27

Oct

Diwali’s Dark Glow: From Mithai Boxes to Digital Bribes

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A person wearing glasses and a suit AI-generated content may be incorrect.Diwali is glitter. Gold, new clothes, crackers, laughter, and billions spent—from homes to high streets. Houses glow, rangolis bloom, sweets fly across neighbours, diyas shimmer in rows. The goddess of wealth, Mahalakshmi, is invoked in every home, and commerce hums at full pitch.

But somewhere inside offices, envelopes quietly change hands. The lanterns light up—but so do pockets.

No one really knows the size of India’s Diwali gifting market, but the Confederation of All India Traders (CAIT) estimates it at ₹6.05 lakh crore ($80 billion) in 2025—a record in festive spending. Curiously, big trade bodies like FICCI, CII, and Assocham have avoided guessing, perhaps aware that in a market with shrinking jobs and rising prices, such exuberance seems unlikely.

From sweets and dry fruits to imported chocolates, gold coins, and designer hampers, gifting has evolved into a multibillion-rupee ecosystem. Yet, the most expensive “gold” today may be Amul Gold, Priya Gold, Tata Gold, and Britt Marie Gold—not the metal itself.

Traditional mithai boxes now share space with curated baskets of wine, candles, handmade textiles, bamboo tumblers, and artisanal chocolates—reaching even small towns and villages.

Behind the Glitter: Gifts with Strings Attached

That’s the visible Diwali. Behind it runs a darker ritual—the exchange of “festival gifts” that come with expectations. Files to be signed, tenders cleared, pensions approved—someone must “grease the wheels.”

No wonder India’s cash economy thrives. During demonetisation in 2016, currency circulation stood at about ₹15 lakh crore; today it has doubled to over ₹32 lakh crore. The “suvidha shulk” (facilitation fee) has become a normal expense—even for legitimate work.

Diwali, India’s festival of lights, has become both a celebration of wealth and a reflection of corruption. While people spend lavishly on sweets, gifts, and gold—creating a ₹6.05 lakh crore gifting market—many “gifts” mask bribery and under-the-table deals. Behind the glow of diyas, money quietly changes hands to clear files, approve tenders, or secure pensions.
Monday Musing
By Shivaji Sarkar
The term “suvidha shulk” (facilitation fee) has normalized corruption across offices, with even small officials maintaining “rate cards.” Despite government bans on festive gifts and anti-corruption warnings, bribery continues through digital and indirect means. From multinational scandals under the U.S. Foreign Corrupt Practices Act to local-level graft, corruption appears borderless. Diwali’s symbolism of purity and prosperity now carries a dark irony—where gifts often serve as bribes and generosity blurs into transaction, turning the festival of light into a festival of hush money.

“Mithai, chai-pani, suvidha—sweet names for corruption,” says Shikha Tyagi, a senior manager in a multinational firm. “Businesses have found legal ways to present largesse during Diwali. Rates have multiplied a hundredfold in a decade.”

Even those with steady incomes often pay to move files—pension claims, school approvals, trade licenses. From large corporations to local shopkeepers, “festive facilitation expenses” are quietly budgeted every year.

It’s an irony worthy of Mahalakshmi herself—the goddess of wealth presiding over a season when illegal wealth flows most freely.

The Global Trail

The malaise isn’t local. One of India’s richest industrialists faces U.S. charges in a $265 million bribery and securities fraud case linked to solar projects.

American law, under the Foreign Corrupt Practices Act (FCPA), has repeatedly caught companies bribing Indian officials. Cognizant paid $25 million for such violations in Chennai. Others named include Embraer, Anheuser-Busch, Mondelez/Cadbury, Oracle, Tyco, Dow Chemical, Textron, and Diageo, together accused of bribing Indians with $77.8 million, according to U.S. law firm Foley & Lardner.

Corruption Without Borders—or Bottoms

In Chhattisgarh, a widow was asked to pay ₹2.8 lakh in bribes to get her pension and gratuity cleared. She fought back. The High Court rejected the accused’s plea to dismiss her case as a “compromise,” calling it “a matter of moral turpitude.”

In Guwahati, NHIDCL Managing Director Krishna Kumar was caught taking ₹10 lakh from a contractor. In Punjab, DIG H.S. Bhullar’s arrest exposed piles of cash, gold, and luxury watches. Even a PWD supervisor routinely charges ₹7,000–₹30,000 to clear contractor bills—small sums that, multiplied nationwide, show the system’s deep rot.

Every department has its “rate card”—from pensions and construction to tax clearances and university accreditations. In one tragic case, a foreign road contractor unable to recover dues took his own life.

As Diwali nears, roads gleam, flyovers sparkle—and contractors line up with “Diwali tokens.” Beneath the ritual lies a parallel economy where gratitude turns into gratification.

Veteran journalist Satish Mishra from NCR-UP recalls, “It’s impossible to do business without bribes. I had to pay one myself during the registration of my wife’s flat. The builder had fled without an NOC, and though residents paid collectively, everyone knew where the money went.”

A 2024 Local Circles survey found 66% of Indian businesses admitted paying bribes in the past year—mostly to government officials (72%). Cash dominated (83%), though some bribes came disguised as gifts or favours via agents. This year, several payments were reportedly held up before Diwali—over disputes on the “right percentage” to be paid.

Behind closed doors, software meets soft hands. Multiple “shadow accounts” now handle what was once cash in envelopes.

Ahead of Diwali 2025, the Union Finance Ministry banned government departments from using public funds for festive gifts. States followed suit.

In Rajasthan, the Anti-Corruption Bureau (ACB) warned that giving or receiving costly gifts could invite prosecution. Gujarat’s ACB announced secret monitoring of Diwali exchanges. Tamil Nadu’s Directorate of Vigilance deployed special teams to track traders sending “sweet boxes” stuffed with cash.

Yet, despite these moves, the festive bribe script remains unchanged. Payments are just more polished now—processed through digital transfers and obscure accounts.

Some argue, “Gifts are part of our culture.” True—but culture doesn’t demand a quid pro quo. When a box of sweets comes with the unspoken message, “Remember us when you clear the file,” it’s no longer generosity—it’s transaction.

A financial magazine Moneylife defines bribery as: “The offer, promise, giving, demand, or acceptance of undue advantage as inducement for an illegal or unethical act.” That’s Diwali gifting for many—ordinary, normalized, and camouflaged in festivity.

The irony is darkly poetic. We deck our doors with diyas and hearts with generosity, yet the “token of goodwill” often means, “Here’s your gift. Do the job after puja.”

Someone joked Diwali has become “ghuskhori ka dharmik utsav”—a religious festival of bribery. Perhaps it isn’t a joke at all.

Because beneath the glow of diyas and fireworks, India’s festival of light risks turning once again into a festival of hush money.

(Prof. Shivaji Sarkar is a senior journalist and media activist specialising in financial reporting.)

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