On a busy Tuesday afternoon in Noida, a satellite city bordering India’s capital New Delhi, domestic cleaner Seema Kumari steps through the door of a client’s home in a faded purple T-shirt and gets straight to work. In just 55 minutes, she wipes down sticky kitchen counters, scrubs years of grime from the balcony railing, straightens rumpled bedsheets, and mops every last corner of the floor, leaving the space spotless before heading to her next scheduled booking. Like millions of domestic workers across India, Seema now works through Urban Company, one of a new wave of home-service startups that let urban customers book everything from deep cleaning to beauty treatments on demand, often with as little as 15 minutes’ notice.
For generations, domestic work in India has operated almost entirely through informal word-of-mouth networks, with workers hired off the books and paid exclusively in cash. Today, a growing cohort of digital startups is moving this centuries-old sector online, rolling out on-demand short-task booking services across major Indian cities. These platforms are entering a massive, nearly entirely unregulated market: industry estimates place the total number of domestic workers in India at roughly 30 million, the vast majority of whom are women with limited access to formal, steady employment options. One of the newest entrants, Pronto, launched just last year, has already scaled to 15,000 daily bookings within 10 months of operation, with peak demand concentrated in Delhi and its surrounding suburbs, followed by Mumbai and Bengaluru.
For decades, domestic work in India has been defined by low wages, job insecurity, and near-total lack of regulation, in large part because it takes place behind closed doors in private residences. Platforms like Urban Company and Pronto frame their entry into the market as a force for good, arguing that they can formalize the sector by offering standardized worker training, transparent fixed pricing, and traceable digital wage payments. For workers like Seema, the shift has brought tangible new economic opportunities — but it has also introduced unprecedented pressures and algorithmic control that did not exist in the old informal system.
Before joining Urban Company, Seema worked 12-hour shifts at a local garment factory, earning just 10,000 to 14,000 Indian rupees (approximately $108 to $151) per month. She quit the role last year after hearing the platform was hiring new cleaners, drawn by the promise of higher, more consistent earnings. “I now make around 20,000 rupees a month,” she says, explaining that the increased income lets her cover school fees and basic needs for her two children. While her monthly earning potential is listed as 25,000 rupees on the platform, she takes home far less after automatic fines for booking cancellations, low client ratings, and late arrivals. “I have made the full amount only once, when I did not take any leave and worked for at least eight hours every day,” she notes.
Unlike the flexible informal arrangements of the past, platform-based domestic work is fully governed by algorithmic systems that assign jobs, track worker performance, and automatically impose penalties for rule violations. Even delays entirely outside a worker’s control can result in fines, Seema explains: “We often have to walk from one location to another. Sometimes security guards hold us up at the gate while they verify our entry into the building. That makes us late and then we are penalized — even if it is by five minutes.”
This experience is not unique. An anonymous household client in Gurgaon shared that her app-based cleaner arrived a few minutes late and was automatically fined 10 rupees by the platform, a penalty the worker showed her directly on the app. The BBC reached out to Urban Company for comment on its penalty policy but received no response; Pronto stated it does not fine workers for late arrivals.
Client ratings add another constant layer of stress for workers. One cleaner who accidentally broke a curtain rod during a job begged her client not to leave a negative review, explaining that a poor score would drastically reduce her future booking opportunities. Labour rights activists argue that the strict time and performance expectations imposed by platforms are often unworkable and dehumanizing. “It is inhuman to expect that someone can simply be summoned within 15 minutes,” says activist Akriti Bhatia. “These are people, not automated systems.”
Beyond performance pressure, algorithmic governance also creates unpredictable earnings. Most platforms use either per-task payment models with performance-based incentives or variable fixed pay structures, meaning a worker’s monthly income is entirely shaped by their ratings and algorithmic allocation, rather than a set contracted wage. Pronto founder Anjali Sardana argues that the platform’s model delivers meaningful progress for workers, pointing to direct bank deposits and optional health and accident insurance as key steps toward formalization. But critics remain deeply skeptical. Bhatia notes that while digital payments have brought a small degree of formality to the sector, workers still lack core labor protections including paid leave, pensions, and minimum wage guarantees. With almost no unionization among platform domestic workers, most have little to no bargaining power to push for better conditions. Platforms counter that they offer internal grievance redressal systems and emergency support for workers who face hostile situations with clients, but activists say these measures do little to address the daily struggles of on-demand work.
The relentless pace of back-to-back bookings has also taken a toll on workers’ basic well-being. In Hyderabad, domestic cleaner Amrutha says she declines offers of water during shifts because she cannot be sure she will have access to a public restroom between bookings, a common issue given that many private households still bar domestic workers from using their in-home bathrooms. While platforms state they operate service hubs with public restrooms for workers between shifts, many workers report not knowing these facilities exist, and instead wait for their next booking in public parks, building stairwells, or bus stops. What was once unstructured downtime to rest, eat, or travel between jobs has shrunk dramatically as demand for on-demand services has grown. “There are days when I don’t even get time to eat. It has started taking a toll on my health,” Seema says.
This tension between expanded opportunity and increased exploitation is not a new pattern for India’s gig economy. The same trade-off played out when ride-hailing platforms like Uber and food delivery apps like Zomato first entered the Indian market. “We’ve seen this pattern before,” Bhatia explains. “Many venture-funded platforms initially offer higher pay and discounts to attract users and workers. Over time, that balance shifts” toward greater pressure and lower earnings for workers.
While instant on-demand home services have gained rapid popularity among young, urban, middle-class households, many families remain hesitant to adopt the new model. Sushma, a long-time Delhi resident, says she was uncomfortable when her adult children booked an app-based cleaner after her regular domestic worker missed a day of work. “I do not know the person,” she says. “How do I let them into my house?” She also expressed concern about how the shift would affect her long-standing working relationship with her regular informal helper. Her hesitation reflects broader unease about how digital platforms are reshaping decades-old social and economic ties between households and domestic workers.
As on-demand domestic services continue to grow across India, they are transforming not just how work is booked and paid for, but how the work is experienced by both workers and clients. For Seema, despite the constant pressure, the physical toll, and the unpredictable earnings, the job remains a lifeline. As she finishes her last booking of the day in Noida, another notification pops up on her phone for a new shift the next morning. “The work is tough and I am looking for other opportunities,” she says. “But for now, it helps me take care of my children, so I’ll keep going.”