In the bustling streets of Delhi's Nehru Place, a unique phenomenon is taking shape. Technicians are breathing new life into discarded laptops, creating "Frankenstein" machines that are a mix of salvaged parts from multiple brands. These hybrid devices are sold to students, gig workers, and small businesses, providing an affordable alternative to brand-new laptops.

The demand for these refurbished laptops is high, driven by the growing digital economy in India. Many individuals and small businesses cannot afford the latest models, and that's where these "Frankenstein" laptops come in. They offer a cost-effective solution, with prices starting from as low as INR 10,000 (approximately $110 USD), a fraction of the cost of a brand-new laptop.

The technicians behind these refurbished laptops are skilled craftsmen who have honed their skills over years of working with electronic waste. They source parts from discarded laptops, e-waste markets, and even from countries like Dubai and China. The parts are then carefully assembled to create functional devices that meet the needs of their customers.

One of the key drivers of this repair culture is the lack of access to affordable technology. Many Indians are priced out of the digital economy, and these refurbished laptops provide a lifeline. As Manohar Singh, the owner of a workshop in Nehru Place, explains, "A college student or a freelancer can get a good machine for INR 10,000 instead of spending INR 70,000 on a brand-new one. For many, that difference means being able to work or study at all."

However, this booming market does not exist in isolation. It is entangled with a much larger battle, one between small repair technicians and global technology giants. Many manufacturers deliberately make repairs difficult by restricting access to spare parts, using proprietary screws, and implementing software locks that force customers to buy new devices instead of fixing old ones.

Satish Sinha, associate director at Toxics Link, a nonprofit working on waste management, believes that the repair industry is on the front lines of a larger battle. "India has always had a repair culture, from fixing old radios to hand-me-down phones. But companies are pushing planned obsolescence, making repairs harder and forcing people to buy new devices instead."

The Indian government has started discussions on right-to-repair laws, inspired by similar efforts in the European Union and the United States. However, progress remains slow, and repair shops continue to operate in legal limbo, often forced to source different parts from informal and e-waste markets.

One of the consequences of this informal supply chain is the growth of e-waste hubs like Delhi's Seelampur, where workers extract valuable materials from discarded electronics. While this provides cheap repair materials, it comes at a steep price. Workers handle toxic materials like lead, mercury, and cadmium daily, without proper safety measures.

Despite the challenges, the demand for Frankenstein systems continues to grow. And as India's digital economy expands, the need for such affordable technology will only increase. Many believe that integrating the repair sector into the formal economy could bring about a win-win situation, reducing e-waste, creating jobs, and making technology more accessible.

As Satish Sinha notes, "If the government recognizes independent repair businesses, gives them access to spare parts, and sets quality standards, we can transform this industry." For now, in dimly lit workshops across the country, men like Sushil Prasad and Manohar Singh continue their work, reviving the dead, bridging the digital divide, and proving that, in India, the repair ecosystem is set to thrive.