Punjab represents one of the most interesting paradoxes in modern India. While few regions have been so obvious in their contribution to the process of nation-building, few have also been so consistently critical of those in authority. It managed to reconstruct itself following Partition, took the lead in the Green Revolution, played a major role in getting India out of long-standing food insecurity, has supplied numerous individuals to the armed forces, has developed a significant diaspora and has maintained a social attitude that is energetic, mobile and modern.

Nevertheless, Punjab has on numerous occasions seen people taking to the streets—whether farmers, workers, the young, religious groups, unions or other organised bodies. There have been times when democratic protest has existed in a state of uneasy coexistence with radical rhetoric, and in some darker periods violent extremism has appeared.

What is it about a society which is so capable of making progress that it is still so inclined towards confrontation?

The easy answer—that Punjabis are “aggressive” or difficult to govern—is unfair and analytically weak. Punjab’s early success itself disproves it. The same society that can appear resistant to change embraced new seeds, machinery, irrigation and enterprise with extraordinary speed. The Green Revolution worked because national policy, state capacity, technology, public investment, assured procurement and an enterprising peasantry came together at the right historical moment. Punjab consequently experienced exceptional agricultural growth during the 1970s and 1980s.

The deeper problem is that the model succeeded so well that it became difficult to replace.

For decades, Punjab’s political economy rested on a remarkably effective compact: India needed food; Punjab produced it; the Centre provided procurement and price support; the state supplied infrastructure, electricity and irrigation; and farmers invested labour and capital. It generated prosperity, rural transformation and national food security.

But success also created dependence. A narrow wheat-paddy system became embedded; assured procurement reduced incentives for diversification; electricity subsidies encouraged groundwater extraction; and benefits introduced for particular circumstances gradually acquired the character of permanent entitlements, making resources a curse.

Meanwhile, the conditions that produced Punjab’s rise changed. This is not simply an economic slowdown. It is a stalled transition.

India is no longer food-deficit as it was in the 1960s. Agricultural production has spread widely across the country. Industry and services increasingly drive economic transformation. Yet Punjab has not moved decisively enough into its next development model. Its recent Economic Survey shows growth continuing to trail the national average, while agriculture retains an unusually large economic and political weight. Groundwater extraction is now around 156 per cent of annual extractable resources—a stark warning that the very system which created prosperity is consuming its ecological foundations.

Politics has compounded it. Governments of different parties have repeatedly found it easier to preserve an existing entitlement than to negotiate difficult reform. Subsidies, debt relief, recruitment promises and concessions accumulate. Opposition parties champion agitations they later struggle to manage in government. When one constituency obtains a response through disruption, others understandably learn that escalation works.

Gradually, the street begins to function as a parallel institution of governance.

This should not be interpreted to mean that Punjabis are unwilling to sacrifice. The opposite is closer to the truth. Punjab has a deep culture of voluntary giving—through family, community, gurdwara, langar, philanthropy, military service, and collective action. But there is an important distinction between voluntary sacrifice and compulsory surrender.

A Punjabi may give generously when convinced that a cause is just, yet resist fiercely when the government asks him to surrender land, water, income, or an established benefit without demonstrating that the bargain is equitable. This apparent contradiction is important to understand.

Punjab combines strong social solidarity with a powerful sense of dignity, independence and izzat. People may trust family, community and religious institutions more readily than distant governmental systems. A reform announced from above can therefore be interpreted not merely as economic adjustment but as an imposition.

That is why consultation matters enormously. People are more willing to accept hardship when they believe they have been heard, when the burden is shared fairly and—most importantly—when a credible alternative exists.

History reinforces this sensitivity. Partition, linguistic reorganisation, Chandigarh, river-water disputes, the trauma of the 1980s and periods of Centre-State mistrust remain part of Punjab’s collective political memory. Historical grievance cannot justify violence or permanent exceptionalism. But serious policymaking cannot behave as if memory does not influence present behaviour.

Geography adds another dimension. Punjab is an international border state facing narcotics, organised crime and cross-border security challenges. In 2025, the Union Home Ministry recorded 298 of India’s 305 drone-related drug-trafficking incidents along the Punjab border.

Punjab therefore requires a security doctrine that is simultaneously firm and intelligent: uncompromising towards drugs, weapons, organised crime and externally sponsored violence, while careful never to equate peaceful democratic dissent or Sikh assertion with extremism.This leads to a larger question:

Does india really have a coherent Punjab policy?

New Delhi certainly has policies that affect Punjab—for food procurement, agriculture, border security, narcotics, interstate waters and fiscal management. But these often operate in separate compartments. Punjab is alternately viewed as India’s granary, a security-sensitive frontier, a problem of agricultural surpluses or a politically difficult state.

What is missing is an integrated understanding of Punjab as a state undergoing a historic economic, ecological and institutional transition.

Punjab does require differentiated treatment. But differentiated treatment should not mean preferential treatment, permanent subsidies or exemption from reform. A border state that bore exceptional responsibilities for national food security, carries serious ecological consequences of that role and confronts distinctive security pressures deserves policy calibrated to those circumstances.

The answer should be a 10- to 15-year Punjab Renewal Compact between the Union and the State.

Its first pillar must be agriculture and water. India cannot ask Punjab simply to abandon paddy; it must help create an economically credible alternative. Farmers should increasingly be rewarded for conserving water, diversifying production and generating environmental benefits—not merely for producing more grain or consuming subsidised electricity.

Its second pillar must be economic diversification: food processing, engineering, textiles, sports goods, modern manufacturing, logistics, technology and services. Border districts deserve special investment and connectivity support. Universities and skill institutions must be reconnected to Punjab’s future economy.

The third pillar must be fiscal and governance reform. Punjab itself must rationalise unsustainable subsidies, protect productive expenditure, depoliticise recruitment, strengthen local governments and improve delivery. With the 2026-27 fiscal deficit budgeted at 4.1 per cent of GSDP, governments cannot indefinitely resolve every organised demand by opening the treasury.

Fourth, Punjab needs a new institutional architecture for dissent. Major sectors should have credible, time-bound grievance and negotiation mechanisms. Government must respond before tractors reach highways and employees reach barricades. The democratic right to protest must remain protected; so must the rights of other citizens to travel, work, study, trade and reach hospitals.

Punjab’s central problem, then, is not an inherently restless people. It is the widening mismatch between an ambitious, assertive society and an ageing economic and political settlement.

The same Punjabi characteristics—courage, mobility, community solidarity, pride, enterprise and willingness to organise—can produce either spectacular progress or recurring confrontation, depending on the institutions and incentives surrounding them.

The new compact must therefore be reciprocal.

The country owes Punjab a credible transition from the national role it performed so successfully. Punjab owes India—and its own future generations—the willingness to change what is no longer economically, fiscally or ecologically sustainable.

Punjab does not need to become less Punjabi. Nor does it need to surrender its argumentative spirit. It needs a new purpose worthy of its energy.

Once before, national interest, enlightened public policy and Punjabi enterprise aligned to transform both Punjab and India. If that alignment can be recreated for the twenty-first century, Punjab’s often criticised but celebrated restlessness need not express itself mainly through resistance. It can once again become the energy that drives renewal. / DAILY WORLD /

( The writer is a former IAS officer. Views expressed are his personal. )