“Wanted: a radical reform.” That is how Amitabh Kant, a 1980-batch Kerala cadre IAS officer and former NITI Aayog CEO, sums up Kerala’s predicament. His blunt assessment frames Beyond Cynicism: Kerala 2.0, a new book that brings together unusually candid essays by senior civil servants who have governed the state from the inside — across political regimes and administrative hierarchies.
Their warning is stark: Kerala is running out of time. Economic drift, rising debt and ecological stress are converging. Without decisive reform, stability itself could come under strain.
The timing is politically charged. New local governments are in place, Assembly elections are due in 2026, and every party now talks the language of development. The book’s core argument is simple: rhetoric has replaced reform.
Kerala’s paradox is familiar but increasingly uncomfortable. The state excels in literacy, health and social equity, yet lags peers in investment, job creation and income growth. Fiscal stress is mounting.
The contributors are careful to say this is not a blame game or a theoretical governance manual. As Shashi Tharoor notes in the foreword, diagnosis is easy. Execution is the real test — especially in a state where politics often punishes reform.
At the heart of Kerala’s development impasse lies land policy, argue former additional chief secretaries PH Kurien and T Balakrishnan. Nearly 35 million people live within just 38,000 square kilometres, yet land-use decisions remain trapped in ideological frameworks forged decades ago.
When poverty and hunger were widespread, Kerala’s leaders showed political courage through radical land reforms. Today’s challenges are different, but the courage required is similar — to redesign land-use policy for density, infrastructure and economic activity.
“Our state is small; so is our mindset,” they write, warning that the celebration of ‘small is beautiful’ has become an excuse for limited ambition.
Across the world, ports have anchored economic take-offs — from Singapore to Dubai. Kerala, despite its coastline, has largely failed to replicate that success.
Ajith Kumar, special officer for the Thiruvananthapuram Capital Region Development Project, points to the Outer Area Growth Corridor as a potential special investment zone. But the book is clear: geography alone does not create growth. Without Special Investment Region frameworks, institutional reform and investor-friendly rules, capital regions risk becoming planning documents rather than engines of prosperity.
One of the book’s most scathing critiques targets Kerala’s regulatory architecture. “Medicines and food products have expiry dates. Laws in Kerala do not.”
Legislation designed for specific historical contexts continues indefinitely, creating over-regulation, inefficiency and opportunities for rent-seeking. The state has the power to amend or repeal its own laws but rarely exercises it.
Land ceiling norms, transport and power restrictions, monopolies in liquor and water transport, the Head Load Workers Act, forest and wetland rules, and an expanding maze of welfare fund legislations are flagged for urgent reform. Over-regulation, the authors argue, hurts farmers and entrepreneurs alike — while political parties preserve outdated laws to protect vote banks.
Kerala’s public sector footprint is another brake on growth. The Comptroller and Auditor General counts at least 146 public sector undertakings across 14 sectors, though even this figure is incomplete.
Only a handful are profitable — mostly monopolies or entities propped up by government support. The verdict is blunt: many PSUs serve political interests, not public welfare.
The prescription is equally blunt — list profitable units to improve efficiency, sell loss-making enterprises transparently, and exit sectors where the state competes directly with private players. In short, the government should stop doing business.
The plantation sector offers a cautionary tale. Kerala and Malaysia began plantation agriculture around the same time. Malaysia adapted crop choices to markets; Kerala remained rigid. Today, Malaysian palm oil and durians reach Kerala’s markets — not the reverse.
A recent study with IIM Kozhikode is the state’s first serious attempt to diagnose the sector’s decline. Without long-term policy clarity extending over decades, experts warn, plantations will continue to slide.
The book is not without hope. Former bureaucrat P. C. Cyriac recalls how Tamil Nadu transformed a politically motivated decision into one of India’s most efficient public transport systems through administrative intelligence.
Former cabinet secretary KM Chandrasekhar recounts the long, bruising journey of Vizhinjam Port — nearly derailed by political rivalry, audit objections and delays, yet ultimately delivered through persistence. Vizhinjam stands as proof that transformative infrastructure is possible even within hostile systems.
Amitabh Kant repeatedly returns to Singapore — not as a template to copy, but as a mindset to learn from. Singapore intervenes selectively, builds strong frameworks and lets private enterprise drive growth.
The contrast is stark. Singapore, with about 750 square kilometres, generates over $530 billion in GDP and per capita income near $90,000. Kerala, spread across 38,000 square kilometres with 35 million people, produces roughly $160 billion, with per capita income near $3,400 and a debt-to-GDP ratio above 27 percent.
The deepest obstacle, former officials argue, is political. Kerala’s leadership is heavily shaped by student movements and trade unions. While this grounding has strengths, it also narrows economic vision.
Many civil servants know what must change but fear institutional backlash. Reformers are isolated. Silence becomes a survival strategy. Radical reform is widely acknowledged — and quietly deferred because it is politically inconvenient.
Beyond Cynicism: Kerala 2.0 leaves Kerala with an uncomfortable truth. The problem is no longer ignorance. It is hesitation. The question is no longer what must be done — but who will act, and whether the state can afford to wait.
