forged documents routinely derail property certainty. With millions of Indians unable to prove legal ownership despite living on their land for generations, it is no surprise that the Court is pushing for digital transparency.

At first glance, blockchain seems like a perfect fit. By design, it creates decentralised, time stamped, unalterable ledgers. Once a transaction is recorded, it cannot be changed without leaving a trace. For land records—where forgery, erasure, and backdated entries have historically facilitated corruption—this is revolutionary. States like Andhra Pradesh, Telangana, and Maharashtra have already conducted pilot projects, and the early results suggest significant reductions in manipulation and dispute potential.

However, the excitement must not overlook the complexity of India’s land regime. Blockchain does not magically resolve disputes; it merely records information more securely. If the underlying data is faulty, politically influenced, or disputed—as is true for a large portion of Indian land—blockchain only ends up cementing flawed records. “Garbage in, garbage forever” is a real risk. Before digitisation, records must be verified, surveyed, mapped, and cleaned. That requires an administrative overhaul, not just a technological upgrade.

Equally concerning are privacy and data protection issues. A blockchain ledger, by nature, prioritises transparency. But land records often contain delicate personal information—family details, inheritance patterns, financial transactions. Without a robust data protection law (India’s current framework is still evolving), the possibility of misuse cannot be dismissed. Once sensitive data is placed on a blockchain, it becomes extraordinarily difficult to redact. What happens if land details become a tool for political profiling, commercial exploitation, or harassment? A decentralised system with weak safeguards could compromise citizens far more than a corrupt patwari ever did.

There is also the issue of digital inequity. Millions in rural India still struggle with basic digital literacy. If blockchain-based land management becomes the new norm, the process must remain citizen-friendly. A system that requires QR-code verification, cryptographic keys, or app-based mutation may inadvertently push small farmers into the hands of touts and intermediaries—defeating the very purpose of the reform.

Cost and infrastructure pose further questions. Blockchain solutions, particularly permissioned government-grade systems, are expensive to build and maintain. They require uninterrupted power, secure servers, trained personnel, and continuous audits. Without long-term government commitment, these systems risk becoming abandoned digital relics—much like earlier e-governance platforms that began with fanfare but faded due to poor upkeep.

None of these challenges mean blockchain should be abandoned. The Supreme Court’s push is timely and visionary. But blockchain must be a tool, not a shortcut; a backbone for a reformed land ecosystem, not a superficial layer over a broken foundation. The government’s focus must be two-fold: first, verify and clean existing records; second, build a blockchain system that is secure, privacy-preserving, and accessible to the poorest citizen.

If implemented thoughtfully, blockchain can indeed revolutionise land governance—bringing clarity, trust, and efficiency to one of India’s most contentious sectors. But if rushed, it risks creating a new digital bureaucracy, new avenues of exclusion, and new forms of data vulnerability.

India stands at a crossroads: one path leads to transparent, modernised property rights; the other to high-tech chaos. The Supreme Court has opened the door. Walking through it wisely is now the nation’s responsibility.