Gold Rush

As the festive season in India is ongoing, jewellers across India are ready, investors tracking bullion prices, and families waiting eagerly for the most “auspicious” day of the year to buy gold. Dhanteras, celebrated two days before Diwali, has long been associated with the purchase of the precious metal, a tradition believed to bring prosperity and good fortune. Similar buying frenzies occur during Akshaya Tritiya, weddings, Karwa Chauth, and harvest festivals, when gold is not merely an adornment but a cultural marker of wealth and status.

Market reports celebrate the crores spent, but beneath the sparkle lies a complex story of culture, aspiration, and economics. Is festival gold-buying a timeless symbol of financial prudence and cultural continuity, or is it a cycle of consumption propelled by social pressure, marketing, and habit?

India’s love affair with gold is centuries old. From the time of the Indus Valley civilisation to the Mauryan emperors to our modern nuclear families, gold has been a medium of exchange, a store of value, and a token of spiritual significance. For millions, gold is not just metal, it is Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth herself. Dhanteras literally means “the thirteenth day of wealth,” and families believe that buying gold on this day invites abundance.

This cultural reverence made economic sense in a pre-banking era. Gold’s intrinsic value and portability provided a hedge against famine, emergency, and currency devaluation. Rural households, lacking access to formal savings mechanism, used jewellery as insurance and collateral. Even today, India remains the world’s second-largest consumer of gold, with annual demand often exceeding 700–800 tonnes. For many, gold remains the most trusted form of intergenerational wealth transfer.

Yet, today’s festival buying is no longer just about family heirlooms or prudent savings. It has evolved into a multi-billion-rupee economic event. According to trade bodies like the All-India Gem and Jewellery Domestic Council, Dhanteras sales often spike by 20–25% year-on-year, depending on price trends. In 2024, for example, despite gold hovering at record highs of around INR61,000 per 10 grams, jewellers reported robust demand, with many urban consumers opting for lighter designs or digital gold to keep up with tradition.

Specific estimates for festival (especially Dhanteras) sales in recent years help show the proportion of demand tied to ritual buying. During Dhanteras in 2024, around 20-22 tonnes of gold were sold, worth nearly INR 16,000 crore. The full jewellery sector during the festival period saw sales in the INR 18,000-20,000 crore.

The annual figures show India’s gold demand continues to be immense, though shifting in nature,

  • In 2024, India’s total gold demand rose to around 802.8 tonnes, up from 761 tonnes in 2023.  
  • The value of gold purchases in 2024 was estimated at INR 5.15 lakh crore (~US$60-70 billion depending on gold price).  
  • Jewellery demand in 2024 was ~ 563 tonnes, with the non-ornamental purchases (coins/bars) making up ~ 239 tonnes.   

These numbers reflect overall demand, not just festival or Dhanteras purchases, but festivals remain a major driver. The data show that although overall demand has often crept upward in value terms (driven by price inflation), the volume of jewellery demand has at times fallen or stagnated. For example, in 2024 jewellery tonnage demand dropped ~2% compared to 2023 even as value increased.

Targeted marketing plays a huge role. Advertisements link gold to auspiciousness and emotional milestones, “Gift prosperity,” “Secure her future,” “Start your Diwali with gold.” Social media influencers and celebrity endorsements reinforce the message that a festival without gold is incomplete. This creates a powerful psychological loop: buying gold is not just desirable, it is expected.

The Dhanteras gold rush is fuelled by a mix of fear and aspiration. Gold retains a near-mystical aura as a hedge against uncertainty. Global financial instability, inflation, and geopolitical tensions often send prices higher, reinforcing the perception of gold as a “safe haven.” For middle-class families, a few grams bought every year feels like both a celebration and a safety net.

But there is also the quieter pressure of status. Weddings, festivals, and social gatherings often showcase jewellery as a measure of success. The fear of “falling behind” relatives or neighbours can nudge families, especially in smaller towns and rural areas, into stretching budgets and even getting into debt trap to maintain appearances. What was once a hedge against uncertainty can change into a source of financial strain.

From a macroeconomic perspective, India’s gold obsession is a double edged sword. While the jewellery industry supports millions of jobs, from miners to artisans to retailers, it also represents a massive outflow of capital. India imports more than 90% of its gold, spending billions of dollars in foreign exchange each year. Economists have long argued that this “dead investment” locks up household savings in a non-productive asset, diverting funds from sectors like manufacturing, infrastructure, or technology that could generate higher returns and employment.

For individual households, the opportunity cost is equally significant. A family buying gold at festival-time may forgo investing in equity markets, mutual funds, or even bank deposits that could provide compounding growth. Gold prices, while generally stable over the long term, are not immune to volatility as we are witnessing now with gold prices rising to INR 120K+ per 10 grams. The metal offers no dividends or interest; its value lies only in resale or emotional satisfaction.

Beyond economics lies an often-ignored cost, the environmental impact of gold mining. Extracting gold is an energy-intensive process that generates toxic waste and contributes to deforestation, soil erosion, and water pollution. Globally, gold mining is associated with mercury contamination and significant carbon emissions. While India imports much of its gold, domestic refining and artisanal mining also pose environmental challenges.

Consumers rarely connect their festival purchases to these ecological consequences. The cultural narrative of purity and prosperity masks the fact that every bangle and coin carries a hidden footprint. Ethical sourcing, such as recycled gold or fair-trade certifications, is slowly gaining traction among urban, environmentally conscious buyers, but remains a niche segment.

As India’s economy digitises, a quiet transformation is underway. Younger consumers, especially in cities, are exploring alternatives to physical gold. Digital gold platforms, gold exchange-traded funds (ETFs), and sovereign gold bonds (SGBs) allow individuals to invest in gold without worrying about purity, storage, or theft.

These products offer flexibility and sometimes better returns. Sovereign gold bonds, for instance, pay annual interest and are exempt from capital gains tax if held to maturity. Yet they also challenge the cultural core of gold-buying: there is no ornament to wear, no glitter to display, no festive ritual of walking into a jewellery shop on Dhanteras. For many families, the emotional experience is as important as the investment itself. Still, the shift is undeniable. Digital gold platforms have reported double-digit growth during recent festivals, particularly among younger investors who value convenience and liquidity over tradition.

So where does this leave the Indian consumer? To dismiss festival gold-buying as mere superstition would be simplistic. Traditions provide continuity, identity, and joy. For rural households with limited access to financial products, gold remains a practical and trusted savings tool.

But to ignore the economic, environmental, and social pressures embedded in this ritual is equally shortsighted. When a practice once rooted in prudence becomes a compulsive annual expense, it risks becoming a trap. The symbolism of prosperity can mask financial strain, and the celebration of abundance can conceal environmental degradation. Festivals can retain their joy without becoming economic burdens. A few grams of gold bought with intention, rather than compulsion, can honour tradition while respecting modern realities.

Dhanteras will always hold a special place in the Indian calendar. The sight of families entering jewellery shops, and elders blessing the new purchase is undeniably heartwarming. Yet it is worth remembering that true prosperity lies not in the weight of gold but in the wisdom of choice.

As India strides into a digital, climate conscious future, perhaps the most auspicious act is not buying more gold, but buying it mindfully acknowledging its beauty, its history, and its hidden costs. The goddess of wealth, after all, smiles brightest on those who balance tradition with thoughtfulness.

Buy thoughtfully. Celebrate responsibly. Live consciously.

How sustainable is Sustainability?

Few words have travelled as far and wide in recent decades as “sustainability”, and has certainly surpassed another overused (in recent past) term ‘social capital’ in usage! It has become synonymous with progress in corporate boardrooms, multilateral summits, government policies, NGO goals, and grassroots movements alike. From ESG scorecards to climate pledges, from net-zero roadmaps to community-led conservation, the language of sustainability has become universal. Every government strategy, corporate report, and grassroots initiative seems anchored in the promise of a more sustainable future. Yet beneath this consensus lies a paradoxical and uncomfortable question: ‘is the sustainability agenda itself sustainable?’

The modern sustainability agenda rests on a powerful proposition that economic growth, social equity, and environmental stewardship can be reconciled. This “triple bottom line” has mobilized unprecedented investment in renewable energy, green finance, and inclusive business models. It has inspired younger generations to demand more from institutions. And it has reframed long-term resilience as a competitive advantage, not a trade-off. But the very breadth of the agenda also makes it fragile. Sustainability risks becoming a catch-all phrase, diluted by overuse and co-opted for public relations more than systemic change. “Greenwashing” scandals, short political cycles, and the uneven costs of climate transitions all threaten to erode public trust. Without credibility and consistency, the agenda risks collapsing under its own ambition.

Sustainability requires commitments that extend far beyond the horizon of electoral politics. Yet in many countries, climate targets or ESG mandates are vulnerable to reversal when governments change. Contrast this with the European Union’s legally binding climate law, a structural safeguard that makes sustainability less of a political preference and more of a shared contract. Unless sustainability is institutionally embedded, it remains hostage to short sightedness.

Green growth advocates argue that economies can decouple prosperity from resource use. The rapid expansion of renewable energy, circular economy models, and impact investing provide evidence of possibility. Yet sceptics highlight that global consumption continues to outpace planetary boundaries. The sustainability agenda will endure only if it reconciles with the fundamental question of growth Vs limits. Can infinite growth coexist with finite resources?

No agenda, however well-intentioned, survives if it is perceived as unjust. For sustainability to be sustainable, it must embody fairness that includes redistributing costs, creating inclusive opportunities, and acknowledging diverse voices, particularly from the Global South. Social justice and legitimacy must go hand in hand.

Ultimately, sustainability is not just a strategy, it is a cultural shift. The more it embeds in consumer choices, organizational values, and educational systems, the harder it becomes to reverse. Yet cultural fatigue is real. When “sustainability” is reduced to a buzzword on every product label, development projects, and corporate brochure, it risks losing meaning. The agenda must therefore move from rhetoric to demonstrable impact, measured transparently and communicated honestly.

The sustainability agenda is both fragile and resilient. Fragile because it depends on long-term alignment across politics, markets, and societies, an alignment often in short supply. Resilient because it has transcended niche environmentalism to become a mainstream expectation that governments and corporations cannot ignore.

Its endurance will depend not on visionary statements but on institutional embedding, equitable policies, and a relentless focus on credibility. At its best, sustainability can serve as the organising principle of a new social contract, aligning business, government, and citizens toward long-term collective wellbeing. Sustainability will only be sustainable if it delivers, not someday, but today.

The next frontier is not about asking companies, governments, or communities to “do more” on sustainability. It is about demanding structural integrity – mechanisms, institutions, and accountability frameworks that ensure sustainability survives political shifts, economic pressures, and cultural fatigue.

Who are urban marginalized people

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.

Jungle Nama: A Story of the Sundarban

Jungle Nama: A Story of the Sundarban

by Amitav Ghosh | 88 Pages | Genre:  Literary Fiction | Publisher: Fourth Estate | Year: 2021 | My Rating: 8.5/10

“All you need do, is be content with what you’ve got, to be always craving more, is a demon’s lot.”
― Amitav Ghosh, Jungle Nama

“Jungle Nama” by Amitav Ghosh is a captivating verse adaptation of a Bengali folktale from the Sundarbans, the world’s largest mangrove forest shared between India and Bangladesh. Written in a lyrical, rhythmic style, and illustrated by Salman Toor, the book tells the story of “Bon Bibi,” a benovelent goddess of the Sundarbans who safeguards the jungle and its people, and her conflict with Dokkhin Rai, a powerful demon-like figure who seeks to exploit the forest’s riches.

Ghosh’s decision to render this ancient tale in verse brings a unique musicality to the story, echoing the cadence of oral storytelling introducing music to current speech that has kept the folktale alive for generations. His prose is imbued with both reverence for the source material and a contemporary sensibility that makes the story accessible to a modern audience. Accompanying the text are hauntingly beautiful illustrations by artist Salman Toor, whose work enhances the mystical and otherworldly atmosphere of the Sundarbans and its lore.

Beyond its enchanting style, Jungle Nama explores timeless themes of balance between nature and humanity, the perils of human greed, and the importance of respecting natural boundaries. Ghosh subtly draws parallels to modern issues like climate change and environmental degradation, suggesting that the ancient wisdom in the Bon Bibi story holds valuable lessons for today’s world. Through Bon Bibi’s character, he raises questions about stewardship, sustainability, and the price of human ambition.

The book is more than a poetic retelling; it’s an immersive experience that connects readers to both nature and folklore. Ghosh’s evocative language and Toor’s illustrations work in harmony to capture the spirit of the Sundarbans and its lore, making this book a visually and intellectually rich addition to Ghosh’s body of work. The poem-like style of the book follows twelve syllables in each line, and each couplet has twenty-four syllables. After each line there is a natural pause or a caesura, replicating the cadence of the original legend.

This book by one of my all-time favourite authors is a mesmerizing read for anyone interested in myth, poetry, linguistic hybridity, and environment, offering a rare glimpse into a world where nature and spirituality are deeply intertwined.

Revenge of the Planet

In a twist of fate that seems like it was ripped straight from the pages of a dystopian novel, Planet Earth has decided it’s time for a little payback. And who can blame it? After decades of exploitation, pollution, and blatant disregard for its well-being, the Earth is ready to reclaim its throne. So, buckle up and prepare for the “Revenge of the Planet,” a wild ride through the hilarious and dramatic consequences of our environmental neglect.

The year was 2030, and Earth had been dealing with humanity’s nonsense for centuries: automobile humming, factories puffing, and smartphones buzzing, plastic in the oceans, air full of smog and pollutants, and forests reduced to sad little patches that looked like Mother Nature’s receding hairline. While we humans went about our business, basking in the glow of smartphones and conveniently ignoring every climate report ever written, the planet finally had enough. It was time for some cosmic payback.

First came the heatwaves. When the sun started sizzling eggs on car hoods and air conditioners were breaking down in sheer exhaustion, we should’ve known something was up. Earth wasn’t playing anymore. Then came the incessant rain, cyclones and Hurricanes. Thousands of cities and villages got flooded killing all in their wake: humans, animals, trees, cars, houses, all were game for the planet’s rage. As glaciers melted at a pace faster than your average deadline in an office setting, and wildfires spread like trending tweets, humans start to notice. Our beloved beaches? Now more like lava zones.

As Earth’s revenge gained momentum, the animals began organizing. Rats—usually content with minor mischief like digging up flower beds—became stealth operatives, chewing through power lines and cutting off electricity to entire neighbourhoods. Birds, tired of dodging skyscrapers, formed tactical squadrons to stage mass air raids on unsuspecting pedestrians. Pigeons, already seasoned in the art of airborne attacks and eating through aircon units, took their missions to new heights, dive-bombing with precision accuracy.

Mother Earth had one last ace up her sleeve: technology. Since humans had become so dependent on gadgets, she decided to hit us where it hurt. Phones suddenly started overheating for no reason, GPS systems began suggesting scenic routes through uncharted forests, and voice assistants became strangely passive-aggressive.

Hey, Siri, what’s the weather today?”

Why don’t you go outside and find out for yourself, you lazy carbon footprint.”

By the time forests started sprouting overnight and the Arctic ice declared “We’re back!” humanity finally took notice. Governments convened emergency meetings to address the phenomenon, though the politicians were quick to blame each other.

“We need to plant more trees!” one leader shouted.

“But the trees are literally attacking us,” another replied.

Meanwhile, while we sat glued to our screens, watching the chaos unfold, the bees are buzzing in the background. That’s right, our fuzzy little friends are holding clandestine meetings, plotting a revolt. “We’ll stop pollinating crops if they don’t start recycling!” one bee declares, and with that, the price of avocados skyrockets, pushing millennials to the edge of madness. Who knew that eco-awareness could double as a financial crisis?

After a series of failed peace talks with the ocean (which responded with a tsunami every time someone brought up offshore drilling), humans collectively realized: we were in deep compost!

Just as it seemed like Earth would forever reign supreme, a surprising thing happened. Humans finally got their act together. It’s time for a Renaissance! Countries began cooperating—trading carbon offsets instead of insults. Renewable energy became the norm. Plastic was replaced by biodegradable alternatives, and landfills shrank faster than your favourite sweater. People rally together armed with reusable bags and solar panels. Urban gardens sprout up like mushrooms after a rain, while communities bond over composting workshops. It’s a revolution of education, where every child learns how to plant a tree faster than their parents can say, “Remember when we just used to throw things in the landfill?” In the end, Earth called off her revenge, not because she couldn’t win, but because she wanted to see what we’d do next. As for humanity, we learned the hard way that Earth isn’t just a rock floating in space—it’s a vengeful force of nature with a wicked sense of humour. And if we want to stay on its good side, we’d better treat it 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