‘We don’t want to leave, but it does not make sense to stay’: How the cost of LPG is shrinking migrants’ budgets, nudging them to head home

Rajmani, who has been working as a domestic help in Delhi, is headed home to Budaun in UP by bus with her family. Express photo by Drishti Jain

This model of survival has suffered shocks and setbacks from time to time, sometimes due to circumstances beyond Rajmani’s control. The Covid-19 pandemic was the worst of them all, impacting millions of migrant workers like her around the country.

The current shock, arising out of the war in the Middle East that has resulted in a shortage of cooking gas in many parts of India, is nowhere near as bad as the one induced by pandemic lockdowns – but it has squeezed the financial cushion enough to force many like Rajmani to consider bailing out, at least temporarily.

And so, says Rajmani, it makes sense for her to leave Delhi and return to Badaun. She has never had a regular LPG connection, and she says that she can no longer afford to buy gas in the black market. The cost is burning a hole in her pockets, drying up her savings, and making day-to-day living tougher for her family.

The Indian Express spent two days at the Anand Vihar ISBT and railway station and spoke to around 50 migrants who were boarding trains – and in some cases like Rajmani’s, buses – bound for Uttar Pradesh, Bihar, West Bengal, and Madhya Pradesh.

All of them had come to the capital in search of a better life and job opportunities, and things had mostly worked out. But the unforeseen LPG crisis that began a month ago upset the tenuous math of income and expenditure. As things have become more difficult, many of them are now leaving – some to work in their fields as the harvest season approaches, some to attend family functions and honour social commitments, and some, like those who are headed to West Bengal, to cast their votes in the Assembly election.

These people do not represent an exodus of migrants of the kind that was seen six years ago during Covid – but the shortage and high prices of cooking gas have provided the nudge for some of them to leave, with the intention of coming back once the situation improves.

Rajmani is accompanied by her two sons and their wives, all of whom are headed home. “People who have piped gas are facing no problem. My employers give me food, but I need an LPG cylinder at home to at least make tea. Now black market prices have more than doubled, and the police are going after the people who sold us cylinders. At my income, it’s simply not working out,” she says.

Shyam Bai with her family at Anand Vihar railway station, waiting for the train to go home to Satna in Madhya Pradesh. (Express photo by Drishti Jain)

But how is Rajmani sure that life in the village will be better, especially because her family has no land of their own? She has no clear plan – but she hopes something will work out, she says.

“We may be able to earn Rs 200-250 daily as a worker, and food will be cheaper,” she says. She can’t afford to stay on in Delhi in any case – “jo pardes se aaye hain kaam karne ke liye, wo ab kya kamaayenge aur kya hi khaayenge? (How can migrants who have come to Delhi to work survive in this situation?)”

‘Collected wood to light a fire’

Across the bus stop is Anand Vihar Railway Station. A family of five is sitting near the entrance. They are migrants from Satna in Madhya Pradesh, and they are waiting to board the Rewa Superfast Express, which is scheduled to leave Anand Vihar at 10.05 in the night.

Members of the family have been working at construction sites in Faridabad for the last eight years. Life has not been easy, but they have been managing. But the present moment is especially difficult and the decision to take a break has been unavoidable, says Shyam Bai, the matriarch of the group.

“Contractors give us rooms to stay, but we still need to cook our meals. We have not refilled the cylinders since the prices shot up, instead we have been collecting pieces of wood and dry twigs from parks to light a fire for the last eight days,” Shyam Bai says.

Next to her is a bag filled with cooking utensils which the family is taking back to Satna. Shyam Bai’s complaints are not limited to the increase in the black market price of LPG specifically; she is struggling with mehengai – inflation – in general.

“Ab itni mehengai hai toh gareeb aadmi ka kaise guzara chalega? (Things are so expensive now, how will poor people manage?)” she asks.

Memories of the Covid lockdowns are fresh in Shyam Bai’s mind, and she says she would like to get back home in case something similar happens again. “We were stuck [in Delhi] during the lockdown. What if another lockdown is imposed, and we are stuck again? What will we eat, and what will we do here? Back home there is at least a roof above our heads.”

Shiv Kumar (27), who says he is the son of Shyambai’s sister, says many other labourers too have left.

“A cylinder of gas feels like touching gold. I know that around 40 labourers who used to work at our site have left, and now the contractor is sourcing replacements from the local labour chowk,” says Shiv, cradling his one-year-old daughter in his arms.

“We will work in the farms at home until this situation improves, but we are carrying all our belongings with us in case that takes time,” he says.

Shyam Bai remains fearful of the return of a Covid-like situation. “Bus lockdown nahin lagna chahiye,” she says.

‘Can’t stay on, can’t afford to’

At platform no. 5 inside the station sits Jalendra Singh, who says he arrived from Dichaon Kalan in Najafgarh in the morning to catch the 13258 Jan Sadharan Express, the unreserved train to Danapur near Patna. The train was scheduled to leave Anand Vihar at 1.35 pm, but has been delayed by eight hours, he says.

Jalendra has been driving a truck for the past several years. His family – wife and two children ages 12 and 6 – lives in Delhi. The crisis of cooking gas has forced them to leave for some time, he says.

“I make about Rs 40,000 a month. But gas is now Rs 600-700 per kg, and lasts only a few days. If I have to spend thousands on gas along, it is better that I go back home and drive a bus there,” he says.

Jalendra believes he can make around Rs 16,000 in his village by driving a local bus. “And we won’t have to pay for gas, because we can cook on cowdung cakes,” he says. Food in general has become costlier in Delhi since the war and shortages began, he says – “eating a meal in a hotel cost Rs 60; now it costs Rs 150”.

Lalit Kumar with his four friends at Anand Vihar railway station last week, heading back home to Barabanki in Uttar Pradesh. (Express photo by Abhinav Saha)

“We did not want to leave”, Jalendra says. “But we cannot continue to stay on. Some people are hanging on still, but we can no longer afford to. Many people we know have left before us, and if this situation continues, more of those who are here will be forced to leave too,” he adds.

Jalendra has a family, but many of those who are returning stay alone in the city, sharing rooms with other migrants. Many of these people whom The Indian Express met, sitting inside general compartments of trains and waiting on the platforms, said that returning home is a gamble, but they have no choice. They know that they may or may not get work in the village, but they hope that food at least will not be a problem.

‘Gas is beyond our means’

Pintu Mandal (38) who works as a mason in Delhi’s Sangam Vihar said he and his friends are going back home to Supaul in Bihar because cylinders in the black market are now beyond their means.

“We work all day, and at night we go from lane to lane trying to find someone who will sell us LPG. Gas is Rs 400-500 per kg in the black market. We tried to light a fire using wood, but the landlord objected, saying the smoke and fire would spoil the paint on the walls. What should we do now if we can’t get to eat?” Mandal says.

But going away also means giving up his Rs-15,000 monthly income – and Mandal is hoping he can return soon. “I’m keeping myself aware of the situation. As soon as things improve, we will come back. Work is less in Supaul. But we are hoping we can at least cook meals and eat at home. Kam se kam pet toh bhar jayega,” he says.

22-year-old Lalit Kumar, who works in a moulding workshop in Loni, Ghaziabad, says he and his four roommates are leaving for home in Barabanki because the math is simply not working out with the cooking gas.

“Cooking meals twice a day for all of us requires refilling the cylinder four times a month. “The prices have risen a lot. We used to pay Rs 6,500 for a refill every 15 days, and that was still within our budget. But the situation is not easing, and we have realised we cannot afford it any longer,” Lalit says.

As the empty 12488 Anand Vihar-Jogbani Seemanchal Express pulls into the platform, there is a mad rush at the doors of the unreserved coaches. Bishori Singh (28) manages to get in and find a place to sit. Waiting for the train to pull out at 8.10 am, he expresses the same sentiment as Mandal, Jalendra, Lalit, and many others – he did not want to leave, but he was left with no choice.

Pintu Mandal, seen with Ramvilas Mandal (52), is going back to his village in Supaul, Bihar. Express photo by Drishti Jain

Bishori, who belongs to Purnea in Bihar, says he makes Rs 10,000 working at a construction site, and lives alone in a room for which he pays a rent of Rs 3,000. As the prices of essentials — cooking gas, but also oil, rice, vegetables and salt — have risen, he just can’t make ends meet.

“I do not have a gas connection in Delhi. Earlier one kg of LPG used to cost Rs 80, now it costs Rs 400, and I have heard that it may go up to Rs 500 or 600. I cannot afford it, I do not earn that much, and I have no savings,” he says.

‘Don’t know if it’ll get worse’

Muhammad Muntazir (24), who belongs to Araria district in Bihar and works in a factory that makes motorcycle parts in Bawana Industrial Area, says the crisis has slowed the pace of work.

“Earnings are down. There is so much uncertainty. We do not know how much worse it will get. In such times, how can we spend so much money on buying fuel?” he says.

In front of him sits Fayyaz, packed tightly on the berth with three other men. Fayyaz says he is a tileworker, and makes “bees-pacchis hazar (Rs 20-25,000)” a month working in the Vasant Kunj area. That’s not bad, he says, but for the high inflation and great unpredictability about what can happen going forward. “A kg of LPG cost Rs 400 in the beginning of March, and then it rose to Rs 500, 600, 700, and some people even started asking for Rs 1,000. We began to cook only one meal at home and to eat the other meal in roadside hotels. But it was not sustainable,” he says.

When does he think he can come back? He has no idea, says Fayyaz. “Dekhenge, jo bhi hota hai. (We’ll see.) If things don’t improve, what’s the point of coming back? What will we eat? Bhookhe marne ke liye waapas aayenge? (Should we come back and have nothing to eat?)”