The soaring cost of cooking gas across Asia isn’t just an economic crisis—it’s a stark reminder of how fragile our progress toward cleaner, healthier living really is. Take Afshana Khatoon in Delhi, for instance. Just weeks ago, she was cooking on a gas stove with minimal fuss. Now, she spends her days scavenging for firewood in scorching heat, her life reduced to a relentless cycle of survival. What’s striking here isn’t just the physical toll—it’s the psychological weight of regression. After years of pushing toward cleaner fuels, millions are being forced back to biomass, a step backward that feels almost dystopian.
What makes this particularly fascinating is how it exposes the fault lines in our energy systems. India, which imports 60% of its LPG, is now grappling with a blockade in the Strait of Hormuz due to the Iran-US conflict. The result? A 2.2 million-tonne drop in LPG consumption in April alone. But here’s the kicker: the Indian government insists there’s no shortage. Yet, Prime Minister Narendra Modi is urging austerity, and reserves are reportedly down to 45 days. This disconnect between official narratives and ground reality is a story in itself—one that highlights the precariousness of global supply chains and the human cost of geopolitical tensions.
From my perspective, the health implications are where this crisis truly becomes alarming. Biomass burning is a silent killer, linked to respiratory diseases, heart conditions, and even lung cancer. The World Health Organization estimates that household air pollution contributes to 6.7 million premature deaths annually. Women and children, like Khatoon and her kids, bear the brunt of this. In Delhi, already one of the world’s most polluted cities, this reversal feels like a betrayal of years of environmental progress. Harjeet Singh, a climate activist, puts it bluntly: biomass burning in dense urban areas is a recipe for disaster. Yet, authorities have relaxed restrictions on coal and firewood, prioritizing short-term survival over long-term health.
One thing that immediately stands out is how this crisis underscores the illusion of accessibility. Over the past decade, India distributed 100 million subsidized gas canisters, a commendable effort. But as Singh points out, access doesn’t equal affordability. Families are now choosing between food and fuel, with the gas cylinder becoming a symbol of unattainable progress. This raises a deeper question: what good is a transition to cleaner energy if it’s not sustainable for the poorest?
This isn’t just an Indian story. In the Philippines, Josephine Songalia faces a similar dilemma. LPG prices have tripled, forcing her to cook with charcoal. She fans the flames while keeping her children at a distance, aware of the toxic fumes but left with no choice. Her words are haunting: ‘I worry the smoke could harm my lungs, but I have to do this so my kids can eat.’ Here, the crisis isn’t just about energy—it’s about dignity, about the impossible choices people are forced to make.
If you take a step back and think about it, this crisis is a microcosm of global inequality. While wealthier nations debate net-zero targets, millions in Asia are being pushed back into pollution and poverty. The war in the Middle East has become a catalyst, but the vulnerabilities were always there. What this really suggests is that our energy transitions are built on shaky foundations, reliant on stable geopolitics and affordable prices—luxuries the world can’t always guarantee.
A detail that I find especially interesting is the environmental cost of charcoal production. Mylene G. Cayetano, a professor in the Philippines, describes it as a ‘very dirty process,’ filling the air with ash and smoke. Yet, it’s the cheapest option for many. This paradox—where the poorest are forced to degrade their environment just to survive—is a damning indictment of our global systems.
In the end, this crisis isn’t just about gas prices or supply chains. It’s about the human cost of progress, the fragility of our gains, and the stark inequalities that define our world. Personally, I think this is a wake-up call. We can’t build a sustainable future on systems that leave the most vulnerable behind. Until we address that, crises like these will keep repeating, each one a reminder of how far we still have to go.
