Why change cannot be delivered

July 27, 2026 Leave a comment

Five years ago, I met Priyanka, a young woman from a small village in the Latehar district of Jharkhand. Like many women in rural India, her world was defined by invisible boundaries. Opportunities were limited, mobility was constrained, and the digital revolution that was transforming urban India felt very distant from her daily reality. When she joined a rural digital entrepreneurship programme, she did not see herself as an entrepreneur. She simply wanted to learn how to use a laptop and perhaps earn a modest income.

Today, Priyanka runs two digital service centres in her village and around. On any given day, she helps scores of people access government schemes, apply for jobs, update documents, pay utility bills, and navigate digital platforms that would otherwise remain out of reach. Villagers who once travelled long distances and spent an entire day completing simple administrative tasks now walk a few minutes to seek her assistance. More importantly, young girls in the village consider her as their role model and hold upward career aspirations. They see someone who looks like them using digital tools to build a livelihood and create value for her community.

What changed in Priyanka’s life was not merely her income but her sense of agency. She stopped being a passive recipient of charity and became an active participant in shaping the future of her community. Her story reminded me of a lesson that I have encountered repeatedly over the past twenty years in development. Lasting change does not happen when we deliver solutions to people. It happens when people gain the confidence, capability, and opportunity to create solutions for themselves.

After 20+ years in development sector, this is the lesson I carry with the greatest conviction that change cannot be delivered to people. It emerges when people discover their own power to create it. We often treat it as something that can be designed, funded, managed, monitored, and delivered. We create theories of change, strategic plans, annual targets, dashboards, and impact indicators. We write proposals describing how communities will evolve over the next three or five years and convince ourselves that social transformation can be engineered with enough resources, expertise, and discipline. Yet the longer I have worked in this sector, the more I have realised that change is far more organic, unpredictable, and human than our project documents suggest.

When I began my career, I believed what many young professionals entering the development sector believe, that poverty could be reduced through good Programs alone, that social problems could be solved through smart interventions, and that institutions with the right intent could create pathways for people to improve their lives. I still believe in all of those things. What has changed is my understanding of where transformation actually comes from. After working across livelihoods, entrepreneurship, environmental sustainability, women’s empowerment, public health, education, and digital inclusion, I have come to a simple conclusion that development succeeds when people gain the agency to shape their own futures.

One of the first assumptions I had to unlearn was the idea that communities are primarily defined by what they lack. Development discussion is filled with the language of deficits. We identify needs, vulnerabilities, gaps, and constraints, and catalogue problems and design interventions to address them. While these exercises are important, they can also blind us to a more powerful reality. Communities possess knowledge, resilience, social capital, aspirations, and capabilities that outsiders frequently underestimate. Over the years, I have met women who built successful enterprises despite social barriers, farmers who adapted to environmental challenges long before climate resilience became a policy priority, and young people who created opportunities where experts saw only limitations. What distinguished these individuals was not the assistance they received but the agency they exercised. The most successful development programs I have witnessed were those that helped people discover their own capacity to act.

This may sound obvious, yet much of the development sector still operates as though change originates from institutions rather than individuals. We often speak of empowering communities as if empowerment is something that can be handed over like a grant or a training manual. Experience has taught me that empowerment is not delivered, but is unlocked. People change their lives when they begin to see themselves not as beneficiaries of someone else’s program but as active participants in shaping their own future.

Another lesson that I took years to fully appreciate is that projects produce outputs, while ecosystems create change. Development organisations have become increasingly sophisticated in measuring activities and outputs. We know how many people attended training programs, how many households received services, how many entrepreneurs were supported, and how many villages were covered. These numbers and accountability matter as funders and stakeholders deserve evidence that resources are being used effectively. Yet some of the most transformative changes I have witnessed had little to do with what was captured in a monitoring framework.

I have seen projects with impressive numbers disappear almost entirely once funding ended. I have also seen relatively modest initiatives continue creating value years after external support had ceased. The difference was rarely the size of the budget or the quality of the project design. More often, it was whether the intervention had strengthened the local ecosystem or not. Sustainable change emerges from relationships, institutions, markets, networks, and leadership. It emerges when communities develop the capacity to solve problems collectively, and when local actors begin driving progress themselves. 

This is particularly true in the field of livelihoods and entrepreneurship, where I have spent much of my professional life. For decades, development programs have focused on training individuals, providing assets, or facilitating access to finance. These interventions are valuable, but they are rarely sufficient. Entrepreneurship does not flourish simply because someone acquires a skill. It flourishes when an entire ecosystem supports risk-taking, innovation, market access, mentorship, and growth. The future of development, especially in rural economies, lies in building environments where success becomes possible for many.

One of the more surprising lessons from my career concerns money. Having spent years raising resources for social programs, I have a deep appreciation for the role of funding in creating impact. Without resources, good ideas often remain aspirations. Yet after helping mobilise hundreds of crores for development initiatives, I have come to believe that development is rarely constrained primarily by money. That may sound like an unusual statement coming from someone whose responsibilities have included fundraising and partnership development, but experience repeatedly points in that direction.

Many social challenges that appear to be funding problems are, in reality, leadership problems, institutional problems, capability problems, or trust problems. Additional funding can accelerate progress when strong systems exist. It can also magnify inefficiencies when those systems are weak. Some of the most effective organisations I have come across were not the wealthiest. They were the ones who built credibility, nurtured talent, fostered partnerships, learned continuously, and remained deeply connected to the communities they served. Development ultimately depends on institutions, as strong institutions outlive projects, preserve knowledge, adapt to changing circumstances, and create platforms through which future generations can continue the work. Sustainable change requires institutions capable of sustaining momentum long after a grant agreement expires.

Another belief I have gradually become sceptical of is the sector’s fascination with innovation. Few words are used more frequently in development conversations today. Every conference, funding call, and strategy document seems to emphasise innovation as the pathway to impact. New technologies, new models, and new approaches are often celebrated as solutions to deeply entrenched social challenges. Innovation undoubtedly has value, and many important advances have emerged from creative thinking. Yet the longer I work in development, the more I believe that adaptation is often more important than innovation.

Communities do not need solutions that look impressive in presentations; rather, they need solutions that work within their realities. The most successful initiatives I have known were not necessarily the most innovative. They were the most adaptive and respected local contexts rather than attempting to impose external models. The development sector is full of examples where brilliant ideas failed because they ignored the realities of the people they were intended to serve. It is also full of examples where relatively simple approaches succeeded because they were grounded in local ownership and practical wisdom.

Perhaps the most important lesson of all is that ownership is the ultimate measure of impact. For many years, I believed that scale alone represented the highest aspiration in development. Reach more people, expand into more geographies, and increase the numbers. Scale is important, and the magnitude of global challenges demands ambition. Yet scale without ownership is fragile. Programs that depend indefinitely on external actors are vulnerable by design. Lasting change occurs when communities begin to see an initiative as their own, when local leaders emerge, when institutions take root, and when progress continues without constant external direction.

This requires a profound shift in how we think about our role as development practitioners. Too often, organisations position themselves as providers of solutions. A more useful role may be that of a catalyst, connector, facilitator, and investor in human potential. The objective is not to become indispensable, but to create the conditions under which communities can thrive independently. Success is not measured by how long people depend on us, but by how effectively people progress without us.

As I reflect on my 20+ years in this sector, I remain optimistic despite the scale of the challenges before us. Climate change, inequality, unemployment, public health crises, and social exclusion remain formidable problems. Yet I have seen enough examples of human ingenuity, resilience, and determination to believe that meaningful progress is possible. I have seen individuals transform their circumstances, communities build collective solutions, and institutions evolve into powerful vehicles for social change. These experiences have reinforced my conviction, which has only grown stronger with time.The future of development will not be determined solely by larger budgets, more sophisticated frameworks, or more ambitious programs. It will be determined by our ability to strengthen local institutions, nurture entrepreneurship, build resilient economic ecosystems, and trust communities to shape their own destinies. If twenty years have taught me anything, it is that change is not something we deliver to people. Change is something people create when they have the opportunity, confidence, and freedom to act. Our responsibility is not to direct that process. It is to help create the conditions that make it possible and then have the humility to step aside.

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.

(Cover image is generated using AI)

Filed under Opinions, Social Impact Tagged with , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Digital Literacy vs Digital Confidence

June 15, 2026 Leave a comment

The digital divide in rural India is often described as an access problem. Smartphones are becoming increasingly common, data is becoming more affordable, and women are increasingly present on digital platforms, sharing messages, watching videos, and making video calls. However, this apparent inclusion masks a deeper exclusion. When it comes to using technology for business, like sending payments, managing accounts, registering enterprises on platforms, or selling online, many rural women hesitate. The contradiction is striking as access and skills exist, but ownership and confidence do not. The real barrier to digital inclusion is not digital literacy, but digital confidence.

Consider the experience of a rural woman entrepreneur who runs a home-based food business. She owns a smartphone, uses WhatsApp comfortably, and receives digital payments from customers. Yet she avoids sending money digitally, hesitates to use business apps, and depends on a family member for anything that she thinks is ‘important.’ Her fear of ‘what if something goes wrong?’ is not about a lack of knowledge, but about a lack of trust in oneself. Across rural contexts in India, women are digitally present but not digitally empowered. While they are users of technology, but unfortunately not the decision-makers within it.

Most development programs approach this challenge through the lens of digital literacy. Literacy is usually defined as the ability to operate a phone, navigate apps, recognise icons, or complete basic digital tasks. Training programs, device distributions, and short workshops are designed to tick these boxes. Once completed, women are counted as digitally included. However, literacy does not translate into agency. Knowing how to open an app does not mean feeling confident enough to transact independently. Watching a demonstration does not prepare someone to make decisions in real situations. Literacy teaches what to do, whereas confidence determines whether one dares to do it.

Digital confidence, unlike literacy, is rarely named, measured, or funded. It refers to a person’s trust in their own ability to use technology without fear, their willingness to make mistakes, and their sense of belonging in digital spaces. This confidence is more psychological than technical, emotional rather than instructional. For rural women, digital confidence is shaped by years of social conditioning that discourages experimentation, independence, and risk-taking. Without this confidence, technology remains something to be handled carefully or delegated to others.

The reasons for low digital confidence among rural women are structural and gendered. Financial fear is a major factor, with stories of fraud, which are often exaggerated, circulating widely. A single mistake can lead to loss of money, blame from family members, or public embarrassment. Cash, by contrast, feels safe and visible as it can be counted, corrected, and recovered. In this context, avoiding digital tools becomes a rational choice rather than a sign of ignorance.

Gendered control over technology further weakens confidence. In many households, men act as informal gatekeepers of digital systems. Even when women own phones, passwords, banking apps, and registrations are often managed by husbands or sons. Over time, this creates dependence and reinforces the belief that digital decision-making is not a woman’s responsibility. What begins as ‘help’ slowly turns into exclusion.

Men are often allowed to experiment, fail, and learn, while women, especially in rural settings, are not afforded the same grace. A mistake made by a woman is quickly interpreted as evidence that she should not be engaging in business or technology at all. This low tolerance for failure discourages curiosity and reinforces caution. When the social cost of error is high for women, playing safe becomes the only viable strategy.

Design and language barriers also play a role, as many digital platforms are not built for first-generation users. Interfaces are cluttered, English-heavy, and filled with technical or financial jargon. For women with limited formal education, each unfamiliar term reinforces a sense of exclusion. Technology begins to feel alien, designed for someone else, and confidence erodes further. The consequences of low digital confidence are visible in how rural women run their enterprises. As a result, businesses remain informal, small, and dependent on intermediaries. Family members or middlemen step in to handle digital aspects, capturing control and value. Instead of reducing inequality, technology ends up reinforcing existing power structures.

Evidence from the ground suggests that when confidence is addressed, outcomes change. In India’s SHG networks, women who participate in repeated, hands-on digital practice sessions gradually begin to transact independently. Rural women entrepreneurs who learn in peer groups adopt digital tools more confidently than those trained in isolation. The turning point is rarely a new app or feature; it is the moment a woman completes a task on her own and realises she can do it again.

Building digital confidence requires a different approach. Repetition matters more than certification. One-time trainings raise awareness, but confidence grows through continued practice. Peer role models are powerful, especially when women see others from similar backgrounds navigating technology successfully. Safe spaces for failure are essential, allowing women to learn without fear of financial or social consequences. Trusted human support through community facilitators, SHGs, or NGOs provides reassurance and continuity that technology alone cannot offer.

For policymakers, donors, and practitioners, this demands a rethinking of program design. Success should not be measured by the number of women trained or devices distributed, but by independent usage, decision-making, and willingness to explore digital tools. Budgets must allow for handholding, follow-ups, and time. Behavioural change cannot be rushed, and technology should not be treated as a shortcut to empowerment.At the policy level, digital public infrastructure holds enormous promise, but only if it is designed with gendered realities in mind. Women-first user experience, local-language interfaces, and community-based support systems are essential. Digital inclusion must be understood as a question of agency, not just access. Until rural women believe that the digital world belongs to them and they are confident to click, transact, and decide, technology will remain an accessory rather than a catalyst for entrepreneurship and change. The future of rural women’s enterprise will be built not just on smartphones, but on the transformative moment when a woman says to herself, ‘I can do this,’ and acts without fear.

(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.)

Cover image is generated using AI

Filed under Social Impact, Technology Tagged with , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Confessions of a Fundraiser

February 2, 2026 1 Comment

By a Head of Development, who has been there, done that. 

I have spent a good part of my career raising funds for livelihoods and entrepreneurship, environmental sustainability, and digital inclusion. These are kinds of work that everyone agrees are deeply important, and expects to be delivered at miraculous speed, near-zero overheads, and with measurable transformation visible by the next board meeting! Over the years, I have learned that in India’s funding universe, March is not just a month but a mood, where phone calls are returned with unprecedented urgency, proposals are rediscovered with fresh enthusiasm, and sustainability plans are requested even before the first grant tranche has cleared. I have learnt to speak fluently about empowerment while explaining, with equal conviction, why empowerment requires trainers, coordinators, field activities, local transport, and a field office. I have learnt that pilots can run for a decade and still be called pilots, that social impact is expected to be both transformative and inexpensive, and that the most common expression of donor admiration is, ‘This is excellent work. Can you replicate in two districts with 20% less budget?’ And yet, I have also learnt that when trust is built patiently, and partnerships are approached as shared responsibility rather than transactional funding, the system does work, unevenly, imperfectly, but often just in time.

If you ever want to test your emotional resilience, professional patience, and metaphysical belief in destiny, try becoming a fundraiser for social impact in India. Not as a hobby or a phase in life, but as a full-time, salaried, KPI-driven profession where your success is measured in crores raised, relationships sustained, and hopes renewed, often all before lunch. Fundraising in India is not a job; it is a personality type. It is a slow-burning spiritual practice. It is also, on some days, a contact sport.

Most fundraisers do not grow up dreaming of this life. No child has ever said, ‘When I grow up, I want to write concept notes, follow up politely seven times, and still be told the CSR budget has already been exhausted for this year.’ Fundraisers are usually people who joined the development sector with good intentions and then stayed because they discovered a rare combination of optimism, masochism, and an above-average tolerance for ambiguity. In India, fundraising also requires fluency in multiple dialects, not linguistic ones, but donor dialects. You must speak CSR, philanthropy, family office, multilateral, HNI, trust, and the particularly tricky language known as ‘let’s take this offline.’

Every fundraising journey begins with a proposal that is equal parts strategy and speculative fiction. A document that must be simultaneously visionary and realistic, innovative yet ‘scalable,’ rooted in community voice and at the same time aligned to the donor’s thematic priorities for the current financial year. The proposal must do many things at once: ‘Solve poverty + empower women + be sustainable by the third year + align with SDGs (preferably all of them) + cost exactly the amount the funder has available + have low overheads but world-class MEL.’ You will spend weeks refining language, perfecting logframes, and polishing budgets, only to be asked in the first meeting, ‘Can you explain this in two lines?’ You will smile, compress your knowledge of years of community work into a sentence, and remind yourself that clarity is a virtue, even when it hurts.

Sooner or later, every fundraiser in India faces the great philosophical question of our time: Why do you need staff to run a project? Recently, another question got added to my great list when a funder asked me, ‘Why do you need field offices to implement a community-based high-touch project?’ Mind you, I managed a straight-faced answer, without any smirk or sarcasm, even though I cursed the day I decided to be a fundraiser.

Admin costs are a suspicious category in the minds of Indian donors. They include dangerous items like salaries, rent, electricity, and internet, none of which, apparently, contribute to impact. As a fundraiser, you become adept at explaining that projects do not run on goodwill and sunlight alone. That field teams do not teleport. That data does not collect itself. You learn to say ‘lean but adequate,’ ‘efficient yet ethical,’ and ‘value for money’ with full sincerity. I have even attempted some humour at times on the negotiation tables, saying, ‘Without admin costs, the project will still exist, but just as an idea.’ Results vary post such statements.

What I have understood is that fundraising in India is less about money and more about relationships. Money is merely the by-product of trust built over years, conversations, coffees, conferences, and carefully worded WhatsApp messages. I have learnt that a ‘quick call’ can last an hour or more, a ‘small grant’ can require six levels of approvals and may take two years; silence doesn’t mean rejection (or acceptance); words from leadership are golden, but if you don’t have that in writing, you are screwed. The fundraiser’s greatest skill is not writing; it is patience. You patiently wait for responses, for board meetings, for the next quarter, for the funder who loved your work but is noncommittal. You wait with optimism, and dignified reminders, gentle ones every couple of weeks.

Then comes the project visit by the funder, usually by some of their board members and senior leadership. Often, they bring moments of high drama along with it. For the donor, it is a glimpse into our community-connect and implementation efficiency. For a fundraiser, it often turns into a logistical marathon involving vehicles, weather, community leaders, beneficiaries, translators, photographers, and a strong hope that nothing goes wrong. In all such visits, we fundraisers pray to some invisible power that the roads are navigable, community meetings start on time, funder’s visibility is primed, and no one asks an unplanned question about funding gaps. If all goes well, the funder says, ‘This is so impactful.’ You nod, beaming. You make a mental note to follow up in three days. At the beginning of my fundraising career in India two decades ago, I often ended up being shocked by the variety of demands by donor representatives visiting project sites. Thanks to the information age, the visiting representatives nowadays are well informed and often invested in social change.

Fundraisers also live at the intersection of data and dignity, translating lived experience into metrics without stripping it of meaning.Indian donors want data and stories, and at times, even at the cost of losing the bigger picture. You learn to convert human change into numbers without losing the soul of the work. You say things like, ‘4025 women trained’, and then you add, ‘Meet Sunita, who now earns independently and negotiates at home.’ You know that neither is sufficient alone, and the narrative together, they might just unlock the next tranche.

How can I forget the ultimate sword of big NO! Rejection is a constant companion of us fundraisers, like a dark shadow. Sometimes polite, sometimes vague, and sometimes dressed up as ‘great work, but not this year.’ You learn not to take it personally, mostly. You also learn that today’s rejection can be tomorrow’s opportunity, because India’s funding ecosystem is small, relational, and cyclical. The donor who said no last year may say yes next year, after changing jobs, priorities, or perspectives. So you keep the door open, always.

Fundraising is emotional labour. You hold hope for communities, for organisations, for teams whose salaries depend on your ability to convince someone that change is worth investing in. You are optimistic on behalf of others, even on days you feel tired. You absorb anxiety, translate urgency, and project confidence. You celebrate quietly when funds come through, and cushion disappointment when they don’t. You are expected to be resilient, persuasive, strategic, and endlessly positive. No one tells you this in job descriptions.

And yet, despite the follow-ups, the spreadsheets, the rejections, the ‘please reduce your budget by 15-20%,’ and often ending up becoming a football between the funder and the grantee management, we choose to stay. Because once in a while, a funder truly listens. Once in a while, a partnership feels equal. Once in a while, funding aligns perfectly with need, timing, and trust. And in those moments, you remember why fundraising matters. Because social impact does not scale on passion alone. It scales on resources, relationships, and people willing to ask again and again for something better.

So here’s to the fundraisers in India: The translators. The bridge-builders. The professional optimists. May your proposals be read, your follow-ups answered, and your impact always exceed your budgets. And may you never lose your sense of humour. Wishing you strong coffee, timely approvals, and generous funders, today and always.

May the force be with you! 

(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. This is a humorous attempt, and not angst, and certainly no disrespect for donors and funders of social impact.)

(Cover image is generated using AI)

Filed under Opinions, Social Impact Tagged with , , , , , , , , , , , ,

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!

Filed under Opinions Tagged with , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Who are urban marginalized people

November 20, 2024 Leave a comment

Photo Credit: https://humana-india.org/

In last 2-3 years, I have been part of several discussions to define and build a consensus on understanding of urban marginalised and vulnerable population (UMVP) in the context of India, and how this population group has been evolving and growing in numbers. India’s rapid urbanization over the past few decades has transformed its cities into economic powerhouses contributing 60% of India’s GDP. While in 2023 around 37% of India’s population lived in urban areas, it is estimated that by 2036, half of India’s population will live in cities. However, this growth has also led to the marginalization of a significant portion of the population. Cities Alliance estimated that 25% of the population living in urban areas are below the poverty line. By this estimate, a shocking 125+ million people are marginalised and vulnerable living in the urban areas. The urban marginalized and vulnerable groups comprising of slum dwellers, informal workers, migrant labourers, women, children, and the homeless face numerous challenges like access to basic citizens’ rights, services, and opportunities. As India continues its urban transition, addressing the vulnerabilities of these populations is critical to achieving inclusive development.

The UMVPs live in precarious conditions, often lacking access to basic services like clean water, housing, sanitation, healthcare, and education. Their vulnerabilities are shaped by socio-economic, cultural, political, and structural factors that leave them excluded from mainstream urban life. They often lack the necessary documentation to access government schemes and services, such as ration cards, Aadhaar cards, or voter identification. This exclusion prevents them from benefiting from welfare programs like the Public Distribution System (PDS), healthcare subsidies, or housing schemes. The UMVPs can broadly be classified in five sub-groups,

  1. Slum Dwellers: According to the 2011 Census, about 65 million people in India live in urban slums. Slums across India have poor housing, lack of sanitation, overcrowding, and a high risk of diseases, especially communicable. People living in the slums often have insecure tenure, making them vulnerable to eviction and displacement due to urban development projects. Displacement not only disrupts their livelihoods but also pushes them further into poverty. Poor living conditions contribute to health problems, including respiratory diseases (especially TB) and waterborne infections.
  • Homeless Population: India’s urban homeless population is particularly vulnerable, facing extreme marginalization. With no permanent shelter, the homeless are exposed to harsh weather conditions, violence, and health risks. They have limited access to government welfare schemes and often fall outside the purview of census data, making it difficult to design targeted interventions. HLRN estimates that there could be more than 3 million homeless individuals. Extreme poverty, unemployment, displacement due to natural disasters, mental illness, substance abuse, runaways, are often the causes of homelessness, and their numbers are continuously increasing in urban India.
  • Informal Workers: The informal sector accounts for nearly 80% of India’s urban workforce. This includes daily wage labourers, street vendors, domestic workers, and construction workers, among others. Informal workers lack job security, social protection, and access to formal financial systems, leaving them vulnerable to economic shocks. The COVID-19 pandemic exposed the extreme vulnerability of informal workers, who faced sudden job losses and had low-to-no access to financial aid. Informal workers often are slum dwellers, or live in low income housing colonies, or are even homeless.
  • Migrant Laborers: Migration to cities in search of employment and better life is common in India. However, migrant labourers, often from rural areas both intra- and inter-state, face significant challenges in urban settings. They often find employment in low-paying jobs with little to no benefits, live in temporary or inadequate housing, and struggle to access public services due to a lack of local identification documents. Temporary migratory population is also a sub-set of this group, who come to cities for seasonal work, migrate from one place to another, also migrate within the cities in search of work. Construction workers and artisanal nomadic groups can be good examples of migratory population.
  • Women and Children: Women and children within urban marginalized communities living in slums or informal settlements often work in low-paid informal jobs while managing household responsibilities. They are more likely to experience gender-based violence, discrimination and exploitation, limited access to healthcare, and lack of educational/skilling opportunities. Children in these settings suffer from malnutrition, poor schooling, and limited opportunities for social mobility. They often attend poorly equipped government schools or are forced to drop out to contribute to household income.

India’s urban marginalized and vulnerable populations represent a significant and often overlooked segment of society. Ensuring their inclusion in the country’s urban development is essential for sustainable and equitable growth, while bestowing opportunity and dignity for all citizens as their Right.

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

Filed under Econ Dev, Social Impact Tagged with , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

← Older posts