India's economy is undergoing a dramatic transformation. But its competition policy feels like a relic. While the world redesigns antitrust frameworks for the digital age, India continues to address 21st-c. monopolies with tools that belong to the typewriter era.

The risk is not simply about policy lag. It's about allowing the marketplace to evolve into something it was never meant to be - a moat for incumbents, rather than a playground for new ideas.

There is something oddly theatrical about India's markets. A few giants now play every role - producer, distributor, seller and reviewer. If capitalism were a Bollywood film, we would be somewhere deep into the second act. The camera never pans away from the stars. The script is over-designed, the plot barely believable, and the supporting cast is left applauding from the wings.

What this production lacks is direction. A strong antitrust regime should function as the off-stage hand that can stop the show when the ensemble is replaced by a monopoly.

Start with the illusion of choice. Consumers seem to have endless options. Multiple apps, brands and platforms. In reality, their decisions are quietly managed by default settings, recommendation engines and closed ecosystems. You think you are shopping around. You are actually walking a hallway with two doors, both leading to the same room. This isn't a marketplace of ideas. It's an orchestra conducted by a duopoly that writes both the score and the reviews.

India's Competition Act of 2002 was well-intended. But it was born in a simpler time. It functions well in hindsight. It spots the corpse, but doesn't see the murder coming. In a world where algorithmic decisions are made in milliseconds, retrospective enforcement is like sending a telegram after a cyberattack.

We don't need more post-mortems. We need a pre-emptive immune system. One that stops dominance before it ossifies.

The trouble is not confined to digital platforms. The same centralisation is quietly embedding itself into India's physical infrastructure. Ports, airports, fibre networks, toll roads, data centres - arteries of the economy are increasingly controlled by a select few. When a single group manages warehouse, gateway, fibre pipe and checkout, what you have is not a supply chain but a bottleneck with a business plan.

Consumers are left with the 'invisible tax of absence'. No second airport terminal, no rival broadband, no alternative toll road. Choice, in infrastructure, is not a feature. It is the foundation. And that foundation is steadily being privatised.

Around the world, competition authorities have shifted focus. The EU's Digital Markets Act targets gatekeepers who control access to platforms and users. It forbids self-preferencing, demands data separation and insists on real interoperability. Britain followed with its 2024 legislation that empowers regulators to intervene before harm becomes structural.

The US, traditionally more lenient, is catching up. Federal Trade Commission, under Lina Khan, has taken on Big Tech with a zeal not seen in decades. Lawsuits have replaced policy briefs, and default settings are now considered battlegrounds for competition. Even Japan and South Korea have started examining algorithmic bias and platform neutrality.

China's approach is more opaque, but no less firm. When its regulators bring down a tech giant, it's often swift and politically aligned. The message is simple: no company grows beyond the state's comfort zone.

India is inching towards the future with its proposed Digital Competition Bill. The Bill seeks to impose obligations on 'systemically significant digital intermediaries', asking them to behave more like neutral infrastructure and less like landlords with a favourite tenant. No bundling. No unfair ranking. No quiet preference for in-house brands. It borrows from Brussels, adapts for Delhi, and if enforced well, it could make up for decades of policy inertia.

Because without it, the market won't crash but congeal. Space for startups will shrink, funding will chase favour rather than innovation. The price of admission will no longer be a good idea but a good relationship with the gatekeepers.

Antitrust policy is not a punishment for success. It's a safety net for fairness. It ensures that achievement does not calcify into entitlement. It reminds us that markets are not meant to be gated estates where old money and new data sit comfortably, sipping synergy.

India stands at a crucial fork. One road leads to genuine plurality - more products, platforms, participants. The other leads to a curated monopoly garden where every flower is owned, every bench reserved, and the public is welcome only on guided tours.

The market is not your mother. It does not love you unconditionally. It will not hold your hand through failure, or clap for your potential. It'll reward dominance if no one stops it. And punish aspiration if no one protects it.