IT Jobs Vanish, Minister’s Son Rides Ethanol Boom
India today is witnessing two parallel realities. In one, thousands of engineers and IT professionals are waking up to pink slips from companies like TCS, Infosys, and Wipro. These were the children of ordinary middle-class families who sold land, mortgaged houses, and took loans so their children could study Computer Science and join the great Indian IT dream. In the other reality, a minister’s son from Nagpur is watching his company’s stock skyrocket by over 7,000 percent in five years, celebrated as the new ethanol market darling. The father makes the ethanol policy roadmap; the son rides the stock market rally. The stink is hard to miss.
The middle-class Indian dream has long revolved around IT. Parents invested their life savings into coaching classes and private engineering colleges. “Digital India” was sold as the story of upward mobility. But as global downturns and corporate cost-cutting take their toll, the same government now lectures these young professionals to “reskill” and “adapt.” Market cycles, they are told, cannot be helped. The message to ordinary Indians is clear: your jobs are dispensable, your sacrifices irrelevant.
Meanwhile, India’s ethanol story has been pushed at breakneck speed. Union Minister Nitin Gadkari has been the loudest champion of blending ethanol into petrol. The government rushed from 5 percent blending targets to announcing 20 percent by 2025. Car manufacturers raised alarms about compatibility, oil companies flagged supply chain gaps, and even consumers reported issues like lower mileage and water absorption in fuel tanks. Yet, the policy juggernaut rolled on, painted as a triumph of green nationalism. Infrastructure for storage was half-ready, supply lines patchy, but the urgency was political, not practical.
This is where the problem deepens. As India was forced onto ethanol-blended petrol, Nikhil Gadkari, son of the very minister driving this policy, suddenly emerged at the helm of CIAN Agro Industries. The company was promoted as an ethanol player, and the stock market responded with daily upper circuits, soaring valuations, and giddy speculation. Whether or not ethanol is already flowing from its plants in commercial volumes, the perception is enough: father sets the policy, son benefits from the perception. This is not just a business boom; it is the classic Indian dynastic dividend.
For ordinary engineers, the contrast is brutal. In Bengaluru, Pune, or Hyderabad, they open emails announcing “resource optimization” and layoffs. They face unpaid education loans, dashed career dreams, and families slipping back into financial insecurity. In Nagpur, a minister’s son refreshes his trading screen to see yet another locked 5 percent upper circuit. The sons of the middle class are told to live with the market’s cruelty, while the sons of ministers are blessed by the same market’s generosity.
The governance question is glaring. Should a minister whose family is directly engaged in ethanol-linked businesses be spearheading ethanol policy for the entire country? Why is SEBI silent on such extraordinary, unnatural price movements in politically linked companies? Why are regulators not demanding segment disclosures that clarify whether this ethanol dream is substance or speculation? If India wants to be taken seriously as a fair economy, conflict of interest must not be treated as family privilege.
The irony is sharp. Ethanol was supposed to clean the air. Instead, it leaves behind the smell of crony capitalism. For the ordinary Indian, ethanol blending means higher fuel costs, uncertain vehicle performance, and no say in policy. For the political heir, it means profit soaring to the sky. Digital India was for your children’s pink slips. Ethanol India is for their children’s profits.
