In one of the narrow lanes of Andheri East, a restaurant was a humble proxy for a city serving affordable meals. For more than three decades, it has fed a cross-section of Mumbai: migrant workers who grab a quick drink and meal after their shifts; Mid-level executives from nearby SEZs outsource their household needs to its kitchen; And weekend diners stick to the appetizers that start with a drink. The owner, who prefers to remain anonymous, employs workers from Mangalore who stay in the building and send their savings home.
Until a few weeks ago, the kitchen was running smoothly on commercial LPG, consuming at least three cylinders a day. But with severe disruption to supplies through the Strait of Hormuz, trade allocations have been reduced. On the black market, cylinders that were previously expensive $Between 1,800 and 2,000 people are now changing hands $4000-6000 or more. The restaurant’s fuel costs rose by more than 300%.
The owner now faces difficult choices: reduce the number of dishes on the menu, increase prices by at least 30%, or reduce portion sizes.
“If you reduce the size of a piece of tandoori chicken from one kilogram to 700 grams to keep prices the same, customers will argue that they are being ripped off,” he said. Past experience had taught him that higher prices lead to severe backlash from regular customers, unless the customer evolved and realized costs had risen. But inflation is putting pressure on everyone.
It’s an infuriating place to be.
What he sees is that the government is now focusing on protecting the household supplies of 340 million home deliveries. He shows little inclination to listen to the stories of people like him. When it passes the costs on by raising prices, taxes rise proportionately. In return, the consumer pays the base price plus the cascading GST. Eventually, demand quietly erodes.
People, like this restaurant owner, are starting to think of this period as an invisible, but more insidious, period of lockdown. It shrinks the rhythms that support India’s huge informal labor force and aspirational middle class.
Contrast his view with someone like Vikram Varma, CEO of Raw & Ruckus, a cloud kitchen in Mumbai.
The Pharma business is not among the companies directly affected. This is because his project is powered by electricity and induction furnaces. He was able to maintain operations without worrying about fuel. In fact, his data shows modest gains: As traditional LPG-based outlets reduce menus or opening hours, some customers are turning to its stable, predictable offerings.
Pharma plays the game of electrons on the grid, unlike the Andheri restaurateur, who is a hostage of molecules that have to be physically transported. But pharma is watching the broader ecosystem with concern. Around him, he sees the spaces where migrant workers gather for quick, fresh meals shrinking. Street carts and small stalls that used to cook on LPG disappear overnight. Those who continue often prepare the food elsewhere and bring it to the stalls.
But does its quality stand up to scrutiny? Have their volumes decreased sharply? “Yes,” says the Andheri restaurant owner. He’s like an anthropologist, observing street trends and pharma experiments at the same time. He says the result as of now is not just inconvenience for consumers, but also a significant rise in the gap between supply and demand for blue-collar workers.
In his view, this difference highlights a deeper first-principles rift in India’s growth story.
We have long assumed that strategic reserves and diversified resources would protect us from global storms. In fact, nearly 90% of India’s LPG passes through the vulnerable Strait of Hormuz. When this bottleneck intensifies, the informal sector – which employs nearly 490 million workers – absorbs the shock first. Large chains or tech-equipped kitchens can spin or absorb short-term pain. The small restaurant in Andheri East, which feeds immigrants and executives alike, cannot.
Human ripples extend even further. Women in migrant families bear more rations. Remittances to villages decrease when wages or working hours decrease. Behavioral shifts are emerging: more households are experimenting with using wood or charcoal where permitted, or pooling resources for community cooking. Thrift, long a rural custom, is making a comeback as an urban necessity.
A restaurateur in Andheri East discovers how weak our routines are. Invisible closures are not just about gas cylinders. It’s about calmly recognizing that resilience requires us to confront interconnectedness head-on.
It’s a difficult place to be.
(Charles Assisi is co-founder of Founding Fuel. He can be reached at assisi@foundingfuel.com)
