The LPG Crisis: Queues, Chaos, And An Empty Cylinder

Across several neighbourhoods in Delhi, queues begin forming long before sunrise. By 4 am, people from vastly different backgrounds, daily-wage workers, homemakers, street vendors, and small restaurant owners, are already waiting outside LPG distributors, hoping to secure a cooking gas cylinder. Many return home only by the afternoon, empty-handed.

In the absence of cooking gas, households are improvising in ways that feel like a step back in time. In some neighbourhoods, families are pooling resources and cooking together. Elsewhere, people have begun using coal, firewood and even cow dung to prepare basic meals. For many, ensuring two meals a day has suddenly become an exhausting daily struggle.

The scenes unfolding across parts of the capital stand in stark contrast to the trajectory India’s energy policy has followed over the past decade. The country today has more than 32.83 crore domestic LPG connections, up from about 14.52 crore in 2014, reflecting a massive expansion in access to clean cooking fuel. 

The disruption stems from a sudden shortage of liquefied petroleum gas (LPG) triggered by escalating tensions in West Asia. The crisis began after the United States and Israel launched wide-ranging strikes on Iran on February 28, 2026, prompting Tehran to retaliate and severely restrict ship movements through the region. Iran has also launched attacks on Israel and US-aligned states in the Gulf, widening the conflict and raising fears for commercial shipping.

At the heart of the disruption lies the Strait of Hormuz, a narrow maritime passage between Iran and Oman that connects the Persian Gulf to the Arabian Sea. Nearly one-fifth of the world’s oil and gas supplies pass through this route. For India, the waterway is particularly critical: roughly 40-50 per cent of the country’s crude oil imports, about half of its liquefied natural gas, and a significant share of its LPG shipments transit through the strait.

The immediate consequence has been a sudden squeeze in cooking gas supplies across cities like New Delhi. Panic buying has surged among households, while restaurants and street food vendors, who rely almost entirely on 19 kg commercial cylinders to run ovens, grills and fryers, have been among the hardest hit. Several eateries have either shut temporarily or drastically cut down operations. In hostels, student accommodations and canteens, kitchens have begun rationing food or reducing menu options.

For the lower middle class in New Delhi, there is a common belief that has quietly taken hold, “We are poor, so standing in queues for hours to get LPG is simply our reality. Whenever a crisis hits, it is people like us who are affected first,” says a woman waiting outside a gas agency in Masoodpur, in New Delhi’s Vasant Kunj.

The shortages are also triggering secondary effects. With LPG unavailable, many households have been forced to depend on outside food, often at significant cost. Others are turning to the informal market, where cylinders are reportedly being sold at double or even triple their regulated prices.

In a narrow, congested lane of a slum in Okhla Phase 2, lined with small, closely packed houses on both sides, an open patch between the structures has turned into a shared kitchen. Here, five families, both Hindu and Muslim, take turns around a single mitti ka chulha (earthen stove). The ground is blackened with soot, utensils are stacked along the walls, and the air is thick with smoke that lingers long after the fire dies down.

Nadia sits crouched beside the chulha, stirring sabzi for her family. Originally from Rajasthan, she lives in a small two-room kaccha-pakka house in the slum. She gets up intermittently, wiping her eyes, partly from the smoke, partly from exhaustion.

They have been cooking on the stove for the past four to five days now, she says. There is no proper space, no easy access to firewood, and the smoke makes it unbearable, but there is no alternative. It has been 8-10 days since they booked an LPG cylinder, and it still hasn’t arrived.

“What other option do we have? Otherwise, the children will go hungry.”

Most residents here are daily-wage labourers with irregular incomes. Another woman standing nearby explains that work itself is uncertain. “Some days we get work, some days we don’t,” she said. In such a situation, paying Rs. 2,000–3,000 in the black market for a cylinder is simply not possible, she adds.

The crisis stretches across settlements. In Jai Hind Camp, residents, mostly women, queue up from as early as 6 am, often waiting until 2 pm, and even then are told to return next day and the cycle continues for two-three days.

Papiya, a resident, said they had to rely on outside food for two days, which is “not economically feasible” for them. They eventually got a cylinder after two days, but the uncertainty remains. She fears that if this happens again, she might have no choice but to return to firewood. “I have to feed my family,” she said. 

Rehana, another resident of the area who works as a domestic help in a posh gated society in Vasant Kunj, says the long waiting lines have begun to affect her job as well.

“My employer tells me not to take more than an hour. But how can that be done in an hour? It takes up half our day, and then we still have to return home and finish all the household work,” she says.

While state-owned refineries such as Indian Oil Corporation, Bharat Petroleum Corporation Limited and Hindustan Petroleum Corporation Limited meet roughly 40 per cent of India’s LPG demand, the rest is largely imported from Gulf nations such as Saudi Arabia, Qatar and the United Arab Emirates, alongside newer suppliers like the United States.

Data from the Petroleum Planning and Analysis Cell (PPAC) shows that India’s LPG consumption has increased more than sixfold over the past three decades, rising from 446 thousand metric tonnes in 1998–99 to 2,754 thousand metric tonnes in 2025–26. A reply in the Lok Sabha in April 2025 also noted that around 60 per cent of the LPG consumed in India is imported, and that domestic LPG prices are linked to international benchmarks.

During the same period, India’s operational natural gas pipeline network grew from roughly 15,000 km to about 25,000 km as part of a broader push to strengthen formal energy infrastructure. The objective was clear: to move millions of households away from traditional fuels such as firewood and kerosene and into a cleaner, modern energy system that would reduce indoor air pollution and ease everyday cooking.

While the global benchmark for LPG pricing, known as the Saudi Contract Price, rose by 63 per cent, from US$385 per metric tonne in July 2023 to US$629 per metric tonne in February 2025, the government reduced the effective price for beneficiaries of the Pradhan Mantri Ujjwala Yojana. In Delhi, a 14.2-kg LPG cylinder currently costs Rs 803, but PMUY consumers receive a Rs 300 subsidy, bringing the effective price down to Rs 503 per cylinder. As of November 2025, there were about 10.33 crore PMUY connections across the country.

Amid the growing anxiety, the Ministry of Petroleum and Natural Gas has mandated biometric Aadhaar authentication (e-KYC) for all domestic LPG consumers. In a statement on X, the ministry said consumers could complete the process either through their distributor or through the Oil Marketing Companies’ mobile apps using the Aadhaar FaceRD application.

The crisis is unfolding even as India navigates a delicate diplomatic balance in West Asia. External Affairs Minister Subrahmanyam Jaishankar told the 'Financial Times' that discussions with Tehran were ongoing. Analysts note that India maintains close ties with Israel and growing strategic cooperation with the United States, while also sustaining longstanding political and economic relations with Iran. For New Delhi, ensuring the safety of commercial shipping routes in the Gulf is not just a geopolitical concern but a critical economic necessity.

In Southeast Delhi’s Govindpuri, Sheela stands in a long queue outside a gas agency tucked into a narrow lane. She has had no gas at home and has been cooking on firewood on the terrace. Unwell and running a fever for three days, something she attributes to eating outside food. She still waits in line, unsure if she will get a cylinder that day. Another woman beside her says even buying food wasn’t always an option, as nearby eateries had shut down due to LPG shortage. 

Across these neighbourhoods, the LPG shortage is not just an inconvenience; it is reshaping daily life. Families are sharing chulhas, returning to firewood, cutting down meals, or sending children away. For small vendors, it is shutting businesses, slashing incomes, and pushing already fragile households closer to the edge.

Sanjay Singh, who has been running a small cart for 20-25 years, sells samosas, litti, aloo chaat, and pakoras, priced as low as Rs. 5 per item. From this, he manages to save barely Rs. 200-400 a day, which is one of the sources that sustains a family of seven to eight members. “Nothing is saved over the month,” he says. 

The LPG shortage hit him about a week ago. Both his household cylinder and the small one used for the cart ran out. “We got the home cylinder only after six to seven days, just yesterday,” he says. His daughter had to stand in line from 6 am to 10 am just to get a slip. Even then, she was initially given a slip on March 14 asking her to return on March 20. Eventually, someone took pity and exchanged the slip for a cylinder meant for someone else, allowing the family to cook.

In the meantime, he tried managing through the unregulated market. For two days, he refilled the small cylinder at around Rs. 400 per day, but had to stop. “Earlier, it used to cost Rs. 90 per kg. Now they are asking Rs. 400-500,” he says.

His cart has been shut for eight days, cutting off a crucial source of income. The situation at home is already strained; his elder son, who worked in construction earning Rs. 1,200–1,400 a day, recently suffered an accident and fractured both bones. “From the cart, we at least managed vegetables and basic needs,” he says, explaining how both sources of income kept the household running.

Now, with one earning member gone and the cart shut, expenses are piling up.

There is fear, but also resignation. If things don’t improve, he says, they might return to their village, where at least they can cook on firewood.

Similarly, Rakesh Kumar Gupta, known locally as “Gupta ji,” who runs a chole-puri stall. His business was completely shut for five days due to lack of gas. Even after reopening, operations have reduced drastically, from eight hours a day to barely three or four.

Sales have halved, from Rs. 7,000-8,000 to Rs. 3,000-4,000. Despite trying, he couldn’t procure gas even in the unregulated market. “Even they are asaying that there is no supply,” he says. Online bookings yielded no response, no confirmation.

To keep the stall running, he used the household cylinder, leaving none for cooking at home. His children have now been sent to their grandmother’s house. The stall supports five workers apart from his own family. “I have no money to support my staff. If the situation continues, I might have to shut down completely.”

The LPG shortage has now begun hitting even the most unexpected places. From hostels to local canteens, few have remained untouched by what some describe as a sudden “government failure”.

Govindpuri is also a dense cluster of narrow lanes where hundreds of students live in small accommodations such as private hostels and PGs while preparing for competitive examinations or attending nearby colleges and universities. While some hostels provide meals, many do not. For such students, daily food depends on an ecosystem of small canteens, tiffin services and cloud kitchens that operate in the area.

That fragile and co-dependent system is now beginning to crumble over the most basic requirement needed to run these kitchens, LPG.

In one of the hostels that does not provide food to students, conversations these days revolve around the sudden price hikes in rotis, chawal and basic vegetables at a nearby canteen. In places where prices have not increased, the portions have quietly shrunk.

“The number of rotis has been reduced and now we don’t even get two or three dishes with our meals,” says a college-going student who eats regularly at one such canteen.

Outside the hostel, the canteen owner is currently running her shop on the last cylinder she had at home, using it for commercial purposes. Once it runs out, she says she may have to shut down until the crisis subsides.

“I have already stopped serving parathas and breakfast to these children. To make the gas last longer, I am only preparing simple roti and sabzi,” she says, adding that her daily income has dropped from around Rs. 3,000 to almost half.

For many like her, affordability has become the biggest challenge. Unregulated LPG cylinders that were once sold for Rs. 1,000 to 1,100 are now going for as much as Rs 3,000.

“I already bought it twice at that price. I cannot do it anymore,” she says.

In another PG in Okhla Phase II, the owner has instructed employees to switch to cow dung and wood as fuel. At the entrance of the building, piles of wood logs are stacked to cook basic meals for students.

“We don’t want to deprive them of food or increase the price, so we have decided to reduce the number of dishes,” says the PG’s caretaker. She adds that students used to get fast food items on weekends for a change, something that has now become a “privilege”.

“We wake up around 3 am to prepare the makeshift lakdi ka choolha (wood stove) because students start asking for breakfast by 7 am. The entire hall fills with smoke, but we do what is required,” says Aalam, caretaker of Gupta PG, where more than 250 students live.

About 16 kilometres away, in Jai Hind Camp, people have been lining up for LPG cylinders for hours. Anwar Hussain, a meat shop owner, says he has been going back and forth between his shop and the queue for more than two days, returning empty-handed each time. Calling it the government’s failure, he says, “First we had to stand in long queues during demonetisation and now for LPG. The problems never end with this government.”

Outside a nearby gas agency, however, a police official who requested anonymity offers a different explanation. According to her, there is “enough LPG” for everyone and the problem has arisen because “people want to hoard”. On the contrary, one of the officials, standing and managing the queue outside one of the gas agencies said that there is “obviously a shortage”.

But for Hussain and many others standing in line, the explanation offers little comfort. As he puts it, “If the availability is not a problem, then why is there so much confusion and such long queues?”

A shorter, edited version of this appeared in print

By Zenaira Bakhsh & Mrinalini Dhyani

This article appeared in Outlook's April 1st, 2026 issue titled 'ParaDime Shift, which looks at how the US-Israel attack on Iran has come home to India with the LPG crisis and is disrupting the nation's energy ecosystem, exposing policy gaps and testing the limits of diplomacy.