Summary of this article
LPG prices and basic goods have surged, making survival unaffordable for migrant workers.
Railway stations are witnessing a spike in footfall as workers return to Bihar and UP.
Irregular wages, contractor exploitation, and lack of support are accelerating the exodus.
Kiran Devi, a toy seller from Gopalganj in Bihar, sits on the platform of New Delhi Railway Station (NDLS), eating her lunch in a corner surrounded by five or six large cardboard boxes. Alongside her is her sister-in-law, who shares her name.
“We come to Delhi every month to buy wholesale toys and are preparing to sell them at a local fair. This is how we take care of our families,” one of them says.
As they talk about the problems they face during their frequent back-and-forth travel for work, there is another burden they now carry: the LPG crisis, which has also hit their home in Bihar.
“We don't know about the war, but we do know that there is no cylinder to cook at home,” Devi says, looking at the next train arriving at the platform.
Devi and her sister-in-law are not the only ones. The platforms at NDLS are filled with families of migrant workers, carrying their lives in sacks and boxes, waiting for trains to Bihar and Uttar Pradesh. What appears to be routine movement is, in fact, a quiet exodus, driven by the rising cost of survival across states in India.
The US–Israel conflict with Iran has led to the closure of the Strait of Hormuz, a key global shipping route. This disruption has severely affected LPG imports into India, which depends heavily on supplies passing through this corridor. As a result, supply shortages and rising energy costs have begun to impact domestic markets, leaving migrants with no option but to return home. With shrinking incomes, the LPG shortage has made survival even harder.
When Survival Becomes Costlier Than Earnings
On hearing that LPG in Delhi now costs Rs 400 per kg, they respond that in Bihar, they are still paying roughly Rs 200.
“Now I understand why some people returned to the village. We are already struggling to pay Rs 200. Paying more than that is just impossible,” says Kiran's sister-in-law, worry etched on her face.
She adds that a small toy that earlier costed Rs 5–8, now costs Rs 20.
“How are we supposed to make a profit and feed our children? We handle the house, the kids, the violence at home, the harrassment during work. Life is a constant struggle, but we have to keep going,” she says.
The station remains crowded with feet rushing to find their platforms. A Railway Protection Force (RPF) officer told Outlook how there has been a sharp rise in footfall between 4 and 4:30 pm, especially for trains heading to Bihar.
“The increase started after LPG prices went up. I may be able to afford it, but the labour class cannot. Even my househelp has left the city. Many are returning to their villages. It’s impossible to survive in Delhi with such high costs,” she says.
A City They Built, But Can No Longer Afford
As an announcement blares, passengers rush toward a 4:15 pm train that is yet to stop. Families, that include children and the elderly, carrying heavy luggage, plastic sacks, bags, and bundles push forward, trying to secure seats.
Children struggle to keep up, while fathers look back repeatedly to ensure no one is left behind. An RPF personnel shouts warnings as people attempt risky moves that could cost them their lives.
Suresh Sahni, a vegetable seller from Shahdara, carries an overstuffed school bag with a broken zipper.
The 26-year-old from Bihar says that living in Delhi doesn’t serve a purpose anymore, as he is not able to earn enough to support himself here, and his family back home. As the only son, Suresh worries that finding any work in Bihar will also be a headache. “I have no choice but to leave. I am scared of how I will take care of my parents. We have no savings. What can you save from selling vegetables in a city like Delhi?”
Sanjay (40), a manual labourer, speaks of shrinking wages and exploitation.
“The contractors take our labour but refuse to pay us. Combined with the nightmare of gas prices, there is nothing left here. We travel to places like Bombay and Delhi to earn money. Everyone is here just to survive.”
Nearby, three children, Nandini (12), Kamal (6), and Priyanka (8), sit with their luggage. Nandini tries to manage things while Kamal cries for her mother. They are waiting for Neelam, their mother, and elder sister Neha, who have gone to buy tickets to Samastipur, Bihar.
The two return, looking exhausted. “I haven’t slept for a week. I don’t know how I’ll take care of my girls. LPG prices are skyrocket. My eldest and I work as labourers in and around Alipur. Who can afford to pay Rs 400 per kg with such meagre earnings? We’ve been forced to burn scraps of wood to cook. I’m taking them back home. My priority is their safety,” she says with a frustrated brow as she tries to calm down her youngest daughter Kamal.
By evening, at around 6 pm, the scene at Anand Vihar Railway Station mirrors that of New Delhi. Migrant workers sit on the floor at the station, waiting for trains back to their hometowns. For many, decades in the Delhi now mean little, because the city has become unaffordable, and a place only for earning, not living.
“We hear about the war in Israel and Iran on our phones, and they say that’s why prices are rising. But why is the government doing nothing?” asks one worker heading to Prayagraj.
Sarvesh Yadav, from Ghazipur, calls the current situation a “gas pandemic”. He says during the lockdown, gas wasn’t a problem and people could at least live, but for now survival feels impossible.
“If the workers from Bihar and UP leave, industries and factories will shut down,” Yadav warns.
