In India, we have a remarkable instinct for preparedness. The moment we hear the phrase, “There might be a shortage”, something switches on collectively.
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In India, we have a remarkable instinct for preparedness. The moment we hear the phrase, “There might be a shortage”, something switches on collectively. There is no need for confirmation, no time for verification. Phones are picked up, apps are opened, and bookings are made.
Not tomorrow. Not later. Immediately.
Officially, there is no crisis. Authorities have maintained that LPG supplies are stable, with sufficient reserves in place. In fact, distribution systems have been adjusted to prioritise domestic households over commercial users, ensuring that kitchens continue to function without disruption. And yet, across homes, a different reality seems to be unfolding.
It usually begins with a message. “Book your cylinder. Just in case.”
That “just in case” travels faster than any official clarification. Within hours, households that were comfortably running on half-filled cylinders begin to reconsider their life choices. Better safe than sorry. So they book. Their neighbours book. Their relatives in other cities book. Even those who had no immediate need suddenly feel a sense of urgency.
What follows is predictable. Delivery timelines stretch. Waiting periods increase. Tracking screens are refreshed more often than necessary. And slowly, a new conclusion emerges - “There must be a shortage.”
Except, perhaps, there isn’t. There is simply a system responding to an unexpected surge—created not by scarcity, but by anticipation.
Inside homes, the LPG cylinder has taken on a new level of importance. Conversations now revolve around it: Did the cylinder arrive? Check the status once more. Maybe call the delivery person?
There is also the familiar ritual—lifting the cylinder slightly, giving it a cautious shake, as though it might offer reassurance.
Across regions, including states like Nagaland, the situation is not marked by panic as much as by quiet adjustment. Cooking becomes more deliberate. Usage becomes more mindful. And underlying it all is a shared sentiment: a desire to stay prepared, even if preparation itself creates the pressure.
In many ways, this is less a story about supply and more about perception. When uncertainty enters the picture, even briefly, it tends to linger. And in that moment, action feels more comforting than patience. By the end of it all, the outcome is almost paradoxical. There is adequate supply. There is a functioning system.
But there is also a longer queue, a heightened sense of urgency, and a country collectively refreshing booking statuses. Because sometimes, the real challenge is not the absence of resources. It is the possibility—however small—that they might run out.
And in that moment, the most natural response, it seems, is simple: Book first. Understand later.
John Angami