Payback: Debt and the Shadow Side of Wealth

November 17, 2025 Leave a comment

Author: Margaret Atwood | 240 Pages | Genre: Non-Fiction | Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing PLC | Year: 2008 | My Rating: 8/10

“Without debt, there would be no such thing as credit, and without credit, economies would not exist. But equally, without debt, there would be no such thing as forgiveness.”

-Margaret Atwood, Payback

Payback: Debt and the Shadow Side of Wealth was originally presented as the Massey Lectures in 2008. It is not a book about economics in the traditional sense, as it does not include balance sheets, market trends, or policy prescriptions. Instead, it is a work of literary and moral imagination, a wide-ranging meditation on what debt means, which is not only as a financial construct but as a moral, psychological, and even mythical one. Atwood has shared an idea that governs much of modern life, the idea of owing and being owed. The book’s tone is conversational yet filled with insights, blending history, literature, religion, and personal reflection. It says that debt is an idea that is created by humanity, and that it is closely connected to our concepts of justice, sin, and morality. 

The book is structured into five chapters: Ancient Balances, Debt and Sin, The Shadow Side, Payback, and Payback: The Shadow Side. Each chapter explores debt from a different perspective—cultural, literary, economic, and ecological, slowly building toward a conclusion about the balance between taking and giving, destruction and renewal.

The book traces the origins of debt to ancient times, where it was not only a financial but also a moral and spiritual one. In many cultures, debt has been synonymous with guilt. For example, the language of ‘redemption’ and ‘forgiveness’ in Christianity has deep economic roots. This moral overlap is not accidental. Instead, it reflects a psychological need for balance, for settling accounts not only in terms of money but in life.

Ancient systems of justice were often modelled on an eye for an eye, or a life for a life. The idea of fairness was inherently transactional. Thus, debt becomes a metaphor for all human obligations, between individuals, between human beings and gods, and eventually between humanity and the planet. Therefore, economic debt, moral guilt, and ecological imbalance all stem from the same root: the failure to honour reciprocity.

Atwood moves seamlessly through the Bible, Shakespeare, Dickens, Marlowe, and even pop culture, treating each as a kind of moral ledger. Ebenezer Scrooge, the most famous debtor and creditor in fiction, becomes a recurring figure. She also references Dr. Faustus, who sells his soul to the devil as a literal debt contract. Debt stories are also about identity, who owes whom, and what kind of person it makes you to owe or to be owed. These examples highlight how debt has long served as a narrative to explore human frailty, justice, and redemption.

In the third chapter, ‘The Shadow Side,’ Atwood dives into the psychology of debt and how it can enslave, corrupt, and distort. She talks about Jung’s idea of the hidden moral darkness within every person and society. In this way, debt is like the shadow side of wealth, showing the unseen costs of accumulating riches. Atwood uses historical examples, from debtors’ prisons in Victorian England to the 2008 global financial crisis, to show how societies often ignore moral responsibility. When people or institutions borrow more than they can handle, they’re not just taking financial risks but moral ones too. The book, published just before the 2008 crash, eerily predicts the crisis that was about to happen. Modern capitalism relies on the constant creation of debt, which is both the system’s driving force and its curse. Debt is everywhere, yet we rarely stop to think about its harmful effects.

In the book’s final chapter, a contemporary ‘Scrooge Corporation’ is visited by the Spirit of Earth Day Future. This eco-fable weaves together Atwood’s arguments into a narrative of humanity’s reckoning with the natural world. The spirit unveils to Scrooge the dire consequences of his unbalanced ledger, which comprises a planet drained of resources, tainted by waste, and devoid of moral responsibility. By reinterpreting a well-known moral story through an ecological lens, the book compels the reader to understand that the language of debt is synonymous with the language of survival. When we speak of ‘owing the Earth’ or ‘repaying our debts to future generations,’ these expressions are not merely metaphorical, as they represent literal truths.

Atwood’s writing is witty, elegant, sharp and ironic. Her ability to seamlessly transition from ancient myths to modern finance is truly remarkable, and she always reminds the reader that behind every number, there’s a story. There are moments of satire, especially when she targets corporate greed or political hypocrisy, but also passages of lyrical reflection that showcase her poetic sensibility.

The book is a mix of essay, cultural history, and allegory. Its interdisciplinary approach mirrors the complexity of its subject. Debt isn’t just about economics; it shapes our moral and social worlds. However, Atwood’s digressions and literary references, while enlightening, can sometimes overwhelm readers who aren’t familiar with them. Each chapter feels like a conversation with a brilliant, slightly mischievous teacher who loves turning assumptions upside down. The book is a moral reckoning disguised as a literary essay. It’s a call to remember that every ledger, no matter how abstract, has a human cost. Atwood’s lesson through this book is that living ethically means recognizing one’s debts, not just in money, but in gratitude, care, and responsibility.

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Why Philanthropy Needs to Evolve

November 10, 2025 Leave a comment

Philanthropy has been a force for good across continents, building hospitals, funding schools and universities, feeding communities in crises, taking action to solve social challenges, and underwriting research. While intending to create positive and lasting change in people’s lives and strengthening communities, often, take the form of that giving is the classic ‘donor → beneficiary’ pipeline, which has serious limits. When well-meaning philanthropic entities simply transfer money or material goods to presumed beneficiaries without sharing power, listening deeply, or tracking outcomes with humility, aid can be inefficient, short-lived, and even harmful. To move from transactional charity to transformative social change, philanthropy must evolve toward participatory, locally led, and evidence-based models that empower communities to define problems, choose solutions, and steward resources. Several philanthropic models need to evolve into a new, pluralistic philanthropy that can deliver better, fairer, and more sustainable impact.

The donor-beneficiary model often centres on donors’ priorities. Funders set agendas, design programs, select implementing partners, and measure success by indicators they choose, often from a distance. This creates several structural problems, like,

  • Power asymmetry occurs when donors decide what counts as a problem and which solutions are legitimate. Communities become recipients rather than partners, and local knowledge is sidelined, reducing relevance and local ownership.
  • Templates developed for ease of scale often ignore social-cultural and political nuances at the local level. Programs that look good in donor reports may fail on the ground due to ‘One-size-fits-all interventions.’
  • Short funding horizons and volatility of donors with grants tied to campaign cycles, leftover funds, or financial year budgets can stop abruptly, leaving services unsustainable and organisations stranded.
  • When philanthropy substitutes for systemic public investment, it can relieve governments of responsibility or create dependency among groups who lack the voice to advocate for longer-term change.
  • Donors are accountable to boards or taxpayers, with limited accountability to the communities they aim to serve; evaluation is often internal and narrowly framed.

These limitations are not theoretical as reviews of philanthropic practice repeatedly find that participation is often performative, i.e., consultation exercises without power transfer. Scholarly and practitioner literature has called out the gap between rhetoric and sustainable commitment to community-led approaches. This is the moment for a pivot to an evolved philanthropic approach that can complement the traditional giving through,

  1. Participatory and community-led decision-making: Communities should help set priorities and co-design programs. Participatory grant-making moves power to those closest to problems, bringing lived experience into funding decisions and increasing the legitimacy and likely effectiveness of interventions.
  • Local leadership and capacity building: Funding should invest in local institutions (community groups, cooperatives, NGOs, social enterprises), and not only project outputs. That means unrestricted core support, leadership development, and multi-year commitments that enable organisations to mature and adapt.
  • Data-driven learning and accountability: Rigorous use of data and learning systems can help tailor solutions, track impact, and course correct. Data must be used ethically, with local ownership and attention to privacy and power dynamics.

When combined, this approach will shift philanthropy from a mere supplier of goods to an enabler of agency. Some good practices from around the world show how participatory and locally led philanthropy can function in practice, and who can act as torchbearers for philanthropic communities in their regions.

Indian philanthropic institutions combine traditional grant-making with newer models. Tata Trusts has invested heavily in the Data-Driven Governance (DELTA: Data, Evaluation, Learning, Technology, and Analysis) framework for strengthening local governance and planning. Their approach works with government entities and communities to build data systems that inform local decision-making rather than impose external solutions. This demonstrates how philanthropy can facilitate evidence-based public systems while engaging local institutions rather than bypassing them.  

Azim Premji University and Foundation have made community engagement in educational work prominent, emphasising long-term partnerships with local schools and communities rather than one-off interventions. Their community engagement model underscores the importance of listening, iterative learning, and strengthening public institutions rather than substituting for them.  

In Southeast Asia, funder collaboratives demonstrate a shift from isolated donors to pooled funds that support locally relevant priorities. The Asia Community Foundation’s 30×30 Southeast Asia Ocean Fund, launched in January 2025, is a recent example. The fund pools resources to protect coastal and marine ecosystems with an emphasis on inclusion and equity, supporting local stewards and communities rather than exporting conservation blueprints. Collaborative funds like this allow donors to align with regional expertise, reduce duplication, and focus on communities affected by interventions.  

The USA has been an incubator for participatory grant-making experiments. Major foundations and movements, spurred by crises such as the COVID-19 pandemic and racial-justice mobilisations, have explored models that transfer decision-making authority to communities. For instance, mainstream philanthropic institutions like Ford Foundation have published reflections on why participatory grant-making mattered during crises and how it can be institutionalised, noting its capacity to surface local priorities and accelerate equitable responses. While the U.S. landscape is mixed (with many foundations still operating traditionally), the growing body of practice shows that community-led funding can be both rapid and rights-respecting when donors cede control.  

The literature and practice of participatory and community-led philanthropy are growing across Africa, rooted in traditional values of solidarity, mutuality, and shared support. Researchers and practitioners have documented participatory grant-making and community governance innovations, arguing that ceding decision rights to local actors helps align funding with local priorities and sustains outcomes. While capacity and infrastructure challenges exist, the momentum toward locally governed funding systems is notable in contexts where external donors historically dominated the agenda. Recent examples of participatory grant-making (such as Harambee in Kenya, Ujamaa in Tanzania, and Ubuntu across the continent) synthesise these trends and highlight both promise and challenges.  

Participation, local leadership, and data are crucial for effective philanthropy because they shift power dynamics, increase relevance and impact, and improve decision-making based on evidence rather than assumption. This approach moves away from traditional, top-down models toward more equitable, efficient, and sustainable processes. Participatory philanthropy and grant-making processes will lead to,

  • Greater relevance when communities help design interventions, uptake and adaptation increase. Local actors understand cultural norms, political constraints, and practical hurdles that external project designers often miss.
  • Sustainability of programs that are owned by communities beyond the grant cycle. Unrestricted support and capacity building enable organisations to respond flexibly to emerging needs.
  • Data systems that include local stakeholders enable rapid feedback loops, like what’s not working can be quickly spotted and fixed, and successes can be scaled responsibly, improving impact through iterative learning.
  • Participatory philanthropy is not neutral, as it intentionally rebalances power by giving those affected by problems a say in solutions.
  • Cost-effectiveness through local knowledge increases returns on investment.

To evolve to the new and effective models of philanthropy, funders should take practical steps such as shifting money and power by moving a significant percentage of grant money into participatory processes and community-governed pools. They should offer multi-year, unrestricted funding and simplify application and reporting requirements. Investing in intermediary infrastructure is crucial, so supporting local philanthropy platforms, community foundations, and capacity builders, incubators, and accelerators who can channel funds and help communities administer grants is essential. Building data partnerships with communities by funding local data systems, such as community scorecards, participatory monitoring, and open data platforms that are owned and governed by communities, while ensuring ethical data practices, is also important. Co-designing evaluation frameworks with community actors to develop success metrics that prioritise outcomes valued by the community, such as economic stability, dignity, and local governance, rather than just donor KPIs, is very much required. Additionally, funders should reward adaptive learning by creating grant mechanisms that allow for iteration of ‘pilot-learn-adapt-scale’ rather than penalising change as ‘failure.’ Lastly, funders should role model humility and plan for their responsible exit by strengthening local institutions so they can sustain without perpetual external support.

However, it’s important to understand that not every ‘participatory’ label signals a real transfer of power. Donors must avoid superficial practices, like convening consultations for optics, creating advisory committees without decision rights, or funding only projects that align with preselected agendas. Genuine participation requires structural changes like in the boards, budgets, and governance processes, that reflect shared authority.

Philanthropy has great potential to speed up solutions to poverty, climate change, governance problems, and social inequality. To shift from charity to meaningful change, funders need to be willing to relax control, invest in local leaders, and support strong, community-led data and learning systems. Examples from India, Southeast Asia, the U.S., and Africa demonstrate various approaches such as data partnerships that improve governance, pooled funds that empower local stewards, and participatory grant making that changes who makes decisions. Effective, equitable, and sustainable change emerges when those affected by problems help define and lead the response. Philanthropy’s evolution from a one-way pipeline of resources to a platform for shared power is not just desirable, it’s necessary if we want charitable funding to do more than temporarily relieve suffering. They must catalyse systems that let communities thrive on their own terms.

Download Philanthropy Assessment Tool, a practical self-assessment for equitable and transformative philanthropy by funders, family offices, foundations, and CSR.

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(Disclaimer: The opinions expressed are those of the author and do not purport to reflect the views or opinions of any organisation, foundation, CSR, non-profit or others.)

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Art of Gifting Books

November 3, 2025 Leave a comment

A few of my friends, family members, and a couple of my colleagues gift me books, often on my birthdays, and sometimes in between. I inherited a love for reading from my parents, especially my mother and my grandfather, both of whom have been voracious readers. I received my first book as a birthday gift from my father when I was in school. It was ‘The History of Western Philosophy’ by Bertrand Russel. 

Few gifts in life feel as personal, thoughtful, and lasting as a book. When someone hands you a neatly wrapped rectangle hiding a world within its covers, the gesture means more than just the promise of pages. It carries thought, intimacy, and a recognition of who you are. A book is not merely a gift; it shows understanding. For a book lover like me, it has always represented one of the highest forms of affection, a conversation without words, a silent connection of minds and feelings.

Books reflect both the giver and the receiver. A book requires careful thought, unlike routine gifts like perfume, gadgets, clothes, or vouchers. This act of choosing is intimate, showing familiarity not just with the recipient’s reading habits but also with their inner lives, beliefs, and hidden thoughts. When a friend gives you a book, they often imply, “This reminded me of you.” That unspoken message carries emotional weight. It suggests that they have seen you through the lens of a character, a philosophy, or a poem. It’s like the giver is handing you a mirror showing part of yourself, which possibly one you hadn’t noticed before.

For avid readers, this connection is unmatched as a new book means a new journey and a new companionship. Receiving it as a gift indicates that someone cared enough to guide you toward that path. I have always viewed books as a form of emotional currency. They are not consumed quickly or superficially; they unfold over days or weeks, creating a lasting connection between the giver and receiver. Each time you open a gifted book, you also revisit the memory of the person who gave it to you.

A note inside the cover, like “Hope you love this as much as I did” or “Read and Reflect,” becomes an emotional bookmark for years. Even after the friendship has changed, the note remains, tangible and unforgettable. The book turns into a keepsake of that moment, of that relationship. In this way, books gather layers of meaning beyond their content; they absorb personal histories.

Unlike many modern gifts that can age or fade, books age gracefully. A book received in your twenties might reveal new insights in your forties. A book of poetry shared during a tough year can later offer comfort. In this way, books outlast their occasions; they evolve with the reader. I have re-read several books in my ever-growing collection over the last 20 to 30 years, and each time, I have gleaned a deeper understanding and gained more from the same pages.

Receiving books from family carries a sense of heritage, adding another layer of intimacy and history. Parents who give books to their children often share not just stories but also values and perspectives. When a parent gifts their favourite childhood novel or a worn copy of a classic, it reflects continuity. It communicates, “This shaped me, and I hope it shapes you too.”

Books create a kind of generational dialogue in many homes. A shelf represents a lineage of thought, with dog-eared pages and underlined passages marking the intellectual footprints of those before us. When you receive a book from a family member, you are essentially invited into their memory, to share their inner world for a while. I often have long conversations with my mother about a book, discussing its theme, author, and philosophy. For a book lover, inherited or gifted books become sacred objects. They may have notes in fading ink, dates marking birthdays or milestones, or the faint scent of another home. They are pieces of family history, connected not just by blood but also by shared words and ideas.

Books exchanged among colleagues hold a subtler but equally significant meaning. In professional settings often focused on efficiency and formality, a book gift feels almost revolutionary, reminding us of our shared humanity. When a colleague gives you a book, it usually reflects admiration or intellectual connection. It might be a management classic that inspired them, a work of fiction that echoes your discussions, or a slim volume of essays that reminds them of your curiosity. This gesture crosses the impersonal barriers of the workplace. It conveys, “I see more in you than just your title. I recognise a mind worth connecting with.”

At a time of emails and digital interactions, such gestures feel refreshingly real. A physical book on your desk serves as a reminder of shared curiosity and trust, sometimes sparking discussions that go beyond work. For a book lover, receiving books is like receiving invitations to journeys, friendships, and moments of reflection. The smell of new pages, the design of a cover, and the promise of a new story all bring joy that few other gifts can match. When people give books to an avid reader, they validate and celebrate a part of their identity. It’s as if they are saying, “I respect your passion enough to contribute to it.” 

Book lovers often remember who gave them which book. Their collections become social maps, each title linked to a person, a moment, or a story. That book from a college friend, that poetry collection from a sister, that biography from a mentor—they all combine to create an autobiography of relationships. Every gifted book is also an act of trust. It assumes that the receiver will take the time, reflect, and engage. By giving a book, one offers not instant pleasure but delayed joy. This trust that the recipient will fully experience those pages is deeply personal. Unlike digital or temporary gifts, books require solitude and contemplation. Receiving one gently reminds us of the value of slowing down in a fast-paced world. Perhaps this is why books promote patience, reflection, and empathy.

Moreover, books can be challenging gifts as they can push the reader’s perspectives, encourage new ideas, or even provoke discomfort. A well-chosen book can disrupt complacency while still showing care. This balance between affection and intellectual challenge makes gifting books a refined art. Over time, a personal library becomes a mosaic of gifts and acquisitions, but the gifted ones stand out. They are the volumes we seldom lend or part with. They carry signatures, notes, or memories that root them in our emotional landscape. There’s something almost sacred about rereading a book that once came wrapped in the hands of someone dear to us. The words on the page remain constant, but their meaning shifts as our memories of the giver change. At times, after the giver is gone, the book transforms into a presence, a voice that still echoes in the silence of our shelves.

Therefore, books are not just gifts; they also extend the presence of people. They traverse time, holding fragments of affection, thought, and memory. A gifted book is both a message and a monument as it says, “I thought of you,” and continues to do so long after. For a book lover, each gifted book is a quiet act of love—sometimes romantic, sometimes platonic, sometimes familial, but always genuine. It is a gift that does not fade and grows richer with each reading. In giving and receiving books, we engage in a timeless exchange, not of objects but of selves. Ultimately, every gifted book conveys one simple yet profound message: I see you, and for any reader, there is no greater gift than that.

(Cover Image: Generated using AI)

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The Book Thief

October 27, 2025 Leave a comment

Author: Markus Zusak | 560 Pages | Genre: Historical Fiction | Publisher: First edition published by Alpha 2 Omega Books. My edition published by Penguin Random House (2018) | Year: 2005 | My Rating: 9/10

“The human heart is a line, whereas my own is a circle, and I have the endless ability to be in the right place at the right time. The consequence of this is that I’m always finding humans at their best and worst. I see their ugly and their beauty, and I wonder how the same thing can be both”
― Markus Zusak, The Book Thief

The Book Thief combines brutality and beauty with extraordinary grace, and I found it to be truly unique and spectacular. The novel is set in 1939 Nazi Germany, during World War II, where the story is a haunting exploration of love, loss, language, and the power of storytelling to preserve humanity. Narrated through the unexpected voice of Death, the novel redefines the familiar war narrative, which is both poetic and profoundly human.

The story centres on Liesel Meminger, a young girl sent to live with foster parents Hans and Rosa Hubermann in Molching, near Munich. After her brother dies en route to their new home in 1939, Liesel steals her first book, marking the beginning of her quiet rebellion through reading. Liesel’s foster father, Hans, patiently teaches her to read during late-night sessions in their basement. Liesel’s foster mother, Rosa, is gruff yet deeply protective. For Liesel, books become both a refuge and a means of resisting the Nazi regime’s manipulation of language.

When the Hubermanns shelter Max Vandenburg, a Jewish man fleeing Nazi persecution, Liesel’s world broadens. Her friendship with Max, rooted in fear and hope, highlights the power of imagination to endure hardship. Max’s stories, especially “The Word Shaker,” reinforce the novel’s central theme that ‘words can both harm and heal.’

The author’s decision to use Death as the narrator is both bold and effective. Death is portrayed as weary, compassionate, and reflective, observing humanity’s capacity for both cruelty and kindness. His tone shifts between irony and melancholy, providing both distance and intimacy. Death’s closing line, “I am haunted by humans,” underlines the novel’s meditation on human fragility and resilience.

Zusak removes sentimentality from tragedy through his narration by Death. I knew early in my reading that the story would end in loss, and Death tells plainly who will die, but this foreknowledge deepened rather than diminished my emotional investment. Zusak’s central theme of the power of language could not be more resonant. The Nazi regime weaponized words to manipulate a nation and justify genocide. In contrast, Liesel and Max reclaim language as a force for healing and remembrance. Books become tools of freedom, teaching Liesel not only literacy but empathy and defiance. There is also a profound theme of ordinary heroism. The Hubermanns, Liesel, and her friend Rudy Steiner resist in small, quiet ways, sharing bread with starving prisoners, hiding a Jew in their basement, refusing to let fear extinguish decency. These are acts of rebellion born not of ideology but of humanity.

The novel also explores how even in a time of death, there are moments of laughter, friendship, and love. It portrays war as a lived experience through the eyes of a child who learns too soon about loss but clings to hope through storytelling. Zusak’s prose is poetic, fragmented, and rhythmic, a departure from conventional realism. He uses vivid imagery and typographical experimentation, breaking the fourth wall and inserting short notes, sketches, and lists. These stylistic quirks mirror Death’s fragmented perception of events and add texture to the reading experience. Like his description of the sky as Death collects souls, “The sky was the colour of Jews.” It is shocking, ambiguous, and heartbreaking, capturing the moral weight of genocide in those six words. It made me pause at the sentence and page for a while, feeling the sentence rather than merely understanding. Liesel is one of contemporary literature’s most memorable protagonists, who is resilient, curious, and brave. Through her eyes, one can experience both the innocence of childhood and the disillusionment of war. Her evolution from an illiterate girl to a book thief who reads to others in bomb shelters symbolizes the redemptive arc of language.

The moral core of the novel, Hans Hubermann, embodies quiet courage. His act of painting over antisemitic graffiti and hiding Max is not grand heroism but the moral defiance of an ordinary man. Rosa, abrasive yet loving, offers a realism often absent in depictions of maternal figures. Rudy Steiner, Liesel’s best friend, brings youthful vitality and heartbreak into the story. His dream of kissing Liesel becomes a symbol of innocence stolen by war. Max, the Jewish fugitive, represents endurance and the power of imagination, writing his own story literally over the pages of “Mein Kampf,” transforming an instrument of hate into one of creation. Each character feels deeply human, flawed, frightened, and compassionate, and their relationships form the emotional spine of the novel.

The Book Thief focuses on ordinary citizens rather than soldiers or political figures. Zusak reminds us that history is lived by common people, those who make small moral choices every day. Since its first publication in 2005, The Book Thief has also been adapted into a film released in 2013. Its endurance over the years lies in its emotional honesty and narrative innovation. It teaches us that even in times of darkness, stories can keep the flame of humanity alive. The Book Thief is not just a story about war or death; it is about the defiance of the human spirit through words and empathy.

This novel reminded me that reading, too, is an act of resistance. It is a book that stays with you, not because of the horrors it depicts, but because of the beauty it finds amidst them. As Death himself observes, “It’s only small stories like this one that can make the bigger ones bearable.”

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Economics of Diwali

October 20, 2025 Leave a comment

As we celebrate the sparkle of Diwali festivities with lights, the Indian economy, too, is glowing with festive energy. Diwali is not only a cultural and spiritual event but also an economic phenomenon that mobilizes consumption, trade, and emotion on a scale unmatched by any other festival in India. It is a festival where faith, finance, and family come together to illuminate not just homes but entire markets.

Diwali blends culture and commerce. Traditionally marking the return of Lord Ram to Ayodhya after 14 years of vanavasa (exile), the festival has evolved into India’s largest consumption cycle. According to industry estimates, Diwali season alone accounts for 30–40% of annual sales in sectors like jewellery, automobiles, electronics, apparel, and consumer goods.

In 2024, India’s festive spending during Diwali week was estimated at INR 3.2 lakh crore, reflecting a 17% rise over 2023, driven by rising disposable incomes, pent-up post-pandemic demand, and digital retail penetration. Retail chains, e-commerce platforms, and even microenterprises depend on this period to recover annual profits. For small traders, Diwali is often the difference between a good year and a bad one. The festival also synchronizes the Indian economy’s emotional rhythm—consumer sentiment peaks as the festival approaches, heightened by work bonuses, gifts, and an almost cultural belief that new purchases bring prosperity.

Two days before Diwali, Indians celebrate Dhanteras, considered the most auspicious day to buy gold, silver, or anything of value. Historically, this practice was rooted in agrarian prosperity cycles during which, farmers who had completed the harvest season invested their earnings in tangible assets like metals. Today, the sentiment remains, but the scale has exploded. The symbolism has migrated from the vault to the marketplace, aligning tradition with modern consumption.

Diwali’s economic landscape has been radically redrawn by digital commerce. In 2024, online festive sales crossed INR 90,000 crore, driven by e-commerce platforms like Amazon, Flipkart, and Meesho. Tier-II and Tier-III cities accounted for more than 60% of new shoppers, an indication that India’s digital inclusion is now deeply linked with its festive economy.

Algorithms have replaced astrologers in predicting purchasing patterns. AI-driven recommendations, influencer marketing, and digital payment ecosystems like UPI have made the act of buying faster and impulsive. While urban consumers enjoy massive discounts, small offline retailers struggle to match online prices. Many traditional businesses like sweet shops, garment stores, and gift outlets are now adapting with hybrid models, selling on WhatsApp or through community platforms. The local bazaar is not dying; it is simply going online.

Behind the glitter of malls and advertisements lies a quieter but equally powerful story of the informal and rural economy that powers Diwali. Across India, millions of artisans, potters, weavers, and small manufacturers depend on the season for a significant portion of their income. From handmade diyas in Bihar to terracotta idols from Bankura, paper lanterns in Maharashtra, and bamboo crafts from Northeastern states, Diwali sustains local creative economies that embody both tradition and entrepreneurship. In recent years, several NGOs and social enterprises have helped rural producers connect directly with urban buyers through digital platforms. For instance, self-help groups (SHGs) supported by government programs like NRLM (National Rural Livelihoods Mission) and private CSR initiatives now sell festive handicrafts on e-commerce sites and social media. The “Make in Village” movement during Diwali is becoming a quiet counter-narrative to imported mass-produced goods. Every diya sold is not just a source of light but a livelihood.

Gifting is central to Diwali’s economic ecosystem. From corporate gift hampers to sweets exchanged among families, the ritual symbolizes goodwill, reciprocity, and status. In 2024, India’s corporate gifting industry was valued at ₹12,000 crore, with strong growth projected for 2025. Beyond sweets and dry fruits, companies now gift experiences like wellness vouchers, eco-friendly hampers, and handmade products to reflect social consciousness and sustainability. The gifting economy also reveals deeper social psychology. Gifts during Diwali are not just commodities; they are currencies of relationship. In economic terms, they create “social capital”, the trust and goodwill that sustain business and personal networks alike.

In last decade or so, Diwali’s environmental impact has come under scrutiny. Delhi is the best (or worst) example of this intense air pollution from firecrackers making the environment unbreathable, plastic waste from packaging, and excessive electricity consumption have led to rising calls for a Green Diwali. The market is responding with conscious choices. In 2025, the sale of eco-friendly crackers and biodegradable decorations is expected to grow by 30%. Solar-powered lighting, organic sweets, and recycled packaging are becoming mainstream. Conscious consumers, especially younger urban Indians, are now demanding sustainable alternatives that align celebration with responsibility. The shift from conspicuous consumption to conscious consumption marks a new chapter in the economics of Diwali, one where prosperity is measured not just by spending, but by sustainability.

However, Diwali’s prosperity is not evenly distributed. Inflation affects the purchasing power of lower-income families who often face higher food and fuel prices during the season despite the recent GST reforms, which has significantly brought down the prices of most of the consumer goods. While the urban affluent splurge on gadgets and gold, many households cut back on essentials.

This divergence reflects the broader K-shaped recovery post-pandemic of the Indian economy, where upper segments surge ahead while those on the lower segments struggle. The festive glow, though radiant, hides shadows of inequality. For small retailers, rising input costs and competition from online giants have squeezed margins. For daily wage earners, the festival may mean temporary income spikes but little long-term security. Diwali illuminates both the promise and paradox of India’s growth story.

At its core, Diwali celebrates renewal of hope, homes, and human spirit. Economically too, it acts as a reset button for the nation’s consumer sentiment. The act of cleaning homes, buying new things, and lighting lamps mirrors the cyclical nature of economic optimism. For policymakers and economists, the festive season is a real-time barometer of demand. For families, it’s a reminder that prosperity is not just about wealth, but about togetherness and gratitude. In many ways, Diwali teaches an enduring lesson in economics that growth is sustainable only when it is inclusive, joyful, and mindful.

The economics of Diwali is not just about expenditure, but it is also about the exchange of energy, emotion, and enterprise. It reflects India’s evolving story of modernization rooted in tradition, digital transformation anchored in ritual, and capitalism softened by culture. The future of India’s festive economy will shine brightest when it balances profit with purpose, growth with gratitude, and consumption with conscience.

Happy and Prosperous Diwali to you and your loved ones!

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