Rahul Gandhi slams government over gig workers’ safety
Rahul Gandhi says women gig workers face double exploitation, battling economic insecurity along with lack of respect and basic safety
Rahul Gandhi Slams Government Over Gig Workers’ Safety: A Mother’s Plea Echoes in Parliament
It started on a dusty February afternoon in Ghaziabad, the kind where the sun beats down mercilessly and the air hangs heavy with exhaust. Rahul Gandhi pulled up a rickety plastic chair right in the middle of a crowd that India’s booming gig economy had largely overlooked. These weren’t faceless stats—they were people with calloused hands, weary eyes, and stories etched into every line on their faces. Delivery riders, drivers, the invisible hands delivering our late-night cravings and urgent parcels, crisscrossing chaotic cities on two wheels.
They gathered because, for once, someone important was listening. Sunita, 38, from Ghaziabad, stood out. A widow since her husband’s sudden death two years ago, she wakes at 4 a.m. to chase the dawn shift. Two young daughters wait at home, depending on her grit. “I hit my targets, but they keep rising,” she told Gandhi, her voice cracking. “Earnings shrink, incentives vanish. And when I say no to dark, unsafe areas after sunset? The app blocks me. I’m a woman alone—afraid for my life. Why?”
Her raw question didn’t make it to the Lok Sabha, but others did. On March 17, Gandhi rose in Parliament, his tone urgent: What about minimum wages for gig workers? Accident stats? Rejected insurance claims? The double bind for women and Dalits in an algorithm-driven world where a low rating means no dinner?
The government’s answers? Crickets.
Gandhi’s Facebook post hit at 10:47 a.m. today, laying bare the neglect with cold numbers that hide warmer human tragedies. NITI Aayog predicts 20 million gig workers by next year. Yet only 880,000 are registered on eShram. Just 23,831 have life insurance; 130,000 get accident coverage. Millions more dodge potholes, reckless cars, and exhaustion without a net— one slip from ruin.
Take Vikas, 30, from Noida. Three months back, his younger brother—a fellow delivery rider—got smashed by a speeding car. Hospital bills drained their savings. The app’s “insurance”? A two-month nightmare, covering barely a third. “They blamed him for going ‘offline’ mid-accident,” Vikas says, eyes distant, voice hollow. “Offline? Like that erases his right to cross a road safely? He’s still in pain, stitching bags at home because riding’s too risky now.”
In a cramped Delhi tenement, 25-year-old Priya scrolls her weekly earnings on her phone, fingers trembling from the cold rain she braved yesterday. She’s delivered through monsoons, scorching summers, flooded streets—yelled at by grumpy customers over “cold” food (as if she controls traffic), ghosted by restaurants treating her like dirt. Worse: that night a man tailed her bike for three kilometers. Heart pounding, she lost him at a police station. “App support? A chatbot asking about payments or delays. No option for ‘I’m terrified.’ I feel invisible.”
Gandhi calls the government’s silence no accident—it’s deliberate omission. At that February meet, workers poured out tales of unexplained ID blocks, ratings tanked by caste bias masked as “customer feedback.” Dalit and tribal riders, who make up a huge chunk of this workforce, face it hardest.
Ramcharan, 53, a Dalit from Rajasthan now in a Delhi slum, still winces at the memory. A customer raged because he handed food door-to-door instead of gateside. “Didn’t want my face seen,” Ramcharan whispers, shoulders slumped. “App didn’t care why—just slashed my rating. Fewer orders, hungrier nights.”
These aren’t isolated sobs; they’re the gig economy’s underbelly. Women like Sunita battle economic terror plus street dangers—no panic buttons that work, no respect after dark. Dalits like Ramcharan swallow slurs hidden in one-star reviews. Everyone races against apps that prioritize speed over souls, assigning orders without factoring dignity, fear, or fatigue.
As dusk cloaks the capital, they keep going—past glowing homes where families feast on meals they never cooked, desks where office workers munch without a thought. These riders power our convenience, yet the economy forgets their names.
Gandhi’s post isn’t just critique; it’s a call from the ground up. Sunita’s daughters deserve a mom who returns safe. Vikas’s brother needs real insurance, not excuses. Priya craves a “safety” button that means something. Ramcharan wants ratings blind to bias.
The government dodged Parliament questions. But these workers respond daily—showing up on unforgiving roads, for an India that must finally see them. Will leaders listen before the next block, crash, or shadow ride changes another life forever?