Punjab stands at a dangerous crossroads. The state’s debt is projected to reach Rs 3.74 lakh crore by the end of 2024-25, amounting to more than 46 per cent of the state’s gross domestic product. To put this in perspective, every Punjabi—man, woman, and child—carries a burden of approximately Rs 1.24 lakh on their shoulders. This is not just a number on a balance sheet; it’s a ticking time bomb that threatens the very foundation of governance in the state. The question isn’t whether Punjab will face a fiscal reckoning—it’s when. And when that day arrives, the consequences will be devastating: no money for farmer subsidies that rural communities have come to depend on, crumbling infrastructure with roads turning into death traps, delayed or defaulted salaries for government employees, and a complete paralysis of developmental activities.
Punjab has persistently observed a revenue deficit since 2019-20, with a revenue deficit of Rs 23,198 crore (2.9% of GSDP) estimated in 2024-25. A revenue deficit means the state must borrow just to pay for day-to-day expenses—salaries, pensions, power subsidies—expenses that create no assets and leave no legacy except mounting debt. Where is the money going? Pensions account for about 19 per cent of expenditure in 2024-25, up from 9.8 per cent in 2011. Power subsidies to the agriculture sector alone consume Rs 9,330 crore annually. These are populist measures that win elections but mortgage the state’s future.
The tragic irony is that while Punjab spends lavishly on subsidies, it has little left for what truly matters—education, healthcare infrastructure, and economic development. In 2023-24, Punjab is estimated to spend Rs 74,620 crore on committed expenditure, which is 75% of its estimated revenue receipts. When three-quarters of your revenue is already spoken for before you’ve built a single school or repaired a single road, you’re not governing—you’re just managing decline.
Here lies the central paradox that exposes our misplaced priorities. Punjab witnesses regular protests demanding more subsidies, more freebies, and more handouts. But where are the mass movements demanding better schools? Where are the sit-ins demanding accountability for the dismal state of government education? The recent protests at Panjab University in Chandigarh over senate elections and governance issues represent legitimate institutional concerns. Yet these protests pale in comparison to the deafening silence over the fundamental crisis in primary and secondary education across Punjab.
Instead of demanding educational excellence, we’ve allowed our state to become synonymous with social ills. The colloquial references to “Gedhis & Aashiqui” (illegal activities and inappropriate behaviour) point to a deeper malaise—when education fails, society fills the vacuum with precisely what destroys it. Young people without quality education, without opportunities, without direction, inevitably drift toward destructive pursuits. This isn’t a coincidence; it’s a consequence. A state that spends 75% of its revenue on committed expenditure and subsidies has little left to invest in the one thing that could break this cycle: quality education that creates productive, engaged citizens rather than dependent vote banks.
Imagine Punjab five years from now if current trends continue. The cessation of GST compensation from the Centre is expected to lead to a shortfall of Rs 15,000 crore, which will compound Punjab’s financial problems, leaving no funds for capital expenditure and investments, with possible defaults on salaries. Picture this scenario: In rural Punjab, farmers wait months for subsidy payments that never arrive. The same subsidies that were promised as birthright become worthless IOUs. Agricultural infrastructure crumbles. The promised safety net becomes a trapdoor. In urban centers, government employees go on indefinite strikes because salaries haven’t been paid for three months. Schools close not because of protests, but because there’s no money to keep them running. Hospitals operate without medicines. Police stations have no fuel for vehicles.
The infrastructure decay becomes visible everywhere. Roads turn into obstacle courses. No new projects commence. Maintenance is abandoned. Drainage systems remain clogged. Street lights stay dark. Basic civic amenities—the unglamorous necessities of civilized life—simply cease to function. Meanwhile, the youth inherit a generation of debt instead of opportunity, subsidies instead of skills, and political slogans instead of education. Unemployment soars. Brain drain accelerates. Those with means flee; those without means seethe. This isn’t alarmism—it’s arithmetic. You cannot indefinitely spend 46% of your GDP servicing debt while running persistent revenue deficits. Mathematics doesn’t care about populist rhetoric or electoral calculations.
Solutions exist, but they require difficult choices. Wise decisions must be made, especially when it comes to subsidies which have to be moderated and rationalized. Power subsidies to the agriculture sector can be frozen and linked to productivity as cash components after produce is brought to mandis. Similarly, free power in the domestic sector to urban consumers can be rationalized. But rationalization requires courage—the courage to tell farmers that untargeted subsidies are bankrupting their children’s future, the courage to tell urban consumers that free electricity comes with a price tag their grandchildren will pay, the courage to redirect resources from populist giveaways to unglamorous but essential investments in education and infrastructure.
Most importantly, it requires honest conversations about what we’re really protesting for. Are we demanding temporary handouts or permanent solutions? Are we fighting for subsidies that create dependency or education that creates capability? Are we organizing around electoral bribes or genuine development? Every protest is a statement of priorities. When thousands march for free electricity but barely a handful voice concern over teacher shortages, we reveal what we truly value. When political parties compete on who can promise more freebies but not on who can deliver better schools, we get the government we deserve.
The irony is painful: those who protest loudest for subsidies today will protest loudest tomorrow when those subsidies vanish because the state simply has no money left. But by then, it will be too late. The fiscal collapse they refused to acknowledge will have become the fiscal catastrophe they cannot escape. Punjab has a choice. It can continue down the path of fiscal irresponsibility, prioritizing short-term electoral gains over long-term sustainability, subsidies over schools, populism over planning. Or it can demand something harder but infinitely more valuable: accountable governance, quality education, and a sustainable fiscal foundation.
The protests we organize today will determine the Punjab our children inherit tomorrow. We can protest for another power subsidy, or we can protest for schools that actually educate. We can demand more freebies, or we can demand fiscal responsibility that ensures those freebies—and everything else—remain possible in the future. The choice is ours. But we must choose soon. Because bankruptcy doesn’t wait for consensus, and fiscal reality doesn’t negotiate with political convenience. Punjab’s reckoning is coming. The only question is whether we’ll meet it with foresight and preparation or with shock and denial. The time for comfortable lies is over. The era of consequences has begun.