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On a busy day at the Andhra Pradesh Assembly in Amaravati, a familiar tension filled the air—not the usual political sparring, but something deeper and more urgent. The state’s IT Minister, Nara Lokesh, rose to address a question that had been simmering for weeks: Should Visakhapatnam, a city beloved for its beaches and increasingly known as a hub for business, really be hosting massive data centres? The question sounded technical, but the anxieties beneath it were personal. People worried about water, about electricity, about whether their home was being turned into a concrete jungle for machines. Lokesh, however, was not there to dodge those worries. He was there to confront them, to separate fact from fear, and to explain why the state government believes data centres are not just a corporate convenience but a cornerstone of India’s digital future. He acknowledged straightaway that there is a cloud of “deliberate misinformation” hanging over the project, particularly concerning the environmental footprint and the water demands of these facilities. In a world where a single viral video can sow more doubt than a thousand technical reports, the minister knew he had to speak less like a bureaucrat and more like a neighbour trying to set the record straight.
Lokesh then turned to a piece of news that had quietly electrified the state’s tech community: the decision by Google to invest in Visakhapatnam. This was not just another company choosing an office location. It was a signal, a vote of confidence that rippled across the industry. Suddenly, other IT firms began to look at Visakhapatnam with fresh eyes, seeing what the state government had been betting on all along—that the city possesses the mix of infrastructure, talent, and coastal energy to become a serious player in the digital economy. But why are data centres so important in the first place? Lokesh explained this with a simplicity that cut through the noise: data centres are the physical backbone of an AI-driven world. Every time you use a smart assistant, stream a film, or trust a digital payment, you are drawing on the power of a data centre somewhere. As India pushes toward digital sovereignty, especially in an era of rising geopolitical friction, owning and controlling these facilities becomes as strategic as owning ports or highways. The minister framed this not as a corporate handout but as a national security and economic imperative. He urged critics to see the forest beyond the trees—these centres are not just rows of servers humming in the dark; they are the future of jobs, of innovation, and of India’s ability to stand tall in a world where data is the new oil.
Of course, the most emotionally charged issue was water. The very word becomes a lightning rod in a drought-prone region, and Visakhapatnam is no exception. Lokesh did not shy away from the numbers. He laid the cards on the table: once the proposed data-centre ecosystem reaches its targeted capacity of 6.5 gigawatts, the annual water requirement would be about 3 TMC—that is, three thousand million cubic feet—based on current cooling technologies. To the average person, those figures might sound enormous, and that instinct is exactly what fear-mongers feed on. But Lokesh was quick to contextualise the number. He pointed out that this is an estimate for a fully built-out ecosystem, not today’s reality. More importantly, he stressed that cooling technology is not static; it is evolving at a breakneck pace. Newer methods—such as closed-loop systems, air-based cooling, and other innovations—are expected to dramatically reduce water consumption in the coming years. The minister’s tone was not one of reckless optimism but of measured confidence. He was essentially saying: We are not marching blindly into the future; we are planning for it with our eyes wide open. And by putting the number out there transparently, he hoped to dismantle the exaggerations that have been circulating, persuading people that the government is not hiding anything.
Perhaps the most reassuring part of Lokesh’s speech was his commitment to where the water would come from. He took great care to say that the water for data centres would be drawn from the industrial allocation of the Polavaram Project—a major, long-awaited irrigation and drinking-water initiative. In plain language, this means the data centres will not be dipping into the same tank that serves the households of Visakhapatnam. The port city’s residents will not have to choose between their morning shower and a server cooling system. That distinction matters immensely. Anyone who has ever stood in line for a water tanker remembers the bitter taste of injustice when industries seem to get priority over people. Lokesh was clearly aware of this anxiety, and he made it a point to address it head-on. He further promised that a dedicated pipeline system would supply the data centres, ensuring that there is no mixing of usage and no ambiguity about whose share is whose. Beyond that, he shared a more hopeful vision for the city’s water future: the government is committed to supplying Visakhapatnam’s urban water needs through the Polavaram Project, with a gravity-based supply expected within the next eighteen months. Gravity means less pumping, lower energy costs, and a more reliable, sustainable water flow. It was a vision of abundance rather than scarcity, and Lokesh presented it with the confidence of a man who believes the infrastructure is finally coming together.
To further neutralise the criticism, Lokesh drew a comparison so stark that it should reframe the entire debate. He asked the Assembly to consider a conventional 1-gigawatt thermal power plant—the kind of facility that has powered Indian cities for decades, belching smoke and bubbling with cooling towers. Such a plant, he said, consumes nearly ten times more water in a year than a data centre of the same capacity. Yet, no one calls for shutting down thermal plants solely because of water usage. People understand that power plants serve a critical function, so they tolerate the environmental costs. Why, then, are data centres being held to a different standard? Why is the outrage so selective? It is a powerful rhetorical question. In a society that often treats the new with suspicion and the familiar with acceptance, Lokesh was asking for fairness. He was not dismissing environmental concerns—in fact, he made it clear that the state is taking them seriously. But he was pushing back against a narrative that seems to single out the technology sector for scrutiny while giving older, more polluting industries a pass. Lokesh also shared a significant update: Chief Minister N. Chandrababu Naidu had set a clear upper limit of 6.5 gigawatts for data-centre allocations, and that target has now been fully achieved. To make the policy even more responsible, the government has said it will prioritise companies that demonstrate strong environmental responsibility. In other words, the door is not wide open for anyone with a server rack; it is being opened selectively, deliberately, and with a green lens.
In the end, Lokesh’s address was more than a defence of a policy; it was an invitation to see the future without fear. The world is changing, and data centres are part of the infrastructure of that change. They are places where information lives, where artificial intelligence learns, and where India’s digital dream is stored and protected. None of this means ignoring the legitimate concerns of citizens, especially when it comes to precious resources like water. But it means engaging with those concerns honestly, with numbers and timelines and clear commitments, rather than yielding to panic. Lokesh’s central message was one of balance—balance between development and environmental stewardship, between attracting global investment and protecting local communities, between the speed of innovation and the caution of governance. He spoke as a minister who understood that trust is built not through slogans but through transparency. By addressing the misinformation directly, by sharing the numbers, by drawing fair comparisons, and by promising dedicated pipelines and industrial allocations, he made a case that the burden is on the government to prove its good intentions. Whether the public will accept that case remains to be seen. But in a democracy, that is exactly how it should be—leaders explain, citizens judge. And on this day in Amaravati, the explanation was made, not with arrogance, but with an appeal to reason, to fairness, and to the shared hope that Visakhapatnam can become a city where progress and nature do not have to be enemies, but can thrive side by side.