Editorial

The Winter Session of Parliament began on December 1, 2025, and ended almost as quickly as it started. Within minutes of the Lok Sabha assembling, the House was adjourned till noon amid deafening protests over the Special Intensive Revision (SIR) of electoral rolls and the terror attack near Red Fort. Placards, slogans, and counter-slogans drowned out the Speaker’s appeals. Mallikarjun Kharge accused the government of strangling democracy. The ruling party accused the Opposition of habitual disruption. Both accusations contain truth, but one side holds the gavel, the numbers, and therefore the greater responsibility.

The government’s conduct reveals a deeper malaise: it has begun to treat its brute majority as a licence to deny the Opposition even the minimum democratic oxygen it needs to function. When legitimate concerns are raised—whether about thousands of voters suddenly asked to re-prove their citizenship on the eve of elections, or about a terrorist strike in the national capital—the first instinct of the Treasury benches is not to engage but to smother. Statements are delayed, discussions are deferred, and the moment any Opposition member rises, ruling party MPs are primed to create a counter-ruckus that conveniently forces adjournment. This is not clever parliamentary management; it is the slow strangulation of the House as a forum for accountability.

The Special Intensive Revision is a case in point. Whatever the administrative merits of cleaning electoral rolls, its timing, opacity, and disproportionately high impact on states ruled by the Opposition invite suspicion. Yet the government has refused to place even basic data before the House, let alone agree to a short-duration discussion on the very first day. On the Red Fort blast, the Home Minister’s statement—when it finally comes—will be delivered to near-empty Opposition benches because the government prefers monologue to scrutiny. By engineering chaos and then blaming the Opposition for it, the ruling party achieves two things: no uncomfortable questions are answered, and public anger is deflected toward “disruptive” lawmakers rather than an evasive executive.

Majority is not ownership. A government that uses its numbers to silence rather than to facilitate debate is not confident; it is insecure. Parliament is not an extension of the Prime Minister’s Office. When the ruling dispensation treats every Opposition protest as an affront rather than a democratic entitlement, it erodes the very institution that legitimises its own power.

The Opposition, for its part, must learn that volume is not argument. But the primary responsibility today lies with those who control the agenda, the microphone, and the clock. If the government continues to deny space, it should not be surprised when the Opposition occupies the Well. A Parliament that begins with suffocation rarely ends with legislation. India is watching—and growing weary of a government that mistakes majority for monopoly.

October’s Index of Industrial Production (IIP) growth of 0.4 per cent is not just another disappointing data point; it is the lowest in 13 months and a flashing amber signal on an economy that the government still insists is the “fastest-growing large economy.” When manufacturing, mining, and electricity—the three pillars of the index—move in near unison to drag growth into near-stagnation, the diagnosis is clear: the post-pandemic rebound has exhausted itself, and the much-touted “V-shaped recovery” is now a tired, flattening line.

The excuses are ready. Festive seasonality, base-effect distortions, global uncertainty. Yet the truth is starker. Consumer goods output grew a measly 1.1 per cent, capital goods contracted, and intermediate goods barely budged. In plain language: households are not spending, companies are not investing, and supply chains are not expanding. Rural distress, stubbornly high food inflation, and urban wage stagnation have combined to choke demand at its root. The much-celebrated formalisation of the economy has also formalised job insecurity—contractual, gig, and temporary work now dominate new hiring, leaving millions without the income stability needed to fuel consumption.

The government’s response has been predictable: blame the world. Geopolitical tensions, Red Sea disruptions, weak European demand. Fair enough, but China’s factory output grew 5.8 per cent in the same month despite identical headwinds. Vietnam, Bangladesh, and even crisis-hit Sri Lanka are clocking stronger manufacturing numbers. The difference is not destiny; it is policy. While competitors slashed corporate taxes years ago, doubled down on export infrastructure, and aggressively courted relocating supply chains, India is still debating land acquisition reforms and struggling to keep its ports competitive.

Monetary policy is running out of road. With inflation still above the RBI’s comfort zone and the rupee fragile, deep rate cuts are off the table. Fiscal policy, meanwhile, has prioritised visible infrastructure over invisible manufacturing ecosystems—highways are gleaming, but power tariffs remain among the highest in Asia, and logistics costs still eat 13-14 per cent of GDP. October’s 0.4 per cent is therefore a verdict. An economy cannot grow durably on government capex and stock-market wealth effects alone. Private investment is anaemic, household savings are shifting from bank deposits to gold and real estate, and the small and medium enterprises that employ 120 million people are suffocating under credit starvation.

The Winter Session of Parliament begins this week. Instead of another round of political theatre, India needs an emergency economic debate: tax rationalisation for labour-intensive sectors, an urgent power-sector bailout, faster GST refunds, and a ruthless pruning of regulatory cholesterol. If the government treats 0.4 per cent as just another statistic rather than a wake-up call, the next quarter may deliver not just slower growth but an outright contraction.
The era of coasting on demographic dividend and hope is over. The factory gates are telling the real story.

• SAS Kirmani