Piyush Goyal’s Startup Critique: A Half-Truth That Misses the Mark

 Union Commerce Minister Piyush Goyal stirred the pot last week at Startup Mahakumbh 2025, taking a swing at India’s startup ecosystem. His gripe? Too many Indian entrepreneurs are busy churning out food delivery apps and “fancy ice creams” instead of diving into deep-tech fields like semiconductors, AI, and robotics. “Are we going to be happy being delivery boys and girls?” he asked, flashing a slide comparing India’s startup scene to China’s high-tech juggernaut. “Do we want to make ice cream or chips?”

It’s a punchy soundbite, and Goyal’s not entirely wrong—India could use more innovation in cutting-edge tech. But his critique feels like a half-truth, one that scapegoats founders while glossing over the messy reality of building a startup in India. Let’s unpack this.

The Grain of Truth

Goyal’s got a point: India’s startup boom has leaned heavily on consumer tech. Food delivery giants like Swiggy and Zomato, quick-commerce players like Zepto, and a slew of D2C brands dominate the headlines—and the funding. Meanwhile, deep-tech startups in AI, biotech, or semiconductors are rarer, often smaller, and less hyped. China, by contrast, boasts giants like BYD in electric vehicles and a thriving semiconductor ecosystem, fueled by decades of state-backed investment.

He’s also right to nudge entrepreneurs toward ambition. India’s third-largest startup ecosystem shouldn’t settle for being a gig-economy factory. The world’s moving fast—AI models, quantum computing, green tech—and we risk being left behind if we don’t pivot. Goyal’s “ice cream or chips” quip, cheeky as it is, lands when you think about how many “healthy” cookie brands are just repackaged hustle, not groundbreaking innovation.

Where He Misses the Mark

But here’s where Goyal’s critique starts to wobble: it’s easy to dunk on founders when you’re not the one in the trenches. Building a startup in India isn’t a straight shot to glory—it’s a gauntlet of red tape, shaky infrastructure, and a funding desert for anything that doesn’t promise quick returns. Zepto’s CEO Aadit Palicha fired back on X, pointing out his company’s 1.5 lakh jobs, ₹1,000 crore in taxes, and $1 billion in FDI. “If that isn’t a miracle in Indian innovation, I don’t know what is,” he wrote. He’s not wrong—consumer tech isn’t just “dukaandari” (shopkeeping); it’s solving real problems at scale.

Goyal’s China comparison feels unfair too. China’s deep-tech rise didn’t happen because its founders woke up one day feeling ambitious—it’s the result of $845 billion in state investment from 2014 to 2024, per Mohandas Pai’s rebuttal. India? We’ve coughed up $160 billion in the same period. Beijing’s poured cash into R&D, built industrial parks, and shielded its startups from foreign competition. India’s government, meanwhile, has offered tax holidays and a Startup India scheme, but founders still wrestle with power cuts (ask Murtaza Amin in Burhanpur), bribe-hungry bureaucrats, and an RBI that spooks overseas investors. Goyal’s asking for Silicon Valley output with tier-2 town support.

The Billionaire Kids Jab

Then there’s the dig at “billionaire kids” making fancy ice creams. It’s a crowd-pleaser—who doesn’t love a jab at privilege?—but it’s a cheap shot. Sure, some D2C brands are vanity projects with daddy’s money, but plenty of consumer startups, from Boat to Mamaearth, started scrappy and scaled up. Dismissing them as “not real startups” ignores how they’ve created jobs, disrupted markets, and built Indian brands in a space long dominated by multinationals. Goyal’s right that we need more than cookies, but why trash what’s working instead of building on it?

The Real Problem: Ecosystem, Not Ambition

Here’s the kicker: Indian startups aren’t unambitious—they’re pragmatic. Venture capital in India chases 10x returns in five years, not 20-year moonshots. Deep-tech needs patient capital, labs, and a government that doesn’t drown you in paperwork. Ashneer Grover nailed it on X: “China had food delivery first, then evolved to deep tech. Maybe politicians should aspire for 10%+ growth for 20 years before chiding today’s job creators.” Startups reflect the ecosystem they’re in, and ours rewards scale over substance.

Take semiconductors. Goyal wants India to make chips, not deliver pizzas. Great—except we’re a decade behind China, with no domestic supply chain and a talent pool lured abroad by better pay. The government’s ₹76,000 crore semiconductor push is a start, but it’s a drop in the bucket. Founders can’t conjure an industry out of thin air—they need roads, power, and policies that don’t choke them.

A Better Way Forward

Goyal’s heart might be in the right place—he followed up with a startup helpline announcement, a nod to the grind founders face. But finger-wagging won’t spark a deep-tech revolution. If he wants chips over ice cream, here’s what’s needed: pump real money into R&D (our 0.7% of GDP spend is a joke next to China’s 2.4%), fix the basics (no more unscheduled power cuts), and stop the RBI from treating foreign investors like suspects. Oh, and maybe don’t slap angel taxes on startups while preaching innovation—Pai’s still salty about that.

Founders aren’t the enemy here. They’re hustling in a system that’s half-baked. Palicha’s right—consumer tech isn’t the problem; it’s the foundation. Google and Amazon started as “dukaans” too, then built AI empires. Let’s not shame the hustle—let’s fund the future.

The Bottom Line

Goyal’s critique is a wake-up call, but it’s aimed at the wrong target. India’s startup scene isn’t perfect, and yes, we need more deep-tech swagger. But don’t blame the kids slinging cookies or the apps feeding millions—blame the game they’re forced to play. Fix that, and we might just get those chips Goyal’s dreaming of. Until then, this “reality check” feels more like a mic drop without a beat.

Decoding the Playbook: The Most Common Defense Replies of BJP Supporters Online

 If you’ve ever waded into the wild waters of Indian political debates on X, WhatsApp, or Reddit, you’ve likely encountered the fierce loyalty of BJP supporters. Armed with passion and a seemingly endless arsenal of rhetorical moves, they dominate online spaces with a predictable yet effective playbook. It’s not just about defending the Bharatiya Janata Party—it’s about turning every critique into a counterattack, often leaving the original point buried under a pile of deflections. Let’s break down the most common defense replies you’ll see from BJP supporters online, from whataboutery to outright abuses, and explore what makes them tick.

Whataboutery: “But What About Congress?”

The crown jewel of BJP supporter defenses is whataboutery—pointing fingers at past Congress governments to dodge present-day criticism. Modi’s government gets flak for rising fuel prices? “But what about the scams under UPA?” Unemployment stats look grim? “Congress ruled for 60 years—where were the jobs then?” It’s a classic tu quoque move (“you did it too”), sidestepping the issue at hand by dragging up historical baggage. Never mind that the Congress hasn’t been in power since 2014—whataboutery thrives on nostalgia for outrage, not relevance. It’s less about solving today’s problems and more about saying, “Everyone’s dirty, so why single us out?”

Irrelevant Data: The Numbers Game

Then there’s the barrage of irrelevant data—stats and figures flung into the fray like confetti, often with little connection to the argument. Criticize the handling of COVID-19? You might get, “India built 50,000 km of highways under Modi!” Point out inflation? “Look at how many Jan Dhan accounts we opened!” These factoids aren’t wrong—they’re just beside the point. It’s a distraction tactic, drowning the conversation in a sea of numbers that sound impressive but don’t address the critique. The goal? Overwhelm you into submission or at least shift the spotlight.

Refusal to See Data: Eyes Wide Shut

When the data doesn’t favor their narrative, many BJP supporters simply refuse to engage. Present a report showing a dip in GDP growth or a rise in communal incidents, and you’ll hear, “These are biased stats from leftists” or “NGOs funded by foreigners cooked this up.” No counter-evidence, no analysis—just a flat denial. It’s not skepticism; it’s selective blindness. This move banks on the idea that if you don’t acknowledge the numbers, they don’t exist. And in a post-truth world, that’s a gamble that often pays off.

Anecdotal References: “My Uncle Says…”

For every statistic you throw, they’ve got a story. “My cousin got a job because of Skill India,” they’ll say, countering unemployment data. Or, “I saw roads being built in my village—Modi’s working!” These personal anecdotes aren’t invalid—they’re just not the full picture. It’s an appeal to the masses, leaning on relatable, emotional hooks rather than broad evidence. The tactic works because it’s human nature to trust a story over a spreadsheet, especially when it’s from someone in your WhatsApp group.

Ad Hominem Attacks and Abuses: The Personal Sting

Things get spicier with ad hominem attacks. Criticize BJP policy, and you’re not just wrong—you’re a “libtard,” “anti-national,” or “paid by Congress.” The gloves come off fast, and the abuses fly faster. “You’re just a presstitute” or “Go back to Pakistan” aren’t arguments—they’re character assassinations meant to shut you down. This isn’t about debating ideas; it’s about painting the critic as too flawed to be taken seriously. It’s nasty, it’s loud, and it’s everywhere online.

Appeal to the Masses: “The People Know Best”

BJP supporters often lean on the vox populi card: “Modi won with a massive mandate—crores of Indians can’t be wrong!” It’s an appeal to the masses, implying that popularity equals legitimacy. Never mind policy failures or broken promises—if the people voted for it, it’s golden. This tactic flips democracy into a shield: questioning the government becomes questioning the will of the people. It’s a clever way to dodge accountability while wrapping themselves in the tricolor.

Appeal to Authority: “Modi Ji Said It”

When in doubt, invoke the big man. “Modi Ji has a vision for 2047,” they’ll say, or “Amit Shah explained this in Parliament.” It’s an appeal to authority, where the leader’s word trumps all else. No need for evidence or logic—if the top brass said it, it’s gospel. This move leans on the cult of personality that’s fueled BJP’s rise, turning every debate into a loyalty test. Critique the policy? You’re critiquing the infallible leader. Good luck with that.

Tu Quoque Redux: “You’re No Saint Either”

Beyond whataboutery, the tu quoque attack gets personal. Call out a BJP leader’s inflammatory speech, and they’ll dig up an old quote from a Congress MP. Point to a lynching under their watch? “What about the riots under your heroes?” It’s not just about parties—it’s about you, the critic. “You didn’t complain when X happened, so why now?” The hypocrisy charge doesn’t disprove your point; it just muddies the water enough to stall the conversation.

Why It Works—and Why It’s a Problem

This playbook isn’t random—it’s a battle-tested strategy. Online spaces reward noise over nuance, and these tactics thrive in that chaos. Whataboutery and anecdotes tap into emotions; data dumps and denials confuse; attacks and appeals rally the tribe. It’s less about winning a debate and more about exhausting the opponent or firing up the base. And with India’s polarized digital landscape, it’s a winning formula—likes, retweets, and forwards prove it.

But here’s the rub: it’s a hollow victory. Deflecting with Congress’s past doesn’t fix today’s fuel prices. Abusing critics doesn’t solve unemployment. Appealing to Modi’s aura doesn’t make data disappear. Indian democracy deserves better than a shouting match where the loudest voice wins. These tactics might dominate X threads, but they don’t build a stronger nation—they just keep the argument spinning.

The Way Forward

So, next time you’re in the ring with a BJP supporter online, know the moves. Call out the whataboutery, sidestep the abuses, and stick to the point. They’ve got a playbook, but it’s not invincible—clarity and persistence can cut through the noise. India’s future isn’t about who yells loudest; it’s about who faces the facts. What’s your take—seen these tactics in action? Drop a comment and let’s unpack it.

India Has Always Been Conservative—It’s Time for Liberal Thinking

 India is a land of paradoxes—vibrant chaos meets ancient tradition, tech hubs rise next to cow-dotted villages, and Bollywood churns out romance while families arrange marriages. But beneath this dizzying mix lies a stubborn truth: Indian society has always been conservative. From Vedic times to the Instagram age, we’ve clung to hierarchy, tradition, and conformity like a security blanket. It’s not all bad—it’s given us resilience and identity—but it’s also held us back. As Indians, we desperately need a dose of liberal thinking. Let’s explore why, with a few examples that hit close to home.

The Vedic Blueprint: Rules Over Reason

Go back 3,000 years to the Vedic period. The Rigveda wasn’t just poetry—it was a rulebook. Society was sliced into the varna system: Brahmins at the top, Kshatriyas next, then Vaishyas, and Shudras at the bottom. Your birth decided your role—no questions asked. Women? Their job was to marry, serve, and bear sons, as the Manusmriti later codified with glee. Sure, there were hymns to nature and lofty ideas about cosmic order, but the system screamed control, not freedom.

Fast forward to the Upanishads around 600 BCE. You’d think the shift to philosophy—meditating on Atman and Brahman—would loosen things up. Nope. The Brahmins still ran the show, and the caste ladder stayed rigid. Even questioning the system was a privilege reserved for the elite. Conservatism wasn’t just a phase—it was baked in.

Medieval India: Devotion, Not Disruption

By the medieval period, Bhakti saints like Kabir and Mirabai sang of love for God over caste or creed. Sounds progressive, right? Not quite. Their rebellion was spiritual, not social. Kabir might’ve mocked priests, but he didn’t dismantle the patriarchy or untouchability. The Mughal era added purdah—veiling women—to the mix, doubling down on gender norms. Even the liberal Akbar, with his interfaith debates, kept power centralized and tradition intact. India’s heart stayed conservative, even when its poets dreamed big.

Colonial Pushback: Clinging to the Old

When the British rolled in, you’d expect a shake-up. Instead, we doubled down. The 1857 rebellion wasn’t about liberty—it was about restoring kings and customs the British threatened. Reformers like Raja Ram Mohan Roy fought sati (widow-burning) in the 1820s, but faced backlash from orthodox Hindus who saw it as sacred tradition. The caste system? The British codified it further with their census obsession, and we didn’t exactly riot for equality. We resisted change, not oppression.

Modern India: Same Story, New Packaging

Independence in 1947 could’ve been a reset. Instead, we wrote a progressive Constitution but lived conservatively. Take marriage—90% of Indians still marry within their caste, per a 2016 survey by the Lokniti program. Arranged marriages dominate, often with dowry quietly changing hands despite being illegal. The 2012 Delhi gang rape sparked outrage, but victim-blaming persists—remember the politician who said women shouldn’t be out at night? That’s 2020s India, not some ancient text.

LGBTQ rights? Section 377 lingered until 2018, and even post-decriminalization, same-sex marriage is a pipe dream—conservative lawmakers won’t touch it. Meanwhile, cow vigilantism thrives, with mobs lynching people over beef rumors (like the 2015 Dadri killing). Tradition trumps reason every time. And don’t get me started on honor killings—over 300 cases annually, per the National Crime Records Bureau, because love across caste or religion is still a death sentence in some villages.

The Bollywood Mirror

Even our pop culture reflects this. Bollywood churns out films like Kabir Singh (2019), where a toxic, controlling hero is romanticized, grossing ₹379 crore. Contrast that with Piku (2015), a rare gem about an independent woman, which made less than half that. We cheer conservative tropes—self-sacrificing wives, obedient sons—while sidelining stories that challenge norms. Art imitates life, and our life loves the status quo.

Why Liberal Thinking Matters

So, what’s the cost? Stagnation. Our conservatism fuels inequality—India ranks 129th on the 2023 Gender Gap Index, behind Bangladesh. It stifles innovation—our obsession with “safe” careers like engineering or medicine kills creative risk-taking. It breeds intolerance—think of the 2021 arrests of comedians like Munawar Faruqui for “hurting sentiments.” We’re a young nation (median age 28), but our mindset feels ancient.

Liberal thinking—openness to change, individual freedom, rational debate—could break this cycle. Imagine questioning caste without fear, letting women choose their paths (not just their husbands), or debating religion without riots. It’s not about copying the West—it’s about unlocking India’s potential. The Bhakti poets bent rules; Tagore dreamed of a free mind in “Gitanjali.” We’ve got the seeds—we just need to water them.

The Road Ahead

This isn’t a rant against tradition. Our heritage—yoga, Ayurveda, the Mahabharata—is worth celebrating. But clinging to every old idea like it’s gospel? That’s where we falter. Liberal thinking doesn’t mean abandoning our roots—it means pruning what’s rotten so the tree grows stronger.

Look at our neighbors. Sri Lanka legalized abortion in 1995; we’re still debating it. Nepal recognized a third gender in 2007; we’re lagging despite our hijra history. We’re not incapable of change—look at the Green Revolution or Aadhaar—but we need to apply that energy to society, not just systems.

So, India, let’s talk. Why do we clutch tradition so tight? What’s stopping us from asking hard questions? The comments are open—bring your chai and your thoughts.