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By:

Rajendra Pandharpure

15 April 2025 at 7:55:54 pm

Pune’s drought could dry up business

Water rationing threatens to hit the city’s wedding industry, construction sector, retail trade and livelihoods. Pune : Pune is beginning to feel the economic sting of drought. A 10 percent cut in the city’s water supply has already been implemented, and the municipal administration has indicated that the reduction could rise to 20 percent or more over the next two to three months. What appears at first to be a water-management crisis could soon become a wider economic problem, affecting...

Pune’s drought could dry up business

Water rationing threatens to hit the city’s wedding industry, construction sector, retail trade and livelihoods. Pune : Pune is beginning to feel the economic sting of drought. A 10 percent cut in the city’s water supply has already been implemented, and the municipal administration has indicated that the reduction could rise to 20 percent or more over the next two to three months. What appears at first to be a water-management crisis could soon become a wider economic problem, affecting businesses, construction activity, employment and household budgets. The Pune Municipal Corporation has begun shutting off the water supply every Thursday. Swimming pools and vehicle-washing centres have been closed, while the use of water for construction has been prohibited. The state government has directed the civic administration to ensure that the reserves in the Khadakwasla dam chain, which supplies Pune, last until August 2027. The challenge could become more acute in the months ahead. Meteorological experts have forecast a milder winter and significantly higher temperatures this year. If these predictions hold true, increased evaporation could place further pressure on the city's water reserves, potentially necessitating stricter rationing. For residents accustomed to a relatively abundant water supply, cuts of 20 percent or more would demand a substantial adjustment in daily life. Intense Pressure The economic consequences are beginning to emerge. The closure of vehicle-washing centres has deprived young people employed in low-skilled jobs of their livelihoods. Swimming-pool closures have similarly affected security guards and lifeguards. These may appear to be small, isolated losses, but they expose a larger problem: when water-intensive businesses are forced to shut down, the burden falls disproportionately on workers with few financial reserves and limited employment alternatives. The impact could spread to Pune’s lucrative wedding industry. The wedding season traditionally gathers momentum after Tulsi Vivah in the month of Kartik, generating business worth more than Rs. 200-250 crore. Pune has long attracted affluent families from outside the city who prefer its venues and facilities for wedding celebrations, partly because of its historically reliable water supply. Persistent restrictions could undermine that advantage. Wedding venues, caterers, hotels and other service providers depend on a dependable water supply to operate. If rationing becomes more severe, organisers may reconsider their choice of venue, while businesses could face higher operating costs and disruptions. An industry that generates substantial seasonal revenue also supports a network of workers and small enterprises, making the potential economic fallout wider than the immediate loss of bookings. Rural-Urban Connection Pune’s commercial fortunes are also linked to the health of the rural economy. A good agricultural harvest typically improves rural incomes, supporting spending on goods and services in urban markets. When farm earnings weaken, that spending tends to contract, affecting traders, retailers and other businesses. If rural incomes remain subdued, the city’s commercial sector could face an additional headwind at a time when water scarcity is already threatening business activity. The interaction between agricultural distress and urban water shortages could therefore deepen the economic slowdown. Construction presents another major vulnerability. Like many large cities, Pune depends heavily on real estate and infrastructure development to sustain economic activity and employment. Construction projects generate demand across a broad network of industries, from building-material suppliers and transport operators to contractors and daily-wage workers. A prolonged restriction on construction-related water use could delay projects, raise costs and disrupt work schedules. If projects stall, the effects will extend beyond developers to workers, suppliers and businesses that depend on the real estate sector. Rising Inflation For ordinary citizens, the prospect of tighter water rationing comes amid an already difficult cost-of-living situation. Food and restaurant prices have risen sharply. A cup of tea now costs more than Rs. 30, while a serving of idli-sambar can exceed Rs. 90. Even street food, traditionally an affordable option for working people, has become increasingly expensive. These prices illustrate the pressure on household budgets, particularly those of workers whose incomes have not kept pace with rising costs. If water shortages push up operating expenses for restaurants, caterers and other businesses, consumers could face further increases. The extent of any additional price rise will depend on how severe and prolonged the restrictions become. The working class is particularly exposed. Workers in vehicle-washing centres, swimming pools, construction and allied services may lose income precisely when everyday necessities are becoming more expensive. Unlike larger businesses, many such workers have little capacity to absorb a prolonged interruption in earnings. Pune’s immediate challenge is to conserve enough water to carry the city through the coming months. Yet the implications of the drought extend well beyond household taps and civic supply schedules. Trade, real estate, hospitality and seasonal businesses all depend, directly or indirectly, on the availability of water. The two sectors facing particular uncertainty are trade and real estate. The former could suffer from weaker consumer spending and disruptions to commercial activity; the latter could be affected by restrictions on construction and the risk of project delays. The consequences would be felt across employment and the wider urban economy. Pune’s residents and businesses have not had to contend with water cuts of 20 percent or more on a sustained basis. Adapting to such restrictions will be difficult, especially if temperatures rise and the drought persists.

Selective Outrage

Correspondent
May 9, 2025
2 min read

India’s left-liberal media has long prided itself on being the torchbearer of secularism, dissent and moral rectitude. In the aftermath of ‘Operation Sindoor,’ the precision military strike launched by the Modi government against Pakistan-based terror camps, it has revealed its not a principled commitment to peace or truth, but a disturbing penchant for ideological prejudice, performative sanctimony and selective outrage.


The operation itself was a textbook display of calibrated force and geopolitical prudence. Prime Minister Narendra Modi, often caricatured as ‘authoritarian’ by the ‘liberal’ English-language commentariat, chose patience over provocation. He consulted opposition leaders, held detailed discussions with defence chiefs and took key international stakeholders, notably the United States and Russia, into confidence before authorising limited military action. The symbolism of ‘Operation Sindoor’ was also carefully crafted: a pointed reminder that the attack’s real victims were Hindu women widowed by Pakistan-sponsored militants in Kashmir. The government’s briefings were also strategic and symbolic as two ranking female officers, one of them Muslim, were made the public face of the mission, underlining a new Indian confidence that blends military muscle with democratic pluralism.


But this was unacceptable for India’s entrenched ‘left-liberal’ press, steeped in academic jargon, Western validation and a knee-jerk hostility to anything remotely ‘Hindutva.’ That a Muslim officer briefed the nation on ‘Operation Sindoor’ was branded ‘tokenism’ by such commentators. Others crudely alleged that the April 22 Pahalgam massacre was the logical culmination of reported atrocities against Muslims since Modi came to power in 2014.


The semantic nitpicking over ‘Operation Sindoor’ was maddening. An editor of a prominent magazine dubbed the operation’s name as ‘patriarchal’ and coded in Hindutva tropes. In a bizarre case of moral inversion, sindoor was likened to symbols of ‘honour killings’ and gender oppression, ignoring both its cultural resonance and the cruel reality that these women had lost their husbands in cold blood. For years, India’s ‘secular’ commentariat nurtured a preordained binary: the Congress may be flawed but was at least ‘secular’ while the BJP was an inveterate ‘fascist.’ Thus, the 2002 Gujarat riots are always focused upon but the Congress-backed pogrom of the Sikhs in 1984 is either downplayed or rationalised. Terrorism in Kashmir is tragic, but state retaliation is ‘jingoism.’ A strong Muslim voice in government is ‘tokenism’ but its absence is ‘exclusion.’ Even journalistic rigour is selectively applied. When Pakistan claimed to have downed Indian jets, some Indian outlets rushed to amplify the story before verification, inadvertently echoing enemy propaganda.


Dissent is vital in any democracy. But when its becomes indistinguishable from disdain, when editorial choices are dictated by ideological conformity, then the press becomes a caricature of itself. Ironically, many of these journalists enjoy robust free speech and loudly lament India’s supposed slide into ‘fascism’ from the safety of their X handles. Yet they turn a blind eye to Putin’s repression, Erdogan’s purges or Xi Jinping’s camps. In their eyes, Modi remains the greatest threat to democracy even as they broadcast their outrage freely, without fear of censorship or reprisal. ‘Operation Sindoor’ was a statement of cultural self-confidence. That confidence has rattled those who have spent their careers gatekeeping Indian discourse. Today, their monopoly is over. The people are watching and they no longer believe that the emperor has clothes.

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