On the morning of 1 March, hours after Iranian missiles struck Dubai and Abu Dhabi, the phone lines between the Gulf and Kerala’s Malabar coast jammed. In Thrissur‘s Peruvallur village, Vimalan V, whose daughter is an epidemiologist in Abu Dhabi, was hooked on to television news channels, switching across the plethora of Malayalam news channels.
It was the same scene on repeat at homes across Kerala. In Kozhikode’s Kunnamangalam, a retired accountant who worked in the Kerala Treasury Department, whose two sons work in Qatar’s construction sector, sat frozen before a television showing smoke over Doha’s skyline.
This is not geopolitics in Kerala. This is family.
Kerala has the largest Gulf diaspora of any Indian state. An estimated 2.1 to 2.5 million Keralites work across the UAE, Saudi Arabia, Qatar, Oman, Kuwait, and Bahrain—precisely the six countries struck by Iranian retaliatory missiles since 28 February. The money they send home is not a luxury. It is the architecture of the state’s economy: housing, education, healthcare, banking deposits, and small business capital across every district from Kasaragod to Thiruvananthapuram.
The Money Is Talking
Dr TT Sreekumar, a social scientist and political commentator, put it in terms that have since been quoted across Malayalam media:
"It is not an exaggeration to say that a war in the Gulf is also a war against Kerala. Though Kerala is not a military target, its people, economy and social structure are deeply intertwined with that region. Even if bombs fall there, their shockwaves reach here in the form of reduced remittances, rising fuel prices, job insecurity, family anxieties and shattered dreams.”
The numbers arrived before the explanation. In the first two weeks of March, remittance inflows from the Gulf to India surged 20-30 percent above normal levels, according to banking and remittance industry sources tracked by Policy Circle. But the surge is not a sign of prosperity. It is a sign of fear. Gulf Malayalis are sending money home because they are afraid they may not be able to send it next month.
In Dubai, where smoke rose over Jebel Ali port and debris from intercepted drones struck the Burj al-Arab and Dubai Marina high rises, a construction supervisor from Thrissur’s Chalakudy sent his entire savings—roughly 45,000 dirhams or Rs 11,49,300—home in a single transfer on 2 March. “I don’t know if I’ll have a job next week. The site is shut. The company says wait.”
In Kunnamangalam, the retired accountant received Rs 5 lakh on 3 March—more than his sons usually send in three months. He put the money in a fixed deposit at the district cooperative bank. His sons called to say they are fine. The construction project they work on has been paused. Their visas are valid until October. The company has not said anything about layoffs. The silence, he says, is worse than bad news.
The Structural Vulnerability
The Gulf contributes $51.4 billion annually to India’s remittance inflows—38 percent of the national total, according to Citi Research. Kerala’s share is disproportionately large. Multiple academic studies, including a comprehensive 50-year analysis published in the National Center for Biotechnology Information database, trace Kerala’s post-1970s social transformation directly to Gulf migration and the remittance economy it created.
The heartlands are Malappuram, Thrissur, Kozhikode, and Kannur—districts where “Gulf money” built not just houses but entire local economies. They are also among the most politically sensitive constituencies in the 9 April election.
Now consider what 31 days of war have done to this ecosystem. Brent crude peaked at $126 per barrel. The Indian crude basket reached $113.57. The Strait of Hormuz, through which over 50 percent of India’s crude oil imports transit, is effectively closed—traffic has collapsed from 130 ships per day to single digits.
The Indian rupee hit a record low near 95 to the dollar. Goldman Sachs has cut India’s 2026 GDP forecast to 5.9 percent. Foreign portfolio investors sold $12.5 billion of Indian equities in March alone. India’s total oil reserves—ISPRL strategic caverns plus commercial stocks—cover 74 days, well below the IEA-recommended 90.
The Indian Navy has deployed destroyers to escort tankers in the Gulf of Oman, but lacks the capability to contest Iranian control of the strait itself. Prime Minister Narendra Modi addressed Parliament, stating plainly that the war has caused “a serious energy crisis in the world” and that routine supply of petrol, diesel, gas, and fertilisers has been disrupted. Tens of thousands of Indians have been evacuated from the Gulf. A disproportionate number are Keralites.
Al Jazeera reported that the Iran war puts $50 billion in Indian remittances at risk. S&P’s Deepa Kumar told CNBC that if the conflict lasts beyond six months, it will have a “material impact on the Indian economy.”
For Gulf Malayalis, a weaker rupee makes sending money home more attractive in the short term—each dirham buys more rupees. But it also signals an economy under stress, which means the jobs that generate the dirhams are themselves at risk. Unlike past oil shocks where higher prices boosted Gulf economies and increased remittances to India, this conflict is damaging those economies simultaneously—meaning Kerala faces a triple hit: higher import costs at the pump and the kitchen, lower export demand for its agricultural products, and reduced remittance inflows from a Gulf that is itself under fire.
For Kerala, remittances are not supplementary income. For millions of households, they are the primary income—paying for food, schooling, healthcare, housing, and the EMIs on the houses that Gulf money built. A sustained disruption would not just affect consumption. It would affect the banking system—Kerala’s cooperative banks and district cooperative societies hold deposits that are, in significant part, funded by Gulf transfers.
LPG shortages have already begun in Kerala’s commercial sector, with hotels reporting supply cuts. The fertiliser channel carries its own delayed fuse: the FAO’s Chief Economist has warned that three months of disruption will trigger a global food crisis, with urea prices already up 50 percent.
The Political Faultline
Kerala Chief Minister Pinarayi Vijayan was among the first state leaders in India to publicly condemn the US-Israel strikes. The CPI(M) Polit Bureau issued a statement that strongly condemned the attacks on Iran as “a flagrant violation of Iran’s national sovereignty, the UN Charter and all international treaties.”
This is consistent with the Left’s ideological positioning, but it also reflects something more immediate: the CPI(M) knows that the Gulf is Kerala’s lifeline, and that any perception of indifference would be politically devastating in Malabar.
But the Left Democratic Front (LDF) government faces a structural problem: it cannot control foreign policy. PM Modi’s visit to Israel, concluded days before the strikes, is being quoted in every election rally in Malappuram. The IRIS Dena, an Iranian frigate that was India’s guest at the naval exercise MILAN 2026 in Visakhapatnam, was torpedoed by a US submarine off Sri Lanka on 4 March. India said nothing.
The Congress-led United Democratic Front (UDF) sees an opening. Priyanka Gandhi condemned what she called the targeted assassination of the leadership of a sovereign nation and the killing of civilians, arguing that such acts deserved strong condemnation irrespective of the stated justification. In Kerala, where every Muslim household in Malappuram has a family member in the Gulf, and every Christian household in Thrissur has a relative in Dubai, the Congress line lands differently than it does in Delhi. It lands as a question about safety: is my family safe, and is my government doing enough?
For the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), the war presents a contradiction it cannot resolve within a single election cycle. Its national framing—Modi as Israel’s partner, India as a rising power choosing the right side—works in Uttar Pradesh. In Kerala, where the Gulf is family, that framing collides with the lived experience of missile strikes on the cities where Keralites work, pray, and raise their children.
The Election Calculus
The panic transfers also raise a practical question: will Gulf Malayalis come home to vote? With flights cancelled, airspace disrupted, and some having returned on evacuation flights, the diaspora voting pattern on 9 April could be an invisible variable that no exit poll captures.
The LDF’s risk is double-edged. Vijayan’s condemnation resonates with the Muslim vote in Malabar and the progressive base statewide. But the LDF’s inability to do anything beyond condemn—the tangible failures of evacuation speed, LPG supply, and remittance protection—can be turned against it. The UDF will argue that Congress at the Centre would have managed the crisis differently. The BJP will argue that Modi’s Israel alignment is the price of long-term security. For the Indian Union Muslim League (IUML), the UDF’s crucial Muslim ally, the war’s sectarian undercurrents must be navigated without being branded “pro-Iran” by the BJP.
In Malappuram’s Tirur, Fatima K, a worried voter, will walk to a polling booth on 9 April in a constituency where the LDF won by fewer than 3,000 votes in 2021. She will carry with her the memory of trying to reach her husband when UAE was attacked by Iran. She was one of those hundreds of thousands of people across Kerala simultaneously trying to reach family in the Gulf through whatever channels worked—Botim calls, WhatsApp messages, and regular mobile calls.
In Kunnamangalam, the retired accountant will vote in a constituency where the margin in 2021 was 4,200. He does not know yet who he will vote for. He knows what he will vote about. The Rs 5 lakh in the cooperative bank is not savings. It is fear, converted to currency, deposited against an uncertain future.
No political party has yet spoken to either of them in terms that match the scale of their anxiety. The war is 3,000 kilometres away. Their families are in it. Their votes are here.
The Gulf is not abroad for Kerala. It is an extension of home and home is on fire.
(VK Shashikumar is a former roving foreign affairs correspondent who covered West Asia, and later set up the investigations team at CNN-IBN (now News18). This is an opinion piece and the views expressed are the author's own. The Quint does not endorse or is responsible for them.)