Cooking gas crisis on the boil across Telangana

At Donne Biryani in Hyderabad’s S.R. Nagar, the crisis didn’t arrive with a warning. It crept in slowly, one dish at a time. By last Friday, chicken drumsticks, chilli prawns and mutton pepper dry had vanished from the menu. The indulgent starters were the first casualties. “We are a large restaurant and there is a limited stock of LPG cylinders. We have dropped all starters and dry dishes from the menu to save gas,” says the franchise owner of the restaurant which has increased prices by ₹30 per item.

The strain is being felt even by temple kitchens. A notice pasted at the Hanuman Temple in Chikadpally announced a halt to cooked prasadam. Few would have imagined an interruption of this kind, triggered not by tradition but by an emptying fuel supply.

The unease crept in elsewhere too. When his phone rang at an odd hour, estate manager Vikram (name changed) expected the usual complaints about water, electricity or security at a gated community in West Hyderabad. Instead, he faced enquiries about piped gas stock.

For something so routinely taken for granted, LPG had suddenly become the talking point. The trigger lay far beyond city limits: a conflict in West Asia disrupting key marine routes that feed into India’s LPG lifeline, and meets a substantial requirement. The disruption travelled fast, setting off anxiety, frantic bookings and a system struggling to keep pace with demand.

The government moved to ring-fence domestic supply. Refineries were asked to prioritise propane and butane production for LPG and supply it to public sector oil marketing companies Indian Oil Corporation, Bharat Petroleum and Hindustan Petroleum, with clear instructions to serve domestic consumers first. The flip side was instant as commercial users were squeezed out.

Restaurants, cloud kitchens, streetside kiosks, hostels and PG messes felt the heat first. Households followed, as panic bookings surged beyond what automated systems could handle.

Then came the price nudge. Effective from March 7, the price of a 19-kg commercial cylinder rose from ₹1,996.50 to ₹2,110.50 while a domestic refill became costlier by ₹60, touching ₹965.

For many bulk users such as hospitals, office canteens and industrial units, price rise is not uncommon. But this time, it wasn’t just about paying more; it was about getting any at all. And across kitchens big and small, the question was no longer what’s cooking but how long the fuel will last.

The numbers tell their own story. As per official figures, Telangana has about 1.29 crore domestic LPG connections serviced by more than 800 distributors, with a daily requirement of roughly 2.05 lakh cylinders.

Of the total LPG usage in the State, 86% is consumed by households, leaving just 14% for commercial users — a relatively smaller share, but one that sustains a vast network of businesses, including as auto LPG.

One estimate pegs Telangana’s monthly commercial LPG requirement at about 8 lakh cylinders, typically the 19-kg refill used by restaurants and bulk kitchens, alongside other variants ranging from 2 kg to 425 kg for industrial use. In Hyderabad alone, the daily commercial demand stands at about 23,000 cylinders, according to data shared with the Civil Supplies Department by oil marketing companies.

For the city’s hospitality sector, which includes over 74,000 restaurants, the squeeze quickly went from uncertainty to actual disruption. What began as informal warnings from distributors soon escalated into operational strain, service restrictions and, in some cases, temporary closures.

The Hyderabad chapter of the National Restaurant Association of India (NRAI) wrote to Civil Supplies Minister N. Uttam Kumar Reddy on March 12, flagging uncertainty in LPG availability and its implications for a sector that contributes an estimated ₹10,700 crore annually to the State’s economy while supporting thousands of livelihoods across restaurants, supply chains and delivery networks.

Switch to wood

Even as the Centre moved to partially restore supplies, first prioritising hospitals and hostels, and later allowing up to 20% of requirements for other commercial users, the relief has been limited. “Most establishments are managing with whatever little supply they are getting while increasingly relying on alternatives such as wood fire and induction,” says Sandeep Balasubramanian, head of the NRAI Hyderabad chapter, underlining the severity of the crunch.

But the shortage has also exposed fault lines in the supply chain. Reports of black marketing surfaced, with suspected diversion of domestic cylinders for commercial use and the risky, illegal practice of refilling gas from domestic to commercial cylinders. Enforcement agencies have stepped in and initiated action. In Hyderabad district alone, 643 domestic cylinders were seized over the past week in a crackdown on what officials described as artificially created scarcity.

The financial strain has compounded the crisis. “Towards February-end, the official price was around ₹1,700 to ₹1,750 per cylinder. It has now increased to ₹2,100 to ₹2,200, and in the black market, prices are three to four times higher,” Mr. Balasubramanian adds.

Commercial LPG, unlike domestic fuel, operates in a free-market space that is fiercely competitive, driven by volume discounts and credit-based supply arrangements. But with curbs in place and supplies tightening, even these informal buffers have collapsed. Public sector oil marketing companies withdrew discounts, suppliers turned cautious and a system built on flexibility suddenly found itself under stress.

The Telangana State Hotels Association (TSHA) has warned that if restrictions persist, the fallout could extend beyond menus — to temporary closures, job losses and disruption of food access for those who depend on eateries for their daily meals.

Highlighting the severity, Balasubramanian refers to the findings of an internal survey of 60 stakeholders — restaurant owners, bar operators and club representatives. The findings were stark: 42 described gas supply as ‘very poor’ while 16 said availability had dropped to less than half their requirement. Yet, even amid the strain, he strikes a measured note. “We are still in talks (with the Telangana government), but nothing has come out of those discussions yet,” he says.

On the ground, the impact is already discernible. Some establishments have temporarily shut shop, others have cut back operations to lunch and dinner while many are working with stripped-down menus. Public notices announcing limited dishes and altered service have begun appearing across the city in what is a clear sign that the crisis has moved beyond backend supply concerns to visible operational constraints.

At the smaller end of the spectrum, survival has meant improvisation. At Rajan Food Corner, a modest Chinese food stall in A.S. Rao Nagar, a notice asks customers to pay ₹10 extra per order although the owner says it isn’t mandatory. “There are many people who don’t understand the situation and start arguing, so I tell them to just pay the menu rate if they want,” he says.

For Rajan, it is a daily struggle. “We are getting cylinders, but with a lot of difficulty,” he says, echoing the predicament of countless small vendors. With little room to absorb rising costs, he has been forced into careful adjustments — marginal price hikes on select items and a reduced menu to conserve fuel. “We are increasing prices slightly of some items, not too much because customers will not accept it,” he shares, adding that he is also limiting the number of dishes on the menu to manage fuel use.

Customers, too, are beginning to feel the shift. Karun, a 26-year-old IT employee waiting for his order at Rajan’s stall, says, “Either prices are going up or portions are getting smaller. I don’t mind paying a little extra, but it shouldn’t keep increasing every few days.”

Some, however, had anticipated the squeeze. A popular Punjabi restaurant in Gachibowli’s Indira Nagar, for instance, had already begun reducing its dependence on LPG by shifting parts of its central kitchen to electricity and relying on coal-fired tandoors — a move that now appears less like an experiment and more like a hedge against an uncertain supply.

Widespread impact

The strain is perhaps most visible in the hotel industry, where dwindling supplies of commercial cylinders – now released only in limited quantities – have begun to dictate operations.

But equally at a loss are a host of manufacturing units across textile processing and apparel, plastic as well as packaging industries, says R.Ravi Kumar, president of the Federation of Telangana Chambers of Commerce and Industries (FTCCI). The ripple effects, he notes, extend further to sectors such as steel, mining, glass and chemicals, where fuel availability and broader supply disruptions linked to the war are compounding existing pressures.

At the household level, the crisis is marked by anxiety and urgency. Panic bookings for domestic cylinders surged, overwhelming automated systems and leaving many consumers struggling to secure refills. Some report a long waiting time and repeated booking attempts over 4-5 days before finally succeeding.

This, even as oil marketing companies continued to maintain that domestic supplies remain unaffected, using social media to reassure customers. The Telangana Civil Supplies Department, too, released data on refill deliveries, while officials in Delhi pointed to a recent uptick in LPG production following directives to prioritise domestic output. Yet, on the ground, perception has proved harder to manage than supply with uncertainty driving behaviour as much as availability.

Time to unlearn, learn

Even as anxiety builds, industry voices are urging restraint. Telangana LPG Distributors Association president Jagan Mohan Reddy cautions that panic will not lead anywhere other than chaos even as he calls for a reset in how consumers view and use LPG. This is the time to unlearn the idea that LPG is always available and learn to be less luxurious, he advises, adding that consumption must come down by 40-50%.

If the situation tightens further, the changes could be structural. The gap between domestic refills, which was recently extended to 45 days for rural consumers, may widen again — even up to 60 days. In urban areas, where single-cylinder households are currently eligible for refills after 25 days and double-bottle consumers after 30, the waiting period could stretch to 45 days.

There is also the possibility, subject to statutory changes, of reducing cylinder weight to 10 kg, with prices adjusted proportionately from the standard 14.2-kg refill.

For now, these remain possibilities, but the uncertainty is real. As Reddy sums it up, borrowing from a familiar line: “What we have seen thus far are just titles; picture abhi baaki hai.”