Rising Fertilizer Costs Force South Asian Farmers to Choose Between Crops and Children's Education

As sowing season looms across South Asia, farmers are grappling with a crisis that has roots far beyond their fields. Rising fertiliser costs and shortages, exacerbated by geopolitical tensions in the Gulf, are forcing families to make agonizing choices between feeding their crops and feeding their children. In Gurdaspur, Punjab, India, Ramesh Kumar, 42, stands at the edge of his wheat field, his face etched with concern. The numbers are not just about harvests and profits—they are about survival. "If prices go up more, we will have to cut somewhere," he says. "Maybe delay the wedding. If things get worse… even children's education becomes difficult."

For Kumar, the stakes are personal. School fees for his eldest son, Amit, are due soon, and he has been saving for his younger daughter Varsha's wedding—a tradition that, in rural Punjab, is as much a financial burden as it is a cultural milestone. Even in good years, these expenses are a strain. But this year, the uncertainty is suffocating. Fertiliser, once a predictable expense, has become a gamble. Prices have surged, and supply chains are fraying. "We somehow manage," Kumar says. "But if the harvest is weak, then we have to think about what to prioritise, what to delay."

The crisis is not confined to Punjab. Across South Asia, where nearly two billion people depend on agriculture for their livelihoods, the ripple effects of a distant war are becoming impossible to ignore. At the heart of the problem lies the Strait of Hormuz, a narrow waterway that serves as a lifeline for global energy markets. About one-fifth of the world's oil and liquefied natural gas (LNG) passes through this chokepoint, which Iran closed shortly after the first US-Israeli strikes on Tehran on February 28. The disruption has sent shockwaves through global supply chains, particularly for nitrogen-based fertilisers, which rely heavily on LNG for production.

South Asia's reliance on fertilisers is profound. In India, the agriculture sector employs 46% of the workforce and contributes $400 billion annually to the economy, supporting the livelihoods of over 500 million people. Over 100 million farming families directly depend on it. Yet the region imports a significant portion of its fertiliser needs, including phosphates, potash, and natural gas. About 30–35% of these supplies pass through the Strait of Hormuz, making the region acutely vulnerable to disruptions. In Pakistan, where agriculture contributes nearly 20% of GDP, the situation is equally dire. Between 20–25% of its fertiliser imports—particularly diammonium phosphate (DAP)—transit through the Strait. Domestic natural gas, used to produce urea, is also affected, as Gulf supplies are delayed.

The consequences are already materializing. Fertiliser prices have spiked, pushing costs upward for farmers who must choose between applying enough to ensure a decent yield or cutting back to stretch their budgets. In India, where fertiliser subsidies have long been a cornerstone of agricultural policy, the government is struggling to balance support for farmers with fiscal constraints. Meanwhile, in Bangladesh and Nepal, where agriculture employs nearly 40% and over 60% of the workforce, respectively, the risks are even more severe. Food prices could rise sharply if crop yields decline, threatening to deepen poverty and hunger in some of the world's most vulnerable populations.

For farmers like Kumar, the crisis is a stark reminder of how interconnected the modern world has become. A war in the Gulf, a closed strait, and a delayed LNG shipment—these distant events are no longer abstract headlines. They are shaping the daily lives of millions, forcing families to make impossible choices and threatening the stability of entire regions. As sowing season begins, the question remains: how long can farmers like Kumar hold on?

Bangladesh's agricultural sector, which contributes 12-13% of the nation's GDP, stands at a precarious crossroads. Millions of smallholder farmers depend on imported fertilizers to sustain crops, leaving them vulnerable to global price shocks and supply disruptions. The country's reliance on imports is compounded by the fact that 25-30% of its fertiliser shipments pass through the Strait of Hormuz, a critical chokepoint for global trade. Any instability in this narrow waterway could trigger cascading effects, threatening food security for millions.

Nepal faces similar vulnerabilities. Agriculture accounts for 24% of its GDP, yet the nation imports nearly all its fertilizers. About a quarter of these imports arrive via India, with many routes passing through the Gulf and Hormuz. Farmers here live in a constant state of uncertainty, aware that a single geopolitical shift could disrupt their livelihoods. The stakes are high: even minor disruptions in the Gulf could ripple across South Asia, impacting food production and prices.

Governments have tried to project confidence. In India, Prime Minister Narendra Modi assured Parliament on March 23 that fertiliser supplies for the summer sowing season were secure. He highlighted efforts to diversify import sources, expand domestic production of urea, DAP, and NPK fertilizers, and promote alternatives like nano urea and natural farming. "Adequate arrangements have been made," he declared, citing the PM Kusum scheme's distribution of 2.2 million solar pumps to reduce diesel dependence. Yet, on the ground, farmers remain skeptical.

In Pampore, Kashmir, 53-year-old mustard farmer Ghulam Rasool says fear of war and shipping delays has already driven up fertiliser prices. "We hear about problems before shortages happen," he told Al Jazeera. Farmers, he explains, are cutting back on fertiliser use preemptively, even as production risks loom. "If we use less, yields fall—but sometimes we have no choice." His words echo across South Asia, where uncertainty is reshaping farming practices.

In Pakistan's South Punjab, wheat farmer Muneer Ahmad, 45, prepares for the sowing season with trepidation. Government officials claim they've secured supplies, but Ahmad knows better. "If fertiliser becomes expensive, it affects everyone," he said. His concerns are valid: urea production relies on natural gas, and global energy price shocks can quickly translate into higher costs. For farmers already burdened by loans and expenses, even small increases feel like a crisis.

In Rangpur, Bangladesh, 41-year-old farmer Mohammad Ibrahim describes a growing unpredictability in fertiliser availability. "Sometimes it's there, sometimes not," he said. When it arrives, prices have risen sharply. His experience mirrors that of Meghnath Aryal, a 38-year-old farmer in Nepal's Gulmi district. Aryal fears that delayed or expensive fertiliser shipments could slash crop yields. "If it doesn't arrive on time, the crop suffers," he said. "If it's too costly, we reduce use."

Bangladesh's Agriculture Secretary Rafiqul Mohammad insists the government is "closely monitoring" the situation. Officials have secured plans to import 500,000 tonnes of urea in the coming months and are exploring partnerships with China and Morocco to diversify suppliers. For now, there's no immediate shortage—but the fragility of the system is clear.

Across the region, farmers are navigating a landscape shaped by global politics and economic forces beyond their control. While governments promise stability, the reality for those who till the soil is one of constant adaptation. Every decision—whether to use less fertiliser or invest in solar pumps—carries risks. For millions, the stakes are not just about harvests but survival.

Nepal's Ministry of Agriculture and Livestock Development is bracing for potential disruptions in fertiliser supply chains, as global tensions ripple through the agricultural sector. Ram Krishna Shrestha, joint secretary at the ministry, confirmed to Al Jazeera that domestic fertiliser distribution remains stable for now, with reserves secured for the upcoming rainy season. "We have managed fertilisers for the upcoming season," he said, "but there could be challenges in timely supply because of the current situation." His remarks come amid rising global prices and logistical bottlenecks, including the closure of the Strait of Hormuz, which has disrupted maritime trade routes critical to fertiliser imports.

Shrestha warned that contracted shipments could face delays due to the Middle East crisis, a development that threatens to strain Nepal's agricultural planning. To mitigate risks, the government has urged suppliers to accelerate deliveries and advised farmers to adopt traditional nutrient sources. "Authorities are also advising farmers to increase the use of farmyard manure, compost, green manuring, and azolla," he said, highlighting the push for self-reliance in the face of uncertainty. However, no immediate subsidies have been announced, despite ongoing discussions about potential adjustments.

The stakes extend far beyond Nepal's borders. Across South Asia, fertiliser availability has long been a lifeline for maintaining crop yields and feeding growing populations. Any disruption in supply or spike in costs could trigger a domino effect, reducing production and inflating food prices. For governments, the challenge is twofold: balancing affordability for farmers through subsidies while safeguarding public finances amid rising global prices. In India, Ramesh Kumar, a farmer in Uttar Pradesh, is already feeling the pressure. "It is a risk," he said, admitting he's cutting back on fertiliser use this season. "But what choice do we have?"

Kumar's dilemma is a microcosm of the broader crisis. Lower yields mean less income, forcing difficult choices at home. "School fees have to be paid. Household expenses cannot stop," he said, staring at his fields. "And the wedding… we will see." His words underscore the human cost of a crisis that feels distant to many but intimately felt by those who depend on the land.

In Pakistan, Ahmad, a farmer in Punjab, fears rising costs could push him into debt. In Bangladesh, Ibrahim worries about fertiliser shortages, while in Nepal, Aryal anticipates delays in shipments. For Kumar, the situation is stark: "For others, this is about war. For us, it is about whether we can take care of our family." As governments grapple with the fallout, the urgency of finding solutions grows, with food security hanging in the balance.