Akshat Srivastav offered a critique of the structural cost of living for those seeking a certain standard of life in India. He argued that the same arithmetic applies to housing, private education, healthcare, safety, and lifestyle infrastructure
On August 31, 2025, YouTuber and investment coach Akshat Shrivastava triggered a sharp and uncomfortable conversation when he stated that India is one of the most expensive countries in the world for the rich. At first glance, the claim sounds counterintuitive. India is routinely portrayed—through Purchasing Power Parity (PPP) data, cost-of-living indices, and global economic narratives—as an inexpensive country, a place where money stretches further than in most developed economies. Yet Shrivastava’s argument cuts through that comforting generalization and exposes a more nuanced, and for many, more painful reality: India may be cheap for survival, but it is extraordinarily expensive for aspiration.
To illustrate his point, Shrivastava cited a personal example. He bought a Toyota RAV4 in the UAE for 109,000 AED, roughly ₹25.6 lakh, inclusive of insurance and three years of maintenance. Had he bought the same vehicle in India, the on-road cost would have been approximately ₹40 lakh. But the comparison does not stop there. To even have ₹40 lakh available for discretionary spending in India, one must first earn significantly more because of taxation. Assuming a conservative effective tax rate of 30 percent, an individual would need to earn about ₹57.14 lakh pre-tax to afford that car. In contrast, in the UAE, with zero personal income tax, the sticker price is effectively the final price. The result is stark: the same car costs more than double for an Indian resident compared to a UAE resident when taxation and purchasing pathways are factored in.
This is not merely a complaint about high car prices. It is a critique of the structural cost of living for those seeking a certain standard of life in India. Shrivastava explicitly rejected the idea that he was cherry-picking automobiles as an example. He argued that the same arithmetic applies to housing, private education, healthcare, safety, and lifestyle infrastructure. When one steps beyond basic necessities and aims for quality—good schools, reliable healthcare, safe neighborhoods, decent urban infrastructure—India becomes punishingly expensive.
The popular reliance on PPP metrics obscures this truth. PPP is designed to compare the cost of a standardized basket of goods across countries, adjusting for local prices. It works reasonably well for essentials: food grains, basic clothing, public transport, entry-level housing, and low-end services. For a large segment of India’s population, especially those earning modest incomes, life is indeed cheaper in absolute terms than in the West or the Gulf. Domestic help is affordable, public healthcare exists at low cost, and subsidized goods cushion the poor. PPP captures this layer of reality effectively.
But PPP fails dramatically when applied to aspirational consumption. It does not adequately account for the fact that high-quality goods and services in India are often priced at global or near-global levels, sometimes even higher due to taxes, import duties, inefficiencies, and scarcity premiums. A luxury car in India is not cheaper simply because the country is poorer; it is more expensive because it is heavily taxed as a “sin” or “luxury” item. Imported electronics, premium appliances, and global brands frequently cost more in India than in Singapore, Dubai, or even parts of Europe.
Housing offers an even clearer illustration. Entry-level housing may be inexpensive on a PPP basis, but a “good” house—defined as one located in a safe neighborhood, close to quality schools, hospitals, and employment hubs—is exorbitantly priced in Indian metros. Real estate prices in Mumbai, Delhi NCR, Bengaluru, and Hyderabad rival or exceed those in many developed cities, while offering inferior infrastructure. Buyers pay not only for space but for scarcity, regulatory bottlenecks, opaque transactions, and decades of accumulated inefficiency in urban planning. Add registration costs, stamp duties, and maintenance charges, and the price of living well in an Indian city becomes staggering.
Education is another domain where PPP illusions collapse. Government schools may be inexpensive, but aspirational families overwhelmingly rely on private education. Good private schools charge fees comparable to international standards, often without delivering commensurate facilities or outcomes. Higher education presents an even sharper contrast. A quality private university in India can cost tens of lakhs, while offering limited global recognition. Meanwhile, many developed countries offer subsidized or free higher education to residents, funded by the very taxes that Indian professionals pay without receiving equivalent returns.
Healthcare, too, is frequently cited as a low-cost advantage of India, but that assessment only holds for basic care. Serious illnesses push families toward private hospitals, where costs can be ruinous. Advanced treatments, long-term care, and critical procedures are often priced at levels that assume high purchasing power, without the safety nets seen in welfare states. Insurance coverage is improving, but out-of-pocket expenses remain substantial, making quality healthcare another premium commodity.
Safety and civic infrastructure further complicate the picture. In countries like the UAE, safety, cleanliness, reliable utilities, and efficient public services are embedded into daily life and funded through state revenues, often without direct taxation on individuals. In India, individuals must privately pay for what the state struggles to provide universally. Gated communities, private security, backup power, water purification systems, and private transport are not luxuries but necessities for those seeking reliability. Each layer adds to the cost of living well.
This cumulative burden explains a phenomenon that statistics increasingly reflect: India now has one of the highest millionaire migration ratios in the world. Wealthy Indians are not necessarily fleeing poverty or lack of opportunity; they are arbitraging lifestyle efficiency. When individuals realize that earning and spending money abroad yields a higher quality of life at a lower effective cost, relocation becomes a rational economic decision. In the UAE, Singapore, or parts of Europe, taxes may be high or low, but in either case, the value proposition is clearer. Either one pays higher taxes and receives robust public services, or one pays minimal taxes and enjoys efficient, world-class infrastructure. In India, one often pays high taxes and still pays privately for everything else.
This creates a paradox at the heart of India’s economic narrative. The country celebrates rising numbers of millionaires and billionaires while simultaneously pushing many of them to seek residency elsewhere. The issue is not patriotism or lack thereof; it is incentives. When the marginal cost of living well becomes punitive, capital and talent naturally seek jurisdictions where effort and reward align more closely.
Shrivastava’s argument also exposes an uncomfortable truth about inequality. India is inexpensive precisely because a large segment of the population cannot afford quality goods and services. Low average prices are sustained by low average incomes. But for those who rise above that average and aspire to global standards, the system extracts a disproportionate premium. In effect, India subsidizes affordability for the masses by taxing aspiration for the few. While this may be politically defensible, it has long-term consequences for innovation, investment, and retention of talent.
None of this is to deny India’s strengths. The country offers immense opportunity, a vast market, entrepreneurial energy, and cultural richness that cannot be reduced to balance sheets. For many, especially those embedded in family networks and local ecosystems, the trade-offs are worth it. But the narrative that India is simply “cheap” is misleading and, for aspirational professionals, dangerously incomplete. PPP, as Shrivastava points out, does not capture the lived reality of those seeking good houses, decent cars, quality education, reliable healthcare, and personal safety. It measures survival, not success. As India continues to grow and integrate into the global economy, this distinction will become more pronounced. If policymakers wish to retain wealth and talent, the focus must shift from headline affordability to value for money. Until then, the arithmetic that Shrivastava outlined with a single car purchase will continue to play out across every major life decision—and for many Indians with means, the conclusion will remain the same: living well elsewhere simply costs less.
