There is a curious spectacle unfolding in the subcontinent. India, that sprawling, chaotic, and perpetually horn-honking nation, is finally waking up to the electric vehicle. Not out of some lofty environmentalist fervour, mind you, but because the cost of petrol has reached such absurd heights that the average Indian family now regards a trip to the pump with the same dread as a visit to the dentist. This is the great leveller, you see. When the price of fuel becomes a matter of existential arithmetic, even the most petrol-headed culture must adapt.
And here comes the British, ever the opportunistic merchants of a post-industrial age, with their sleek, overpriced electric cars, ready to fill the void. The headlines scream of a 'billion-pound export opportunity'. But let us not pretend this is about altruism or saving the planet. This is about money. Plain, vulgar, and necessary money. The UK, having squandered its manufacturing might on fintech and coffee shops, now sees a chance to peddle its electric Jaguars and Minis to a market of 1.4 billion people who are finally, reluctantly, ready to ditch the internal combustion engine.
We must ask ourselves: is this a re-run of the Victorian era, when British railways were built across India, only to extract wealth and leave behind a rusting infrastructure? Or is it a genuinely new chapter, where British engineering (if any remains) can help India leapfrog into the future? The optimist in me, a rare and withering creature, hopes for the latter. The pessimist, which constitutes the bulk of my constitution, suspects the former.
India's electric vehicle market is indeed exploding. Sales of EVs in India grew by over 200% last year. The government, ever the enthusiast for grand schemes, has set a target of 30% electric car sales by 2030. This is not impossible. But it requires infrastructure, investment, and a willingness from the Indian consumer to abandon the Maruti Suzuki that has served them faithfully for decades.
Enter the British. Firms like Tata-owned Jaguar Land Rover (Indian-owned, let us not forget, but still carrying the Union Jack) and the newly electric Mini are eyeing the market. The promise is of quality, safety, and a touch of class. But the price tag, even with subsidies, remains formidable. An average Indian earns around £2,000 a year. A British EV costs north of £30,000. The maths does not work. Unless, of course, the British are banking on the vast Indian middle class, a demographic of 300 million people, who can afford such luxuries.
And this is where the historical parallel becomes galling. The British Empire, in its twilight years, sold the Indians all sorts of things they did not need. Now, the electric car. But let us not be entirely cynical. Perhaps this time it is different. Perhaps the British EV industry, leaner and more desperate, will genuinely help India build a cleaner transport system. Or perhaps it will simply be another chapter in the long, sad story of British decline, where we sell off our assets and our expertise to the highest bidder.
The truth, as always, lies somewhere in the muck. The Indian consumer is not a fool. They will buy an electric car when it makes economic sense. The British exporter, meanwhile, will sell them one when it makes commercial sense. And the planet, poor thing, will have to wait and see which of these two self-interests wins out.
I, for one, will be watching. With a stiff drink and a sardonic smile.
