For fieldworkers, the LPG shortage is turning into a crisis of trust

In New Delhi’s Bhalaswa, many residents know me as ‘cylinder wali madam’, a name that once signified a degree of trust. These days, it signifies unmet expectations and, frequently, blame.

Over the last few years, I have been working with the community here, encouraging them to transition from the chulha (mud stove) to an LPG cylinder and connecting them to the Pradhan Mantri Ujjwala Yojana (PMUY). This has required sustained efforts in educating families, primarily the women members, on the benefits of clean cooking gas, and supporting them with documentation. Most importantly, it has required building trust.

Gradually, families began to make the shift. They stopped storing firewood, dismantled old stoves, and began to rely entirely on LPG for their daily cooking.

However, the current shortage of LPG has unsettled the equilibrium. Cylinders are difficult to find; when available, they are being illegally sold at prices as high as INR 3,000–4,000 per unit. For most families in Bhalaswa, many of whom depend on waste-picking or other forms of informal work, this is not affordable. While their daily income is INR 250–300, most of them are paying as much as INR 300–500 for a kilogram of gas.

What has made the situation more difficult is the absence of alternatives. Firewood, once a readily available backup, is now both scarce and expensive. With unexpected rains in Delhi, even the stray wood that people could earlier gather from nearby areas is harder to find.

This has led to growing frustration and anger among those who had switched to LPG. Many have been calling me to inform that they regret making the shift, while mentioning that my insistence was what made them adopt LPG in the first place. Recently, a woman told me that her in-laws had begun to taunt her with my name, suggesting that things were better before.

These conversations are not easy, but they are not surprising either. Trust in Bhalaswa has always been a complex matter. Several nonprofits have worked here in the past, not all of them in ways that residents remember positively. Any disruption, therefore, risks a resurgence of doubts.

Some families have already migrated back to their villages. Those who were running thelas (small food stalls) were finding it difficult to keep their businesses going. For those who remain, rising fuel costs are one more pressure point in an already precarious environment.

In the midst of this, I have found myself thinking about my own reactions. When my cylinder ran out recently, I felt a degree of anxiety that was unfamiliar, but instructive. It helped me understand, in a limited way, the urgency that people are expressing. It has also made it easier for me to receive the community’s anger without dismissing it.

For now, much of my time is spent in responding to calls and trying to support families. These are small, immediate efforts, but they do not resolve the larger issue. The more difficult task lies ahead: When supply stabilises, rebuilding confidence in LPG will not be easy. It might even mean starting from scratch.

Rama works as a change agent, helping women from the Bhalaswa community transition to clean cooking fuels.

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Know more: Read about a day in Rama’s life as she works in Bhalaswa.