The New GST Mantra: Pay More to Puff, Pay Nothing to Heal

The Indian taxpayer has grown up believing two universal truths: one, death is inevitable; and two, the government will tax you for everything you need to survive until that death. Eat, sleep, travel, breathe—and there will be a babu somewhere ready to slap a cess on it.

That is why the GST Council’s recent decision to cut rates feels almost revolutionary. For once, instead of taking away, the government is giving back. The average man in this country, who spends more time counting his pennies than his blessings, can finally see a tax system that doesn’t treat him like a milch cow.

Take something as mundane as soap and shampoo. For years, cleaning yourself was treated like a luxury. You would have thought bathing twice a day was a crime against the Republic. Now, GST has been slashed to 5% on these items. It is a small mercy, but one that will be felt every morning when the family lines up outside the bathroom. Toothpaste too is cheaper. At last, brushing your teeth won’t feel like you’re paying EMI to the Finance Ministry.

The kitchen, that sacred battlefield of the Indian household, is also breathing easier. Utensils, stoves, and basic food items have been pushed into lower tax slabs of 5%. And—this one deserves a standing ovation—even the humble chapati has escaped the taxman’s net. For years, the roti was taxed like it was foie gras. Now, common sense has prevailed. Eating bread in your own home is no longer considered a taxable luxury.

But the real game-changer is healthcare. Medicines, diagnostic kits, and health insurance premiums are reduced to 0%. In a country where one serious illness can turn the middle class into paupers overnight, this is not just tax reform—it is a lifeline. Of course, hospitals will still find ways to charge you for oxygen and for the chair you sit on in the waiting room, but at least the government won’t be joining in the looting with its inflated GST rates.

Farmers, those eternal election mascots, have also received long-overdue relief. Fertilizers, tractors, composting machines—all have been placed in lower brackets of 5%. It won’t stop loan sharks from circling the fields, but it does mean the kisan can afford a little more input for his crops. 

Renewable energy equipment too has been given concessions, which sounds very noble, though most villagers would be happier with electricity that stays on longer than a cricket over.

Handicrafts and small industries—long the poor cousins of our economic story—are also in focus. By cutting GST on these sectors, the government signals it hasn’t forgotten about artisans who still weave, carve, and stitch beauty into objects of daily life. Whether this support translates into real survival for these trades remains to be seen, but at least the taxman isn’t kicking them when they’re already down.

And what of the businessman? Here is where the reforms quietly shine. Registration is easier, returns simpler, refunds faster. For decades, Indian traders have spent more time buttering babus than serving customers. The dreaded “inverted duty structure” is being corrected, bringing predictability. No trader wants to spend his evenings decoding GST rules thicker than Tolstoy’s 'War and Peace'. With these changes, he might just get back to the business of business.

Now, let us not pretend everything is roses. Luxury goods and sin products—cigarettes, pan masala, gutkha—remain heavily taxed. And frankly, why not? If you want to fill your lungs with smoke or stain your teeth red, you may as well contribute to the exchequer while you’re at it. It’s a perverse form of social justice: the vices of some pay for the needs of many.

The larger implication is this: GST reforms will not only lower costs for households, they will also stimulate consumption. A rupee saved on soap is a rupee spent on vegetables, cinema tickets, or schoolbooks. Lower taxes on tractors mean more money in farmers’ hands, which means better rural demand. Simplified compliance will free up business capital, leading to investment and jobs.

But perhaps the greatest victory here is psychological. Indians have long seen the tax system as a hostile, parasitic creature—always taking, never giving. With these reforms, the government appears, at least for once, to be on the side of the citizen. That perception alone could revive faith in a system that often feels stacked against the ordinary man.

Will these changes transform the economy overnight? Of course not. This is India, where nothing moves overnight except political alliances. But they mark a step in the right direction: a tax regime that smiles, instead of snarls, at its people.

So yes, miracles do happen. The government has decided to behave. Next, perhaps, our potholes will vanish, trains will run on time, and politicians will tell the truth. But let’s not get carried away. One miracle at a time.