Can austerity ease economic stress?

The PM’s call for citizens to reduce consumption reframes economic resilience as a test of personal sacrifice.

There is a familiar cadence to Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s addresses from the ramparts of developmental high ground, particularly when delivered against the backdrop of a city like Hyderabad, which thrives on the very global linkages he now asks us to curtail. On May 10, he called for the Indian citizen to retreat into a shell of performative austerity to help the State address its economic vulnerabilities.

The Prime Minister’s appeal to forgo gold for weddings and return to the virtual bunkers of the pandemic era is framed as a patriotic sacrifice. But seen through a critical lens, it reveals a troubling pattern of shifting the burden of macroeconomic stability onto the cultural and social life of the individual. When the State asks a family to abandon the ancestral security of gold or tells a professional to trade the office for a laptop in a bedroom, it is not just suggesting a lifestyle change. It signals a lack of structural confidence.

The logic of saving foreign exchange by cutting fuel consumption and gold imports is, on paper, a sound piece of arithmetic. India’s import bill is indeed a heavy anchor. However, framing this as a moral choice for the citizen is a redirection. The high cost of fuel is a global reality, but it is also a consequence of an energy strategy that remains heavily dependent on external shocks despite a decade of promises regarding self-reliance.

By asking people to ‘restart’ the digital practices of the Corona period, the Prime Minister is essentially privatising the cost of economic resilience. Work from home is not a neutral act. It has profound implications for urban economies, for the small businesses that thrive around office hubs, and for the mental well-being of a workforce that has only recently reclaimed a sense of normalcy. To use a global supply chain crisis as a reason to push citizens back into isolation is to treat the Indian public as a tap that can be turned off whenever the balance of payments feels the heat.

The Prime Minister’s focus on the fertiliser subsidy, contrasting the Rs-3,000 global price with the Rs-300 domestic cost, is designed to highlight the government’s protective role. It is a potent image: the State as the benevolent provider standing between the farmer and a hostile world.

Yet, this shield is also a trap. The staggering fiscal burden of these subsidies is exactly what makes the exchequer so sensitive to the gold purchases of a middle-class family in Bengaluru or the diesel consumption of a transporter in Hyderabad. The government is essentially admitting that its current fiscal model is so stretched that it requires the cultural surrender of its citizens to remain solvent. Instead of a long-term structural overhaul of agrarian inputs or an aggressive pursuit of green energy, we are offered a narrative of ‘resilient austerity’ where the people must shrink so the State can spend.

The Hyderabad contrast

The irony was not lost on those watching the proceedings in Hyderabad. While the Prime Minister laid foundation stones for industrial areas and textile parks, projects built on the promise of movement, connectivity, and consumption, his speech advocated for the opposite. You cannot build a ‘manufacturing powerhouse’ while simultaneously asking the domestic market to suppress its appetite.

A developed India, or the ‘Viksit Bharat’ envisioned in these speeches, cannot be built on the back of a deferred wedding or a cancelled commute. True economic sovereignty comes from a robust domestic base that can withstand global shocks.

The Prime Minister’s appeal is a masterclass in the politics of the pedestal. It places him in the role of the visionary father, asking for a small sacrifice for the greater good. But in a democracy, the greater good is served when the State builds a structural environment that doesn’t rely on the moral policing of its citizens’ choices.

As we navigate this season of global friction, the response should not be to retreat. The response should be to demand an economy strong enough to allow an Indian family to celebrate a wedding with their traditions intact and a professional to work in an office without feeling like they are draining the national coffers. Sacrifice is a noble sentiment, but when it becomes a recurring tool of economic policy, it is no longer a virtue. It is a symptom of a deeper, unaddressed malaise.

(The author writes on politics, society, technology, literature, and the arts, reflecting on the shared histories and cultures of South Asia)