New Delhi: When negotiators closed the European Union’s free trade agreement with India on 27 January, both capitals reached for superlatives. It is the largest such deal either side has ever concluded, binding a market of roughly two billion people and promising near-immediate duty-free entry for the overwhelming majority of Indian goods. Yet the celebratory framing obscured a soberer reality. Closing the text was the straightforward part. The agreement still carries no date for entry into force, and the machinery meant to carry it there is slower and more exposed to domestic politics than the headline numbers imply.
The strategic logic behind Brussels’ courtship is unambiguous. For two years the Union has worked to lower its reliance on a single dominant supplier in Asia, and India offers what few alternatives can: demographic scale, a widening manufacturing base, and a government eager to present itself as the credible substitute when European firms rethink where they source and assemble. Seen this way, the pact is less a tariff schedule than an attempt to anchor a democratic heavyweight inside a supply-chain order being rebuilt around resilience rather than the lowest landed cost. That is also why officials in Brussels treat the deal as a test of whether Europe can still convert geopolitical intent into binding commercial architecture.
Ratification is where ambition meets friction. Unlike many EU trade agreements, this one cannot lean on provisional application to deliver early gains, because India does not practise it. Nothing takes effect until the European Parliament gives its consent, the Council formally signs, and India’s own Union Council of Ministers approves. Each of those gates invites a veto-minded constituency to dig in. European farm lobbies will scrutinise concessions on poultry, dairy and sensitive horticulture; southern member states will weigh the exposure of their producers against the export upside for machinery, pharmaceuticals and wines. In New Delhi, negotiators must still manage sensitivities over automobiles, spirits, and the data-governance commitments that European firms prize.
None of this means the deal is fragile, but it does mean the timeline floated by both sides, with full force expected by early 2027, depends on sustained political attention long after the cameras have left. Trade agreements rarely die at the negotiating table; they stall in legislatures, in legal challenges, and in the slow erosion of momentum once the signing euphoria fades. The EU has learned this repeatedly, most recently with agreements that spent years marooned between conclusion and application.
For Europe, the stakes extend beyond market access. The Union has spent considerable diplomatic capital arguing that it can be a reliable, rules-based partner for the Global South at a moment when others offer transactional bargains. An India agreement that is celebrated and then left to drift would undercut that claim precisely where Brussels most wants it believed. The hedge against overdependence only pays out if the contract is honoured, and honouring it now falls to parliaments and ministries rather than negotiators. The hard part, in other words, has only just begun.




