors make resolution a nuanced endeavour. Constitutional and legal complexities exist, given the distinct religious, cultural and economic interests of Leh and Kargil. Implementation gaps and limited clarity in administrative mechanisms can slow outcomes, and the strategic location of Ladakh, bordering China and Pakistan adds layers of national security considerations as well.
Economic implications too, are tangible: tourism, a key source of revenue, could face disruption, with effects on regional and national GDP. Beyond economics, the question of cultural preservation remains central as well: how can infrastructure and development be planned so that heritage, language and traditions of the region are respected.
Yet, what stands out in this situation is the continued commitment to dialogue and peaceful engagement. Patience has been a recurring theme, even in the face of prolonged uncertainty. And with any situation where expectations meet reality, tensions inevitably rise. This makes structured engagement, thoughtful negotiation and clarity of intent more important than ever.
The situation calls for measured steps, informed dialogue, and a shared vision for the region’s development. These considerations strike at the core of democratic practice in regions with unique histories and geographies.
But the answer to whether Ladakh’s demands will finally be met remains uncertain.
The coming weeks will be crucial in determining if trust gets rebuilt. The real challenge lies in proving whether considered steps can strengthen both local representation and national cohesion, while upholding what India is built upon, “unity in diversity.” Until then, it remains a story one of simmering protests, promises and a long watchful wait of a region yearning for clarity.
Opinion
Tue 23 Sep
This article has been published with: The American dream crumbles
In quintessential Trump fashion, the US president has yet again upended millions of Indian aspirations with a single stroke of the pen. His latest executive order, hiking the H-1B visa fee to a staggering $1,00,000 has sent shockwaves through India’s tech corridors and diaspora communities.
This move will impact countless Indians, many of whom may be forced to return to India only to face unemployment and frustration, feeing both berefit and disillusioned. For countless engineers, scientists, and innovators, the “American dream” long considered a gateway to global opportunity now seems painfully out of reach.
The H-1B program, which issues 65,000 visas annually for specialised foreign workers and another 20,000 for advanced-degree holders, has traditionally been dominated by Indians, who account for 70% of all approved beneficiaries. Previously, the visa fee was roughly $965; Trump’s new proclamation has pushed it to $1,00,000, or over ₹88 lakh an astronomical increase that makes working in the US a near-impossible proposition for most.
The fallout is immediate and multifaceted. Industry leaders warn of disruptions for major IT companies such as Infosys, TCS and Wipro, particularly for onshore projects in the US that rely heavily on Indian talent. Bikram Chabhal, president of the Association of Visa and IELTS Centres, cautioned that Indians will bear the brunt of this policy shift. Social media is awash with panic, resignation and debate.
One X user lamented, “Trump just killed the H-1B. The American dream of Indian techies is over.” Another warned of cascading effects on India’s domestic job market, as returning professionals confront limited opportunities.
Yet, amid the panic, there is a silver lining one that India must seize with strategic clarity. Former NITI Ayog CEO Amitabh Kant has suggested that this disruption could become a catalyst for India’s innovation ecosystem. With top-tier engineers, scientists, and innovators potentially redirected back home, India now has a rare opportunity to leverage global talent for domestic development.
Tech hubs like Bangalore, Hyderabad, Pune and Gurgaon could witness an influx of highly skilled professionals, enhancing research and development capabilities, fostering startups and strengthen country’s position in the global technology market. What the US loses, India could gain.
However, to truly capitalise on this opportunity, India must address both the push factors driving talent abroad and the pull factors that have historically drawn them to the U.S. Push factors include stagnant wages, limited research infrastructure and bureaucratic hurdles within India. Pull factors of the US encompass higher salaries, access to cutting-edge technology, global exposure and a sense of meritocratic mobility. While the US has historically offered these pull factors, India can begin to create its own ecosystem that mitigates the push factors.
By improving wages in the tech sector, streamlining regulations, and creating incentives for innovation-driven startups, India can offer an alternative to its professionals.
Diplomacy is equally critical. Trump’s impulsive actions which have unsettled even countries with longstanding agreements highlight the unpredictable nature of US policy, India must engage strategically, treating the H-1B fee hike as a temporary shock rather than a permanent rupture.
Experts suggest leveraging high-level dialogues, such as the US-India strategic and commercial dialogue, to highlight mutual benefits : Indian talent strengthens US companies while promoting cross-border innovation.
India can engage industry and trade bodies like NASSCOM, CII and FICCI to present data-backed concerns about the impact on ongoing projects. Constructive proposals such as tiered visa fees linked to salary levels, project-specific exemptions or skill-sharing commitments can align with US priorities while protecting Indian interests.
Social reactions capture the spectrum of emotions: panic, disappointment, cautious optimism and pragmatic reflection. Some express relief at the prospect of focusing on domestic opportunities rather than navigating US immigration whims, while others warn of potential job market pressure if professionals return en masse.
The key lies in foresight, that is, transforming disruption into opportunity.
Trump may have shattered millions of Indian dreams, but India now faces a historic opportunity. Because, Trump has been famously described as a ‘transactional leader’, extreme policies like the H-1B fee hike and his MAGA-driven moves are part of his broader playbook.
Rather than trying to change what Trump will do, India must focus on strengthening its own factors.
The question remains; will India rise to the occasion, or will it allow a foreign policy shock to dictate its technological destiny?
Opinion
Wed 17 Sep
This article has been published with: London’s identity in question, are Indians at risk?
On a September weekend, central London became a stage of tense spectacle. A tide of Union Jacks and St George’s crosses swept through the streets, led by far-right activist Tommy Robinson under the banner of “Unite the Kingdom.” More than 1,50,000 people reportedly participating, this was one of Britain’s largest anti-immigration demonstrations in recent years.
What transpired was more than a protest. It was a reminder that immigration has become the flashpoint of our times, capable of mobilizing crowds, unsettling governments and shaping the future of millions including the large Indian diaspora. The question many are quietly asking now is: Should Indians be worried?
Indians are the largest non-UK ethnic group in London, numbering over 6,50,000 in Greater London. British Indians own over 65,000 businesses in the UK, contributing to roughly £60 billion annually to tits economy. Almost 1 in 10 NHS doctors in the UK is of Indian origin. Whereas, Indian students make up one of the largest international student groups in the UK, with more than 1,40,000 Indian students enrolled in British universities in 2023-24, bringing billions in tuition and local spending.
The rally was framed as a show of patriotism, but immigration was the central grievance. Placards blared “Send them home” and “Stop the boats.” The rhetoric was unmistakably hostile towards migrants, particularly Muslims, though the undertone extended to anyone perceived as an “outsider.” Violence erupted when protestors clashed with police, injuring 26 officers.
London’s Muslim population is around 15%, heavily concentrated in boroughs like Newham, Tower Hamlets and Brent. Far-right activists portray this concentration as a “threat to British identity.”
Debates around halal food in schools, mosque construction or visible symbols like the hijab are exploited by right-wing groups as evidence of cultural erosion. Wars in Afghanistan, Syria and more recently the Israel-Gaza conflict have fed into anti-Muslim sentiment with Muslims abroad often conflated with Muslims at home.
Prime Minister Keir Starmer condemned the march as divisive, insisting Britain “will not surrender its flag to those who use it as a symbol of fear.” But the event’s scale, intensity and rapid spread across social media suggested something deeper: anti-immigration sentiment is no longer fringe. It is mainstreaming.
Economic anxieties, housing shortages and stretched public services are easy scapegoats. Security concerns, often fuelled by sensationalist reporting, add another layer. But perhaps the most significant driver is political entrepreneurship, activists like Robinson know how to weaponise frustration into mobilisation. Online misinformation then turbocharges the anger, transforming digital discontent into street protests.
London’s rally is part of a global pattern. Just last month, tens of thousands marched in Australia under the banner of “March for Australia,” while protests over asylum housing have surged in the United States. Across Europe, demonstration in Berlin, Warsaw, and Dublin echo similar themes. Migration politics is now transnational, and Britain’s far-right plugged into these global currents.
For Indians, the implications are complicated. On the one hand, the Indian diaspora in the UK is one of the country’s most successful immigrant communities being economically stable, politically active and culturally visible. But success does not immunise against xenophobia.
History has shown how quickly minorities can become collateral damage when anti-immigration rhetoric boils over.
Indians may not be specific targets of Robinson’s campaign, but visibility itself is enough. Past attacks on Indian students in Australia and racist assaults on South Asian workers in the UK illustrates how quickly resentment can translate into violence.
Beyond physical safety, social climate matters as well. Discrimination in jobs, housing, or even public spaces can intensify during such surges. For young students and workers without strong community support, this can be isolating.
India has often had to step in when its nationals abroad face hostility. Advisories, consular interventions and public outcry in India can strain ties with the host nations.
It is not alarmist to say that Indians should be cautious. But caution must not turn into a constant fear. After all, Britain is also a place where Indian-origin leaders hold office, where Bollywood films run in packed theatres and where Indian businesses thrive. Even its official national dish, chicken tikka masala, has Indian roots, a reminder of how deeply the community has shaped British life.
The chants of “we want our country back” are not just about border control, they reflect an identity crisis in Western democracies struggling to balance globalisation with local anxieties. For Britain, this identity debate is especially charged post-Brexit. The promise of taking back control of borders was a defining feature of the Leave campaign, yet migration numbers remain high due to labour shortages.
Far-right figures are now exploiting this perceived “failure” to whip up anger.
Well, Indian in the UK and elsewhere should respond with awareness rather than fear by staying alert to their surroundings, keeping close to community networks and recognising when immigration becomes a political flashpoint. For students and young professionals, this means being prepared for shifts in visa rules or public mood that can arise during election seasons.
At the same time, India’s diplomatic role will grow in importance. Protecting its citizens abroad must remain central to its foreign policy.
Anti-immigration marches may chant “send them home,” but the truth is Indians have already made Britain their home. From students to entrepreneurs, they contribute to the economy, culture and public life. As long as they remain as asset, not a threat, to the society they live in they should not be worried, though they must remain watchful of shifting political winds.
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