Suparjya swain 
FEATURE: Every morning at 7:30 a.m., Rakesh Yadav straps on his faded Swiggy bag and steps into the congested streets of Delhi. Armed with a second-hand scooter and a smartphone, he sets out for a 12-hour shift delivering food to neighborhoods that never seem to sleep. “I came to Delhi with dreams,” he says, while adjusting his helmet. “But these apps are not dreams — they are survival.”
Rakesh is one of nearly 8 million gig workers currently powering India’s growing gig economy — a new frontier of work driven by digital platforms like Swiggy, Zomato, Ola, Uber, Urban Company, and Dunzo. With estimates projecting this number to triple by 2030, India is on the brink of a labor revolution. But behind the tech-powered efficiency lies a world of exploitation, insecurity, and resilience.
The gig economy promises flexibility, autonomy, and instant employment — a tempting offer in a country where youth unemployment hovers around 15%. For workers without formal education or professional training, platforms offer a lifeline.
But the cost of that freedom is steep.
A 2023 survey by the Centre for Internet and Society revealed that nearly 43% of gig workers earned less than ₹500 per day after expenses, with many reporting monthly earnings below ₹10,000. Most workers do not have fixed shifts; instead, they work long hours — often 12 to 16 hours a day — just to meet basic needs.
The same study showed that one in three drivers on ride-hailing platforms like Ola and Uber worked more than 14 hours a day. Among them, those from marginalized communities (SC/ST/OBC) were disproportionately affected, pointing to a disturbing intersection of caste and class inequality in digital labor.
Sunita, a beautician affiliated with a popular on-demand service app in Bengaluru, says she joined the platform thinking she’d earn more than at a local salon. “At first, it felt empowering. I set my own schedule,” she says. But soon, she began to see the hidden costs. The company reduced incentives, increased commission charges, and imposed customer rating systems that often penalized her for things beyond her control — like traffic delays or customers’ bad moods.
“When you’re unwell, there’s no sick leave. If you refuse too many bookings, you get blocked,” she adds. “We are treated like machines, not people.”
This sentiment echoes across thousands of voices in India’s gig economy — a digital workforce that has no employee status, and therefore no job security, health insurance, pension, paid leave, or formal grievance redressal.
In November 2024, over 200 Amazon warehouse and delivery workers in India joined the Make Amazon Pay global strike. They demanded better wages, safe working conditions, and recognition as formal employees. It was one of the first coordinated protests of its kind in India’s gig economy — and it sparked conversations about labor rights in the platform age.
Gig workers have also turned to grassroots organizing. Platforms like Gig Workers’ Collective and Indian Federation of App-based Transport Workers (IFAT) are pushing for legal reforms, demanding minimum wage guarantees, social security, and regulation of digital platforms.
“The tech may be new, but the exploitation is old,” says Shaik Salauddin, National General Secretary of IFAT. “We are essential workers, but treated as disposable.”
Recognizing these systemic challenges, the Indian government introduced the Code on Social Security, 2020, which for the first time includes gig and platform workers under social welfare schemes. However, its implementation has been slow and inconsistent across states.
In March 2025, the Tamil Nadu government announced a subsidy of ₹20,000 for gig workers to buy electric scooters, along with insurance coverage for accidental death and disability for over 1.5 lakh registered workers. The 2025 Union Budget also proposed issuing national ID cards for gig workers, giving them access to healthcare, skilling, and credit benefits.
But activists argue that without accountability from companies, these measures remain band-aids. “Unless platforms are made legally responsible, workers will continue to carry the burden of the economy without any of its benefits,” says Delhi-based labor economist Shalini Sharma.
As urban India grows used to ten-minute deliveries and on-demand everything, it’s easy to forget the human effort behind these services. Every package, every ride, every beauty service is powered by someone like Rakesh or Sunita — running on hope, hustle, and often exhaustion.
The gig economy is not inherently exploitative, but without safeguards, it risks replicating — and worsening — old forms of labor injustice in a shiny new digital guise.
India’s gig economy stands at a crossroads. It can either become a model of inclusive, tech-enabled employment, or a cautionary tale of unchecked digital capitalism.
Ensuring dignity, rights, and recognition for gig workers isn’t just about ethics — it’s about building a sustainable economy for a country where jobs, especially good jobs, are becoming increasingly scarce.
As Rakesh finishes his last delivery of the day, he checks his phone. “Tomorrow, I start again at 7,” he says. “Because even dreams need to be paid for.”
