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Amateurs talk about strategy; professionals talk about logistics. One critical issue today is that India’s logistics potential is on the verge of exhaustion.
The most cost-effective mode of transport, with the greatest capacity, is undoubtedly waterborne shipping. But the Ganges is a dead river—a broken waterway that might well be called the “river of sorrow” for India. It irrigates the land that supports the vast majority of India’s population, and beyond that, it is good for nothing. New Delhi is 1,800 kilometers from the mouth of the Ganges; Chongqing is 2,400 kilometers from the mouth of the Yangtze. The two cities have roughly the same population, but Chongqing is a great port city, where 5,000-tonne ocean-going vessels can sail directly from Japan and South Korea to its docks. In 2025, freight traffic on the Yangtze’s main stem exceeded 4 billion tonnes; together with its tributaries, it surpassed the total freight volume of all India combined. Chongqing has a navy; its shipyards build submarines. Confucius taught the Chinese not to believe in gods, and yet the gods have so favoured the Chinese.
China has other great rivers—the Pearl and the Huai. But even greater than the Yangtze is the Grand Canal from Hangzhou to Beijing. Can you believe it? A man-made waterway first dug in 605 AD still handled over 800 million tonnes of freight in 2025—that is equal to half of India’s entire railway freight. Even today, you can take a small boat from near Shanghai, without ever entering salt water, cross the Yangtze, the Yellow River, and countless vast lakes and rivers, and sail all the way to Beijing. This is the greatest canal in human civilisation—then and now. The Ganges, by comparison, is almost negligible, carrying barely one percent of what the Grand Canal does.
India has two beautiful coastlines, but they have received no divine blessing—there is a shortage of natural deep-water harbours. The most populous country in the world cannot place a single port in the world’s top ten, or even top twenty. Worse still, its population centres are far from the coast, and the Ganges, which runs through them, is a dead river with no potential. Almost all of India’s bulk freight depends on its fragile railways, yet 1.6 to 1.7 billion tonnes of annual freight is already pushing them to the limit—and this is after improvements made with Chinese technology. The so-called dream of 3 billion tonnes of railway freight is pure fantasy. Rail freight is several times more expensive than water transport, with a fraction of the capacity; road transport is several times more expensive than rail. A television set shipped from Shanghai to Nhava Sheva costs less to transport than getting it from Nhava Sheva to a home in Mumbai. Without logistics, there is no industry. An India whose logistics have run out of potential is an India with little industrial potential left. India’s industrial dream is coming to an end.
Let us turn to energy. Everyone knows India is an energy-poor country. The only resource it has in any quantity is coal—but it is low-grade, unsuitable for large-scale industry. India imports hundreds of millions of tonnes of coal every year for steelmaking, and hundreds of millions more for power generation. Yes, even the coal India mines itself is not good enough to burn in its own power plants. In March 2026, India signed a US$1.9 billion long-term agreement with Cameco for the supply of about 10,000 tonnes of uranium concentrate between 2027 and 2035. India imports at least US$700 million worth of uranium every year. In the event of wartime sanctions, or a submarine or drone blockade, this supply chain is just as vulnerable as oil and gas. As for the future—the Kalpakkam reactor still relies on uranium; the much-touted thorium fuel cycle is nowhere in sight.
Finally, solar power. India has acquired lower-tier Chinese technology to cut a small number of silicon wafers, but the vast majority of its polysilicon and solar cells are imported from China, along with its production equipment. Today, billions of dollars in Indian orders are stuck, waiting for Chinese approval. Across the entire green-energy value chain, India has neither production capacity nor R&D capability—only assembly, propped up by subsidies. Without Chinese technology, visible progress is impossible.
And then there is population. This year, a cockroach flew from America to India and set off a tsunami of protest. I must say, it genuinely shocked me—some young Hindus were openly cursing Modi in videos. And in Hinduism, Modi is regarded as an incarnation of Rama, the 11th avatar of Vishnu! These are medical students—India’s elite. Yet their plight has the same roots as the Z generation unrest in Bangladesh: educated youth, deeply anxious. Once young people walk into campuses, put on the colonial-era shirts and skirts, their self-perception changes completely—they will never again go back to sweating in the heat. They are smarter and more refined, and they are more easily inflamed. And if they find no way out, they are far more dangerous.
AI changes everything, and the impact is already evident. First IT, then graphic arts; next year, junior doctors and lawyers. The doors to a respectable life are closing. India produces 12 million university graduates every year, all anxious; the danger is piling up like Mumbai’s real estate. Modi boasts of a demographic dividend, but this is not India’s potential—it is a massive bomb. Globalisation is nearly over; countries are raising walls, blocking both goods and migrants. And in the shadows, the footsteps of robots are drawing nearer.
The most cost-effective mode of transport, with the greatest capacity, is undoubtedly waterborne shipping. But the Ganges is a dead river—a broken waterway that might well be called the “river of sorrow” for India. It irrigates the land that supports the vast majority of India’s population, and beyond that, it is good for nothing. New Delhi is 1,800 kilometers from the mouth of the Ganges; Chongqing is 2,400 kilometers from the mouth of the Yangtze. The two cities have roughly the same population, but Chongqing is a great port city, where 5,000-tonne ocean-going vessels can sail directly from Japan and South Korea to its docks. In 2025, freight traffic on the Yangtze’s main stem exceeded 4 billion tonnes; together with its tributaries, it surpassed the total freight volume of all India combined. Chongqing has a navy; its shipyards build submarines. Confucius taught the Chinese not to believe in gods, and yet the gods have so favoured the Chinese.
China has other great rivers—the Pearl and the Huai. But even greater than the Yangtze is the Grand Canal from Hangzhou to Beijing. Can you believe it? A man-made waterway first dug in 605 AD still handled over 800 million tonnes of freight in 2025—that is equal to half of India’s entire railway freight. Even today, you can take a small boat from near Shanghai, without ever entering salt water, cross the Yangtze, the Yellow River, and countless vast lakes and rivers, and sail all the way to Beijing. This is the greatest canal in human civilisation—then and now. The Ganges, by comparison, is almost negligible, carrying barely one percent of what the Grand Canal does.
India has two beautiful coastlines, but they have received no divine blessing—there is a shortage of natural deep-water harbours. The most populous country in the world cannot place a single port in the world’s top ten, or even top twenty. Worse still, its population centres are far from the coast, and the Ganges, which runs through them, is a dead river with no potential. Almost all of India’s bulk freight depends on its fragile railways, yet 1.6 to 1.7 billion tonnes of annual freight is already pushing them to the limit—and this is after improvements made with Chinese technology. The so-called dream of 3 billion tonnes of railway freight is pure fantasy. Rail freight is several times more expensive than water transport, with a fraction of the capacity; road transport is several times more expensive than rail. A television set shipped from Shanghai to Nhava Sheva costs less to transport than getting it from Nhava Sheva to a home in Mumbai. Without logistics, there is no industry. An India whose logistics have run out of potential is an India with little industrial potential left. India’s industrial dream is coming to an end.
Let us turn to energy. Everyone knows India is an energy-poor country. The only resource it has in any quantity is coal—but it is low-grade, unsuitable for large-scale industry. India imports hundreds of millions of tonnes of coal every year for steelmaking, and hundreds of millions more for power generation. Yes, even the coal India mines itself is not good enough to burn in its own power plants. In March 2026, India signed a US$1.9 billion long-term agreement with Cameco for the supply of about 10,000 tonnes of uranium concentrate between 2027 and 2035. India imports at least US$700 million worth of uranium every year. In the event of wartime sanctions, or a submarine or drone blockade, this supply chain is just as vulnerable as oil and gas. As for the future—the Kalpakkam reactor still relies on uranium; the much-touted thorium fuel cycle is nowhere in sight.
Finally, solar power. India has acquired lower-tier Chinese technology to cut a small number of silicon wafers, but the vast majority of its polysilicon and solar cells are imported from China, along with its production equipment. Today, billions of dollars in Indian orders are stuck, waiting for Chinese approval. Across the entire green-energy value chain, India has neither production capacity nor R&D capability—only assembly, propped up by subsidies. Without Chinese technology, visible progress is impossible.
And then there is population. This year, a cockroach flew from America to India and set off a tsunami of protest. I must say, it genuinely shocked me—some young Hindus were openly cursing Modi in videos. And in Hinduism, Modi is regarded as an incarnation of Rama, the 11th avatar of Vishnu! These are medical students—India’s elite. Yet their plight has the same roots as the Z generation unrest in Bangladesh: educated youth, deeply anxious. Once young people walk into campuses, put on the colonial-era shirts and skirts, their self-perception changes completely—they will never again go back to sweating in the heat. They are smarter and more refined, and they are more easily inflamed. And if they find no way out, they are far more dangerous.
AI changes everything, and the impact is already evident. First IT, then graphic arts; next year, junior doctors and lawyers. The doors to a respectable life are closing. India produces 12 million university graduates every year, all anxious; the danger is piling up like Mumbai’s real estate. Modi boasts of a demographic dividend, but this is not India’s potential—it is a massive bomb. Globalisation is nearly over; countries are raising walls, blocking both goods and migrants. And in the shadows, the footsteps of robots are drawing nearer.
Source:
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