Buy Now, Cry Forever as India Turns Housing Into a Rigged Board Game

In 1904, Elizabeth Magie invented The Landlord’s Game. It wasn’t meant to be a family pastime but a political lesson: that when land is monopolised, rents soar, and ordinary people get squeezed until their dreams collapse. The irony, of course, is that her warning was repackaged into Monopoly, a cheery board game where kids gleefully bankrupt each other.

India, a century later, is not merely playing The Landlord’s Game, but is living it. Except here the board is stretched from Mumbai’s Worli to Bangalore’s Whitefield, the dice are rigged, and the “Chance” cards are bribes at the registration office. Everyone is told they’re a player. In reality, most are tokens, not players, just pieces moved at will.

Remember Monopoly’s Boardwalk? Today, even that looks cheap compared to a Mumbai flat. Flats in Gurugram now sell for as much as ₹ 1 billion. The Aditya Birla Group’s Niyaara project sells 3BHK duplexes for ₹ 308 million in Worli, a figure so surreal you expect it to include not just the flat but tuition at Eton, a lifetime supply of Moët, and a driver named Jeeves. Per square foot, prices of ₹ 100,000 are now commonplace. But the fatigue is showing up. In Pune, long considered the “middle-class stronghold,” sales fell 29% in the first half of 2025. Buyers walked in, saw the prices, and walked out, convinced that renting was the only sane square on the board.

In Magie’s original game, rents always flow upward to the landlord. India has taken this lesson to heart. Prices here don’t fall. Ever. Even when sales tank 34% in Mumbai or 20% in Hyderabad, developers sit smug, citing “high land costs” and “input inflation.”

But insiders whisper the truth. Large blocks of apartments are cornered by investors who pay token amounts, sit on inventory, and choke supply until prices rise. The illusion of scarcity keeps the market frothy. The builder smiles. The banker nods. And “someone” collects. And the buyer keeps circling the board, waiting for a square he can afford.

In Monopoly, “Pass Go” earns you $200. In India’s version, it costs you. Need a change-of-land-use certificate? Pay. Environmental clearance? Pay. Registration office? Pay again. Builders complain that bribes eat into margins, while they simultaneously land helicopters at real estate expos.

It’s a system so entrenched that the Real Estate Regulatory Authority, once touted as the consumer’s knight in shining armour, is now a glorified waiting room for grievances that rarely see daylight. The game isn’t refereed; it is refereed by the landlords themselves.

Our parents bought homes in their twenties. That ship has sailed, been pirated, and turned into a Gurgaon clubhouse. Today’s millennials, armed with degrees, six-figure salaries, and side hustles, still find themselves in 1RKs with lizards named Sopranoscale.

Even the wealthiest 5% of households in Maharashtra would need 109 years of savings to afford a modest Mumbai home. In Gurgaon, 64 years. Bangalore, 36. Chandigarh alone remains an oasis where a house can be had in just 15 years of disciplined saving - if you forgo eating.

This is not homeownership. This is generational theft disguised as aspiration.

Elizabeth Magie designed her game to show how landlords hoard wealth. Indian developers, by contrast, have turned this into a business model. They can transform cow pastures into “Smart Cities,” garbage dumps into “Eco Enclaves,” and banana plantations into “Global Lifestyle Communities.” Completion dates, naturally, are more flexible than election manifestos.

Meanwhile, the state plays cheerleader. Subsidies, tax breaks, and stamp duty cuts don’t make homes cheaper. They just make debt easier. The government, in effect, has become the marketing wing of the real estate lobby. “Housing for All” quietly morphed into “Loans for All.”

Elizabeth Magie’s efforts actually led to two versions of her game: one monopolist (rents enrich landlords, tenants go bust), and one anti-monopolist (rents are shared to create balance), developed by Ralph Anspach. India clearly picked the wrong edition.

Our version has no reset button. The landlords always win, the dice are loaded, and the next generation is trapped in an endless cycle of circling the board—paying rent, paying bribes, paying EMIs, without ever “passing Go.”

Shampoo Sachet Homes: The Next Frontier
When you can’t sell soap bars to the poor, you sell shampoo sachets. Real estate is now inching toward the same epiphany. If you can’t afford a home, perhaps you can afford a fraction of one - a “co-living pod,” a “microflat,” or some future dystopian marvel branded as “NanoNest: Homes for the Aspiring.”

Expect developers to market 100-square-foot capsules with the same flourish as luxury villas. They’ll be “ergonomically optimised urban cocoons” where the kitchen doubles as the bed and the bathroom doubles as the balcony. Prices will be marketed as “only ₹ 4.9 million,” a steal compared to the billion-club towers next door.

In other words: sachet housing, India’s gift to urban planning. Shampoo for your hair, sachets for your home, EMIs for your grandchildren.

Park Place or Pipe Dream?
India’s housing market is no longer about shelter. It’s a machine to manufacture inequality, a shrine to greed, and a treadmill of EMIs disguised as prestige.

So, if you’re a young Indian staring at glossy brochures with names like SkyLife Residences or Whispering Palms, remember: you’re not buying a home. You’re buying into a century-old board game designed to ensure you never win.

Are they the only real strategies left? Win the lottery. Marry into property. Or, Magie forgive us, move to Dubai, where even Park Place costs less than a decent apartment in suburban Mumbai.

And if none of that works, don’t worry: sachet homes are coming soon. One square metre at a time.