For four days, Maya Rani, 36, has been arriving each morning at a gas distributor’s office in Delhi, her six-month-old daughter in her lap, waiting for hours. And each day she returns home empty-handed, told that a cooking gas cylinder may not be available for at least another week. Around her, the queue keeps growing, people clutching forms and documents, hoping to secure a cylinder.
The flame in her kitchen began to fade last week and her husband, as he always does, took their 5kg cylinder to a local refiller. This time, there was nothing. The only option left was to apply for a government-subsidised supply, a process that has meant repeated visits, long waits and no certainty.
“I feel like crying,” Rani said, sitting on the pavement outside the distributor’s office, trying to soothe her child. “We have been waiting for days and still don’t know when we will get gas.” Her husband cannot afford to miss work, so she makes the rounds. “We are eating just one meal a day from outside. I’ve had to ask neighbours to help boil milk for my baby.”
Rani’s experience is being echoed across south Asia, where disruption to supplies of liquefied petroleum gas (LPG) triggered by the closure of the strait of Hormuz has pushed the region into its worst gas crisis in decades. Prices have surged, industries have been forced to scale back or shut, and anxiety is spreading.
Before the Iran conflict in effect shut the narrow maritime chokepoint, it carried about a fifth of global fuel shipments, much of it bound for Asia.
In India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Nepal and Sri Lanka, where LPG is central to everyday cooking, the impact has been immediate. Slowing imports have strained distribution systems, prompting governments to prioritise household supply and restrict commercial use. The crisis has exposed a deeper weakness: a region with rising energy demand remains heavily dependent on supply routes vulnerable to distant geopolitical shocks.
“This level of exposure was absolutely anticipated,” said Akhtar Malik, of the Bureau of Research on Industry and Economic Fundamentals (Brief), a thinktank in Delhi. “The strait of Hormuz as a chokepoint and the risks it poses have been extensively studied and debated for years.”
But across South Asia, efforts to build buffers or diversify supply have lagged, leaving little room to absorb shocks. “India built strategic crude reserves but did not create equivalent buffers for LPG,” Malik said. “Globally, energy systems typically maintain 40 to 60 days of reserve cover for critical fuels. India, in contrast, has just over 20 days of LPG storage … the current stress is as much a planning gap as it is a supply disruption.”
India imports about 60% of its LPG, 90% of that routed through the strait of Hormuz. Only two cargoes have made it through since the strait closed, a fraction of daily demand.
With supplies from elsewhere – such as from the US – taking weeks to arrive and at significantly higher cost, the Indian government has moved to stretch domestic supply. Refineries have been directed to maximise LPG production for household use and supplies have been prioritised for hospitals and educational institutions, leaving businesses scrambling.
Restaurants and hotels are among the worst hit. Industry bodies estimate that about a fifth of eateries in Mumbai have either shut down or scaled back operations, with similar disruptions reported in other cities. Many have trimmed menus, dropping dishes that require longer cooking times.
“We have 30 items on the menu, but we’re selling no more than six,” said Nandu Kishore, the manager at Shawaya House, a restaurant known for its grilled meat in the densely populated Muslim neighbourhood of Zakir Nagar in south Delhi. “Even those are only possible because we’ve started using coal.” With Eid al-Fitr approaching, the restaurant should have been entering its peak season.
The impact is now spreading across industries, with gas-dependent plants beginning to scale back or shut operations. In Morbi, Gujarat, the world’s second largest tile manufacturing centre, production is close to a standstill. Nearly 450 of the town’s 670 ceramic units have shut and about 430 factories have decided to suspend operations for at least three weeks.
For workers, the fallout has been immediate. Shahidul Alam, 46, who worked at one of the now-closed units, was waiting at a railway station on Wednesday for a train back home to West Bengal.
“The manager told us the factory is shutting and we won’t be paid,” he said. “We were already struggling to get cooking gas here. Without work, we can’t survive – how will we eat?” He said the situation felt reminiscent of the Covid-19 lockdown, when thousands of workers were forced to leave industrial towns and return home.
In some areas, the strain is beginning to spill over. Dealers report heated arguments at gas distribution centres, while LPG trucks have become targets for theft as supplies tighten.
The shortage has also pushed many households to turn to electric cooking if they can. Retailers say demand for induction burners has surged in recent weeks, particularly in cities such as Delhi. Some stores are reporting as much as a tenfold increase.
It is the poorest who are hit hardest. Ajay Mandal, 30, said he felt relief after his first proper meal in 24 hours at a government-subsidised canteen on Wednesday. The canteen, which serves meals for five rupees, had been shut for two days because of the gas shortage.
“If this crisis worsens, many poor people will go hungry,” said the construction labourer. After a 10-hour shift, he had been collecting firewood to cook for his family of six, who include elderly parents and toddlers. “I earn 500 rupees a day. A gas cylinder that costs around 900 rupees is now being sold for 4,000 on the black market. Even a roadside meal that used to cost 30 rupees has doubled. How are we supposed to survive?”
He paused, then added quietly: “People like us will have to eat grass if this goes on.”
