Bihar’s Labour, Gujarat’s Capital

Who would have imagined that in India, the land of Gandhi ji’s simplest ideals, we would be witnessing a growth story so split that it resembles not a straight line rising but a sharply diverging “K”? One arm rockets upward, glittering with corporate gains and luxury whispers, while the other—silent, struggling—slides downward, borne by millions of workers, farmers, women in villages, and small shopkeepers. How ironic: the nation that owes its survival to unity now splinters economically into two disparate realities.

It was in this context that political strategist Prashant Kishor, in a recent interview, made a striking remark. He declared his opposition to the Prime Minister’s promise of two new Amrit Bharat trains originating from Bihar. According to him, these trains were not designed to ease the lives of ordinary Biharis but to “facilitate the outward migration of inexpensive labour.” His observation is not merely cynical commentary; it points to a deeper malaise in the way India’s growth has come to rely on siphoning labour and capital from certain regions to fuel prosperity elsewhere.

Earlier, Kishor had presented an analysis of banking patterns in Bihar, demonstrating that the state lagged far behind in credit disbursal relative to savings mobilised. To put it plainly: the money Biharis deposited in banks was being lent out elsewhere, while Bihar itself saw minimal uptake of credit. Gujarat, by contrast, topped the charts. The symbolism could not be more telling: just as young men board trains out of Bihar in search of work, so too does Bihari capital board the invisible trains of the financial system to fuel the dreams of others.

If the Amrit Bharat trains epitomise the migration of labour, then the credit outflow represents the migration of capital. Together, they paint a picture of what Kishor rightly calls the “dual exploitation” of Bihar—its people and its savings mobilised for the prosperity of other states. When one recalls that Bihar, despite its glorious civilisational history, today lags at the bottom of almost every socio-economic indicator, the injustice of this arrangement becomes hard to ignore.

The Prime Minister’s initiative of a sports university in Gujarat, Swarnim Gujarat Sports University, offers another curious example. Here is a state with little or no sporting culture to boast of. And yet, a university is to be planted there, as if the prestige of the state alone, not the sporting potential of its people, were the criterion. The question arises: are such decisions driven by national need or by regional political calculus?

These anecdotes may appear disconnected, but they reflect a larger trend: the “K-shaped” trajectory of India’s development. Some regions, industries, and classes are being showered with both capital and opportunity, while others are steadily drained of both. The divergence is not merely geographical; it extends into every facet of our economy.

Consider rural consumption. Two-wheelers and consumer durables, once aspirational markers of progress in villages, are witnessing sluggish sales. In contrast, the luxury car market has grown by more than 20 per cent year-on-year. Here is inequality made visible on the roads of our cities: one lane clogged with expensive SUVs, another filled with second-hand motorcycles limping along. The Gini coefficient—an index that measures inequality—hovers at historically high levels, confirming what the eye already sees.

The celebratory narrative of India’s growth is therefore dangerously incomplete. Yes, GDP growth has averaged over 7 per cent, service exports are at record highs, and the stock market touches new peaks. But as the World Inequality Lab reports, the richest 1 per cent of Indians today command more than 40 per cent of national wealth and nearly a quarter of national income—figures reminiscent of colonial days. The metaphor of “India Shining” has returned, but only for a narrow sliver of the population.

The implications are grave. When growth benefits only the top, the middle class—the stabilising backbone of domestic demand—begins to hollow out. Without a robust middle class, India’s markets for housing, automobiles, and consumer goods lose their resilience. This is not a matter of envy but of economic prudence: a shrinking middle class means that growth becomes unsustainable, reliant on the precarious consumption of the very rich and the fragile safety nets of the very poor.

Equally worrying are the political and social consequences. Inequality is not merely a statistic; it is lived in the everyday experiences of people who find themselves excluded from the prosperity they are promised. Widening disparities corrode trust in institutions, breed resentment, and undermine the legitimacy of the democratic order. One need only glance at the histories of other nations to know that unchecked inequality has always been the precursor to political instability.

And as if domestic disparities were not enough, external threats loom large. With Trump-era protectionism, including 50 per cent tariffs on imports from countries like India, our export sectors stand vulnerable. Services—especially IT—may remain resilient, but low-end manufacturing and textiles, which employ millions of workers, will be the first casualties. In such a scenario, those already on the downward arm of the K—the small entrepreneurs, weavers, and factory workers—will sink deeper, while those on the upward arm, integrated into global capital flows, may continue to thrive.

Thus, the K will not only persist but grow sharper. What Gandhi ji once called the “oceanic circle” of Indian society—where each unit was meant to be self-reliant yet interconnected—now threatens to split into two non-communicating realities.

It is tempting for policymakers to find solace in aggregate GDP figures. Yet, as Amartya Sen once reminded us, “The success of an economy must be judged not by its aggregate output but by the freedoms it extends to its people.” Freedom here means not only political liberty but also economic opportunity, dignity of work, and a fair chance at prosperity. Growth that excludes half the nation is not growth at all—it is, at best, an arithmetic illusion.

What then is the way forward? First, the state must recognise that inclusive growth is not a charitable afterthought but an economic necessity. Public investment in health, education, and rural infrastructure is indispensable if the downward arm of the K is to be lifted. Second, credit flows must be regionally balanced. Bihar’s case is emblematic: unless capital is reinvested where it is mobilised, regional backwardness will harden into permanence. Third, consumption must be broad-based. Policies that stimulate rural demand—through targeted transfers, employment guarantees, and agricultural reforms—are as crucial as incentives for high-tech sectors.

Above all, India needs to recover the moral compass of its economic policy. Growth must be judged not merely by how tall its skyscrapers rise but by whether its villages prosper, whether its workers find dignity in labour, whether its women in rural Bihar and tribal Jharkhand feel empowered to dream. As Gandhiji wrote, “A nation’s greatness is measured by how it treats its weakest members.” By that measure, our greatness still hangs in the balance.

The metaphor of the K-shaped recovery thus captures more than an economic trend; it captures the central contradiction of our times. If left unchecked, the divergence will harden into a structural divide, with consequences too grave to ignore. The challenge is urgent, for history shows that nations that fail to reconcile such divides eventually pay dearly—in legitimacy, in stability, in unity.

India’s destiny is too important to be left to a bifurcated future. The task before us is clear: to bend the arms of the K closer together, to reclaim not merely the numbers of growth but its soul.

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https://thewire.in/economy/the-masked-reality-of-indias-growth-numbers