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Time of India
3 days ago
- Business
- Time of India
More women, more profit: So why is corporate India still male at the top?
Barsha Nag Bhowmick has an opinion on anything and everything. A scribe for more than two decades, she writes on various topics including art, literature, relationships, lifestyle and anything that arouses her interest from time to time. When not into writing, she paints. Follow @barshanag on Twitter LESS ... MORE If numbers are the most convincing argument in a boardroom, then Indian companies have no excuse left. A new report by HR advisory firm Marching Sheep shows that businesses with more women in leadership outperform their peers by up to 50% in profit after tax (PAT). But here's the catch: over 63% of organisations still have zero women in key managerial positions. The contradiction is sharp, even predictable. Inclusion works, but remains absent. The Marching Sheep Inclusion Index 2025, based on data from 840 listed companies across 30 sectors, including manufacturing, steel, BFSI, pharma, FMCG, infrastructure and IT, offers one of the most detailed mappings of gender representation across India Inc. It finds that gender-balanced leadership teams report 20–50% higher PAT, depending on the industry. Yet in most sectors, women remain outnumbered and sidelined at the top. In fact, women account for only 22% of the total workforce in corporate India, lower than the 28% female workforce participation reported in the Periodic Urban Labour Force Survey 2023-24. 'We don't just need more women in the room; we need them at the table, influencing decisions and shaping strategy,' says Sonica Aron, Founder & Managing Partner at Marching Sheep. 'True inclusion isn't about counting numbers. It's about redistributing power. And that shift is still painfully absent.' The hourglass effect One of the most striking patterns the report reveals is the growing 'hourglass' trend. Thanks to campus hiring and entry-level recruitment, gender ratios are somewhat healthier at the bottom of the pyramid. Statutory mandates have also ensured token representation on boards. But in the middle, where strategy is shaped, promotions decided, and pipelines built, women vanish. 'The pressures of caregiving, lack of mentorship, and unconscious bias all converge there,' says a senior HR advisor at a global FMCG firm. 'What makes it worse is that no one really owns the pipeline. It's not just an HR issue, it's a leadership one.' Tokenism vs transformation Diversity, in many companies, is still treated as a compliance checkbox. A woman on the board, a Women's Day panel, or an annual mentorship programme. But new data from Marching Sheep reinforces what global studies have shown for years: inclusion isn't just optics. It directly correlates with business performance. A 2025 McKinsey study places India among the lowest in the G20 for women in senior business roles. It found women hold only 24% of managerial roles, 17% of C‑suite positions, and 20% of board seats in India. The reasons are well known: broken leadership pipelines, structural bias, motherhood penalties, and the persistent stereotype of what a leader 'should' look like. 'The business case is closed,' says Aron. 'The call to action is urgent.' What needs to change To its credit, the Marching Sheep report goes beyond diagnosis. It offers a sector-wise roadmap, from equitable hiring to mid-career support, inclusive succession planning, and targeted leadership development. Inclusion, it argues, must go beyond visibility. It must translate into influence, authority, and accountability. It also urges women professionals to hold their workplaces to higher standards, not just for being present, but for being heard and taken seriously where it matters most. Says Kanishka Mallick, Vice President–HR, Clix Capital, 'Women aren't underrepresented due to lack of talent. They now make up almost half of all graduates in India. But once they enter the workforce, things start to shift. Cultural expectations, outdated systems, and quiet biases still get in the way of real progress.' Adds Mallick, 'Low recruitment, high attrition, and limited promotions stem from deep-rooted expectations around caregiving and old-school leadership mindsets. It has taken generations to hold women back. Change is slow, but I believe it's happening. I've seen women around me rise through challenges. My wife, for instance… she works full-time and still takes care of the home. It's not easy, but she does it. Equal credit goes to women who run households, they are the backbone of many lives.' If it works, why resist it? Corporate India finds itself at a crucial crossroads. The evidence is in. The numbers are clear. The payoff is real. A senior corporate leader, speaking on condition of anonymity, observes, 'At every level, I find women more focused and accountable. If you assign a task to a woman, she owns it. You rarely need to follow up. With their male counterparts, there are often a thousand excuses and a thousand coffee breaks.' She then adds with a smile, 'Of course, I don't mean all men lack accountability, but the difference in consistency is hard to miss.' The numbers say it all: more women at the top means better results. So why does it still feel like we are moving in circles? How much more proof do we need? Maybe the real question is: why do we need a report at all to value inclusion? Facebook Twitter Linkedin Email Disclaimer Views expressed above are the author's own.
Time of India
13-07-2025
- Politics
- Time of India
PM Modi's longest foreign tour: At 74, what keeps him going?
Barsha Nag Bhowmick has an opinion on anything and everything. A scribe for more than two decades, she writes on various topics including art, literature, relationships, lifestyle and anything that arouses her interest from time to time. When not into writing, she paints. Follow @barshanag on Twitter LESS ... MORE At 74, many people begin to slow down. Mornings get quieter, routines softer, and travel becomes less of a priority. But just last week, Prime Minister Narendra Modi, now 74, wrapped up what's said to be his longest overseas trip in a decade. Five countries in eight days, from July 2 to 9. As the updates kept coming in, I realised I was barely paying attention to the official statements or policy talk. What lingered instead was something quieter, and far more personal. Again and again, I found myself drawn to one thing… his sheer stamina. Ghana, Trinidad & Tobago, Argentina, Brazil and Namibia, the itinerary read like a rush across continents. There were Shiva Tandava chants and samba beats, speeches and shawls, temple visits and trade talks, diaspora gatherings and diplomatic embraces. In Ghana, he draped a Kashmiri Pashmina shawl over the Vice-President, a gentle gesture honouring India's textile heritage. Later, in Trinidad, PM Modi stood before a large diaspora gathering in Couva with visible energy. Greeted with a vibrant Bhojpuri Chautaal welcome and warm applause, he addressed the crowd while standing, inviting cultural connection and showing no signs of slowing down. And amid all that, images of a man, sometimes tired, often smiling, always showing up. What keeps someone going like that? This isn't about agreement or admiration. It's about energy. About what drives people long after the world expects them to slow down. For some, it's power. For others, perhaps, it's purpose. More and more, I believe that what keeps people moving isn't physical stamina, it's inner clarity. I think of older people I have known, those who keep showing up, long after the world has moved on. A teacher from years ago who never took a sick day. A senior colleague who, just after retirement, set off to travel the world with his wife and still roams across India on a bike, more eager than any twenty-five-year-old. A neighbour who rises early each morning to teach underprivileged women in slum areas, quietly defying everything society expects of her age. There's something about people who don't let the years dilute their intention. They don't necessarily move fast, but they move with focus. Maybe that's what I glimpsed in those Modi tour updates… between the handshakes and the photo ops. Not a man escaping time, but someone choosing to fill it to the brim. Of course, politics has its compulsions. But even beyond the headlines, such relentless travel at that age stirs something quietly remarkable. It's not just about legacy or image, it's about still wanting to show up. Not for applause, perhaps, but for what remains unfinished. Not everyone keeps globe-trotting into their seventies. But sooner or later, many of us find ourselves wondering: when do I slow down? Or more urgently… why should I? Not all journeys are about where you go. Some are about why you still want to. Facebook Twitter Linkedin Email Disclaimer Views expressed above are the author's own.
Time of India
08-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Time of India
A celebration that shouldn't have ended in tears
Barsha Nag Bhowmick has an opinion on anything and everything. A scribe for more than two decades, she writes on various topics including art, literature, relationships, lifestyle and anything that arouses her interest from time to time. When not into writing, she paints. Follow @barshanag on Twitter LESS ... MORE I have always been the kind who shies away from chaos. Loud cheers, elbowing crowds, the frenzy of thrill… it overwhelms me. I prefer taking the quieter road, walking at my pace, letting the world rush past. Amrish bhai, my spirited neighbour, often nudges me with a half-joke, 'Why are you just walking? Run, yaar… live a little.' After the tragic stampede in Bengaluru last week, I found myself asking… why do we run? And, more importantly, where? Many lives lost. So many families shattered in seconds. It happened during what was meant to be a moment of joy… the felicitation of the Royal Challengers Bangalore (RCB) team at M Chinnaswamy Stadium. Rumours began to circulate that free tickets would be distributed there. Fans poured in… by the thousands. Some say tens of thousands. The numbers swelled far beyond what the space could hold. Excitement turned into desperation as people pushed past each other at the gates. Too many people. Too few entry points. No proper coordination. No crowd control. In that crush, dreams collapsed. So did lives. Among the many heart-wrenching stories, one refuses to leave me… that of a father waiting at the mortuary, holding on to hope that had already slipped away. 'We have just one child… give me my child back,' he said quietly, his voice heavy with grief. His son, just 22, had gone to see his favourite team. He never returned. The father didn't ask for explanations. He didn't want an autopsy. He just wanted his boy. 'I haven't lived without him for even an hour,' he whispered. 'I cared for him every day for 22 years. And now, in all this chaos, I've lost him. Please… send him back.' This wasn't a war zone. It wasn't a protest. It wasn't even a ticketed concert with wild crowds. It was supposed to be a moment of celebration. A city's tribute to its beloved cricket team. We talk about passion, loyalty, and the magic of sports. But somewhere along the way, we have begun chasing moments like prizes. As if standing in a crowd somehow makes us part of the action. As if getting there first proves something. It's easy to blame the organisers… poor crowd management, inadequate planning, failure to anticipate turnout. And yes, they must be held accountable. But what about us? Why are we drawn to such chaos? For a photo? A glimpse? A freebie? I remember feeling a similar anxiety a few months ago when a few of my friends attended the Kumbh Mela. I understood their faith, their excitement. And I'm not comparing the two events. But I do remember how uneasy I felt, silently praying that they stayed safe. Sometimes, it's not about being brave or spiritual… it's just about staying alive. And that should count too. Amrish bhai's words echo again. 'Run, yaar.' But I think I will still walk. Not because I fear missing out. But because I now know what some runs can cost. And I'm not just talking about bruises or breathlessness. I'm talking about sons who never come home. Fathers who leave stadiums with nothing but silence. My heart goes out to every family who lost someone that day. No game, no celebration, no free ticket is worth a life. We owe it to the dead, not just to mourn, but to learn. To pause. To question. And maybe, just maybe, to stop running mindlessly and start walking mindfully, with care. Facebook Twitter Linkedin Email Disclaimer Views expressed above are the author's own.
Time of India
01-06-2025
- Business
- Time of India
Lunch dabbas, late nights, and a nation at No. 4
Barsha Nag Bhowmick has an opinion on anything and everything. A scribe for more than two decades, she writes on various topics including art, literature, relationships, lifestyle and anything that arouses her interest from time to time. When not into writing, she paints. Follow @barshanag on Twitter LESS ... MORE When I was growing up, India's economic rank wasn't something we spoke about at the dinner table. We had other numbers to worry about, like school marks, electricity bills, and the queue number at the gas agency. Yet, somewhere along the way, without much fuss, the country kept changing… quietly, steadily, and with surprising consistency. Last week, that quiet shift turned into a headline. India has overtaken Japan to become the fourth-largest economy in the world. It's more than just a number. It shows years of people's grit, homegrown jugaad (our clever fixes), big dreams, tough changes, hard work, and yes, a bit of chaos too. We have always done things our own way… a bit messy, unplanned, but it somehow works. And still, here we are. There's something about this that quietly touches the heart. We just didn't wake up one morning and find ourselves in fourth place. This was no overnight change. It grew from countless mornings full of hope. Parents saving for their child's engineering degree, women starting home businesses with WhatsApp catalogs, students burning the midnight oil in their hostels for exams like UPSC or CAT. It happened because people believed their tomorrow could be better, and did something about it. I still remember the afternoon, way back, when the long-awaited black rotary phone arrived at our Kolkata home. We had waited years, and our number finally came. That phone, with its heavy receiver and soft click, sat like a prize in our modest drawing room. In our middle-class world, progress wasn't loud. It was a landline. It was a scooter. It was the first family trip to Puri by car. Just a few lanes away, our local tailor in Delhi-NCR, who once stitched school uniforms and simple salwar-kameez sets, now takes orders through WhatsApp. His son, a first-generation college graduate, taught him how to use UPI. 'Bas phone hilao, paisa aa jaata hai,' he laughed when I asked him how it worked. That little moment stayed with me. Because the real India's growth isn't just numbers on paper, it lives in people like him. And now, the credit card is our new wallet. What was once seen with caution is now understood as a form of earning too, through points, rewards, and cashback. Whether it's school kids buying books online or busy executives booking flights abroad, we have all figured out how to keep up with this new way of spending. It's a small shift, but it says a lot. Yes, the economy is growing… not just in numbers, but in how we think, spend, and plan. We once gave long, landmark-based directions: 'Bhaiya, left after the temple, then ask anyone.' Now, we just say, 'I've pinned the location on Maps.' Cassettes and DVDs once filled our shelves with pride. Today, even our elders say, 'Alexa, play Hanuman Chalisa.' And remember birthday cards and long phone calls? Now, a tagged story, a reel, or a short video does the job… quick, creative, and gone in 24 hours. A few decades ago, economic stories were tucked away in the business section… pages that most readers often skimmed past. They were filled with jargon and distant figures, disconnected from our lived realities. Today, a college student speaks of GDP rankings with the quiet confidence of a news anchor. We are talking bigger dreams now, and more of us believe we deserve to be part of the world's big conversations. Of course, there's more to do. Inequality is real, infrastructure still needs support, and the divide between aspiration and access must narrow. Maybe it's time to stop for a second. Just breathe it in. Not to boast, but quietly feel thankful. We didn't announce our arrival. We just showed up. With lunch dabbas and laptops. With late-night shifts at work and lines of code. With millet festivals and Make in India booths. Germany is next on the list, and sure, there are hurdles ahead. The real question isn't 'Can we do it?' — we already showed we can. It's 'How will we do it?' Will we grow kindly, with care and conscience? That is the next story. But for today, maybe we just whisper to ourselves: Chalo, kuch toh sahi kiya. Facebook Twitter Linkedin Email Disclaimer Views expressed above are the author's own.
Time of India
18-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Time of India
Meet Shakespeare-ji: Poems, ping pong, and those moist eyes
Barsha Nag Bhowmick has an opinion on anything and everything. A scribe for more than two decades, she writes on various topics including art, literature, relationships, lifestyle and anything that arouses her interest from time to time. When not into writing, she paints. Follow @barshanag on Twitter LESS ... MORE Of late, a dear friend of mine seems to have caught what I can only describe as a serious case of poetic flu. No, he isn't unwell or anything, but he has spontaneously been rhyming without warning. Especially when any of our friends celebrate birthdays, he wastes no time pulling out a poem, full of excitement and flair. Naturally, I named him Shakespeare–ji. The title fits. These days, he pauses mid-conversation every now and then. His eyes lost in the distance, as if he is waiting for something deep to come to him. Sometimes, they even turn moist. 'It's poetry,' he says, all dreamy-eyed and serious. As if no one else understands that this moist feeling is what poetry is all about. Honestly, I think it's just Delhi pollution. Here's the real kicker: most of his poems begin with the same moist-eyed opener 'Ek je chhilo amar bandhu' (Once there was a friend of mine), as if he believes friendships are the safest launchpads for emotional take-off. He claims these verses arrive just like that: in a flash, no warm-up, no warning… just whoosh, like poetry on tap. And he writes these poems in two minutes flat. I was well aware of 2-minute noodles. But 2-minute poetry? That's a first. When I laughed and said, 'Yaar, that was faster than Maggi,' he looked offended. 'No bhai, how many times have I told you not to laugh like a silly cow,' he scolded, straight-faced. 'It took me five minutes. Be serious.' Because clearly, poetry written in five minutes is a different genre altogether. Who knew art came with a timer? Now, this isn't some idle doodler with nothing better to do. He holds a senior position at a multinational, commands boardrooms by day… and the TT table by evening. He plays like a pro… quick on his feet, sharp with his shots, and always focused and cool under pressure. You will find him effortlessly dominating players half his age. The way he rules the TT table, you'd never guess he is someone who gets into poetry and feelings. But no. Somewhere between forehands and floaters, this man has found poetry. And now, no celebration, farewell, or even a lazy Sunday evening is complete without a freshly baked poem. The thing is, I grew up in Kolkata, and so did this friend… a city where poetry isn't a hobby; it's a way of life. There, people don't just express feelings. They add drama to them. You fall in love? Out comes poem. You get dumped? Time to write one on a messy sheet of paper, preferably with a teardrop for full dramatic effect. I never really shared my own poems, but my teenage diaries were full of them… scratched-out lines, lots of underlining, and all the feels. I laugh when I read them now. In Kolkata, poetry is like background music, always playing, whether you want to hear it or not. It pops up in school magazines, on cafe napkins, and inside those 'thoughtful' gifts from friends. The real thrill was watching people recite their creations with utter sincerity, even if the rhymes were clumsy and the metaphors made no sense. The less sense it made, the deeper it was thought to be. Ask the poet what a particular line means and he'll say, 'It's not meant to be understood. It's meant to be felt.' Ah, Kolkata. And then I moved to Delhi. After two decades here, I've noticed something… poetry is rare. Refreshingly so. You don't run into wandering poets at chai stalls. You don't get gifted verses written on handmade paper. You get property dealers. Ask someone about 'plot' in Delhi, and they will quote per square foot. Not Wordsworth. Try quoting a poem at a party, and someone will hand you their builder's visiting card. Once, a neighbour entered my living room, stared at the bookshelf, and asked, 'Are these all yours?' I couldn't resist: 'No, I take them on rent monthly to appear smart.' He nodded, completely missing the sarcasm. And that was the end of that deep exchange. Delhi is a city of urgency, of deals and deadlines, not daffodils and daydreams. People here want fast food, fast broadband, and quick returns on their investments. If someone starts quoting poetry in a social setting, the reactions range from mild panic to fake phone calls… even on the 12th floor, with no signal. And yet, somewhere between eye-rolls and raised eyebrows, I've come to admire Shakespeare–ji's unstoppable spirit. He's not trying to get published. He's not doing it for applause or likes. He's just in love with words, and that too for friends, no matter how quickly he flings them together. His poems may be over in under five minutes, but his passion? It's oddly endearing. It's also a bit contagious. Because as much as I tease him, a part of me gets it. Growing up in Bengal, poetry was our second language. We used it to exaggerate our feelings, understand ourselves, and sometimes just to sound more interesting than we actually were. The best of Bengal's poets — Jibanananda, Sunil, Shakti, Joy, Mallika, and a host of others… still move me, with their quiet power, their music, their moods. Each line feels like it was written just for you, even if you can't explain why. So yes, maybe I'll go back to those embarrassing teenage diaries someday. Dust off a verse or two. Laugh at the melodrama. Maybe even share one anonymously, of course. Until then, I will stick to prose. And Shakespeare–ji? He has probably already finished another poem while I was writing this. Facebook Twitter Linkedin Email Disclaimer Views expressed above are the author's own.
