In one of the narrow bylanes of Andheri East, a restaurant has long served as an unassuming proxy for a city that runs on affordable meals. For over three decades, it has fed a cross-section of Mumbai: migrant workers grabbing a quick drink and meal after their shifts; mid-level executives from nearby Special Economic Zones (SEZs) outsourcing their domestic needs to its kitchen; and weekend patrons lingering over starters that begin with a drink. The owner, who prefers anonymity, employs workers from Mangalore who stay on the premises and send home their savings. On the black market, cylinders that once cost around ₹1,800–2,000 are now changing hands for ₹4,000–6,000 or more. The restaurant’s fuel costs have spiralled by over 300%. (Sunil Ghosh / Hindustan Time)
Until a few weeks ago, the kitchen ran smoothly on commercial LPG, consuming at least three cylinders a day. But with supplies through the Strait of Hormuz severely disrupted, commercial allocations have been slashed. On the black market, cylinders that once cost around ₹1,800–2,000 are now changing hands for ₹4,000–6,000 or more. The restaurant’s fuel costs have spiralled by over 300%.
The owner is now faced with tough choices: reduce the number of dishes on the menu, increase prices by at least 30%, or shrink portion sizes.
“If I reduce the portion size of a tandoori chicken from 1 kilo to 700 grams to keep prices the same, customers will argue they’re getting ripped off,” he said. Past experience has taught him that price rises invite sharp backlash from regulars, unless the customer is evolved and understands costs have gone up. But inflation is squeezing everyone.
It is an exasperating place to be in.
What he sees is a government now focused on protecting household supplies for its 340 million domestic connections. It shows little inclination to listen to stories of people such as him. When he passes on the costs by hiking prices, taxes rise proportionately. In turn, the consumer pays the base price plus the cascading GST. Eventually, demand erodes quietly.
People such as this eatery owner are beginning to think of this period as an invisible lockdown—only more insidious. It contracts the rhythms that sustain India’s vast informal workforce and aspirational middle class.
Contrast his perspective with someone like Vikram Varma, CEO of Raw & Ruckus, a cloud kitchen in Mumbai.
Varma’s business is not among those directly impacted. This is because his venture is powered by electricity and induction ovens. He has been able to maintain operations without fuel anxiety. In fact, his data even shows a modest gain: as traditional LPG-dependent outlets cut menus or hours, some customers are shifting to his stable, predictable offerings.
Varma is playing a game of electrons on a grid, as opposed to the Andheri eatery owner, who is hostage to molecules that must be physically transported. But Varma is watching the broader ecosystem with concern. Around him, he sees spaces where migrant workers gather for quick, fresh meals shrinking. Street carts and small stalls that once cooked on LPG are disappearing overnight. Those that continue often prepare food elsewhere and bring it to the stall.
But does their quality stand up to scrutiny? Have their volumes dropped sharply? “Yes,” says the Andheri restaurateur. He is like an anthropologist, watching trends on the street and Varma’s experiments at once. As of now, the result, he says, is not just inconvenience to consumers, but a spike in the demand-supply gap for blue-collar workers.
This divergence, to his mind, highlights a deeper, first-principles crack in India’s growth story.
We have long assumed that strategic reserves and diversified sourcing would shield us from global storms. In reality, nearly 90% of India’s LPG passes through the vulnerable Strait of Hormuz. When that chokepoint tightens, the informal sector—employing close to 490 million workers—absorbs the shock first. Large chains or tech-enabled kitchens can pivot or absorb short-term pain. The small restaurant in Andheri East, feeding migrants and executives alike, cannot.
The human ripples extend further. Women in migrant households stretch rations harder. Remittances back to villages dip when wages or work hours shrink. Behavioural shifts emerge: more families experiment with wood or coal where permitted, or pool resources for community cooking. Frugality, long a rural habit, returns as an urban necessity.
The eatery owner in Andheri East is discovering how thinly buffered our routines really are. The invisible lockdown is not merely about gas cylinders. It is about the quiet realisation that resilience demands we confront interdependencies head-on.
It’s a tough place to be in.
(Charles Assisi is co-founder of Founding Fuel. He can be reached on assisi@foundingfuel.com)