Are We Stealing the Future to Pay for the Present?


Reflections on Christopher Marquis’s The Profiteers, the meaning of progress, and the choices we must make.

I recently came across The Profiteers: How Business Privatizes Profits and Socializes Costs by Christopher Marquis. I found it interesting, disturbing and deeply thought-provoking. One sentence by environmentalist Paul Hawken, which captures the book’s central concern, stayed with me: “At present we are stealing the future, selling it in the present, and calling it gross domestic product.”

I have been thinking about what this really means for the future of humanity. We celebrate economic growth, rising corporate profits, booming markets and increasing consumption as evidence of progress. And much of it is progress. Economic growth has lifted millions out of poverty, created opportunities and improved the quality of human life.

But I cannot help asking a more uncomfortable question. What if, in our increasingly aggressive pursuit of the present, we are shortchanging the future?

When a company makes profits while leaving behind a polluted river, who really pays the price? When we exhaust natural resources faster than they can regenerate, are we creating wealth or merely liquidating an inheritance? When we sacrifice employee development, environmental responsibility or long-term investment to improve quarterly results, are we creating sustainable value or simply moving tomorrow’s costs off today’s balance sheet?

The costs do not disappear. They merely change hands, often ending up with people who had little say in creating them.

Christopher Marquis’s book examines this troubling imbalance between private gain and public cost. Consider Jack Welch, the legendary CEO of General Electric. Under his leadership, GE’s market value rose dramatically, and he became an icon of managerial excellence. Yet the controversy over GE’s refusal to clean up polychlorinated biphenyls, or PCBs, discharged into the Hudson River raised a profoundly uncomfortable question: Could extraordinary corporate performance coexist with a failure to accept responsibility for the damage left behind?

Welch’s later observation that shareholder value is a result, not a strategy, is particularly relevant here. It reminds us that business performance must rest on something more substantial than a rising share price. The larger issue, in my view, is not whether businesses should make profits. Of course they should. It is whether we have begun to confuse the means with the end.

Profit is necessary. But what kind of profit, created at whose expense, and with what consequences for the future?

This question becomes even more urgent as artificial intelligence transforms work, climate change intensifies, and economic power becomes increasingly concentrated. We could be entering an era of extraordinary human progress. Equally, we could be creating a world in which productivity rises while human security, opportunity and dignity fail to keep pace. The future will depend, in part, on which of these possibilities we choose to pursue.

So, what perspective shift do I believe is necessary?  I find myself returning to four ideas.

1. We must learn to measure progress differently.  I do not believe GDP is irrelevant. My sense is it is incomplete. An economy can grow while its rivers become more polluted, its citizens become more anxious, its education system produces graduates without employable capabilities, and its natural resources steadily diminish.

Should we not measure progress alongside the health of our environment, the quality of our education, the dignity of our work, the distribution of opportunity and the resilience of our communities? I would like us to ask not merely how much wealth we have created, but how much genuine human well-being that wealth has produced.

2. We must redefine what we expect from business. I have nothing against capitalism or the pursuit of profit. My concern is with a model that rewards the immediate gain while allowing the long-term damage to be borne by society. I would like corporate boards, investors and business leaders to ask four questions: Is the business profitable? Is it creating genuine value? Are its costs being honestly accounted for? And will the way it operates remain beneficial and viable ten or twenty years from now?

I believe executive incentives should reflect these longer-term considerations, and that environmental and social responsibilities must be supported by transparent reporting, independent scrutiny and meaningful accountability. A business should not be considered successful merely because it has made its shareholders richer. Its success should also be judged by the health of the ecosystem in which it operates.

3. We must invest in human capabilities, not merely extract human productivity. This concerns me particularly in an age of AI. I have been examining and writing about this aspect of late. We celebrate automation, efficiency and the promise of doing more with less. But I wonder whether we are paying sufficient attention to the people whose lives and livelihoods will be transformed in the process. If technology creates unprecedented wealth but concentrates the benefits among a small minority, can we honestly call that progress for humanity?

I would like us to place far greater emphasis on lifelong learning, reskilling, accessible education and the development of distinctly human capabilities: critical thinking, creativity, empathy, judgement and the ability to work meaningfully with others. The real promise of technology should be to expand human possibilities, not merely to reduce the cost of employing human beings.

4. We must move from exploiting the future to regenerating it.  My sense is that this is the most fundamental shift of all. For too long, we have treated nature as a warehouse of resources, people as factors of production and time as something to be compressed in the pursuit of returns.

I would like us to think differently. Can businesses restore the natural resources they consume? Can agriculture improve the health of the soil rather than exhaust it? Can cities become more liveable as they grow? Can economic activity create better opportunities for the next generation rather than leave it with depleted resources, fragile institutions and an enormous environmental bill?

This requires more than individual goodwill. It requires policy, investment, innovation and a willingness to accept that some of the most valuable returns may take years to materialise. But it also requires a change in how we think about our place in the world. We are not the owners of an unlimited inheritance. We are temporary custodians of a world that existed before us and, if we act wisely, will continue long after us.

So, where does this leave me?

I recognise that these are difficult questions. Governments must create jobs. Businesses must remain competitive. Families need rising incomes. Developing economies cannot be expected to abandon growth when millions still aspire to a better life. The answer, therefore, cannot be to stop growing. It must be to reconsider what we grow, how we grow, and who benefits from that growth. Nor can we place the entire responsibility on individual consumers. Systemic problems require systemic solutions. But citizens, investors, employees and business leaders can all influence the incentives that shape our collective future.

I keep returning to one simple distinction. There is a difference between borrowing from the future to build something worthwhile and consuming the foundations on which that future depends. The first creates possibilities. The second destroys them. Perhaps the most important question we should ask of our economic and corporate achievements is not simply, “What have we gained?” It is, “What have we left behind?”

Because if our prosperity today depends on making tomorrow poorer, we may eventually discover that what we called growth was, in part, a form of liquidation. And the tragedy would be that we knew the price all along but chose not to include it in the accounts.

The future is not ours to sell. It is ours to shape, protect and pass on.

What do you think? Are we measuring progress correctly, or have we become so focused on the returns of the present that we are losing sight of the possibilities of the future?

In musing………                                  Shakti Ghosal

References

[1] Christopher Marquis, The Profiteers: How Business Privatizes Profits and Socializes Costs (PublicAffairs, 2024). The book’s themes and the GE–Hudson River controversy are discussed in the Business Science Daily chapter-by-chapter summary.

[2] Jack Welch, comments on shareholder value, reported in the Financial Times in March 2009 and subsequently elaborated in an interview with BusinessWeek. See CBS News: Does Jack Welch Think Shareholder Value Is a Dumb Idea?.

After the Drums at Chorbagan


17 October 2026

Yesterday, Kolkata came to worship.

They carried their prayers, their hopes,

their children perhaps by the hand,

and the simple faith that they would return home.

**

The drums were beating. The lights were burning.

The Goddess was waiting.

And somewhere in that restless sea of humanity, seventeen lives slipped away,

not in battle,

not in the fury of nature,

but in the terrible chaos of a night that should have been a celebration.

**

Today, we will count the dead.

We will speak of compensation,

issue statements, promise inquiries,

and perhaps, in time,

learn to live with the news.

But how does a mother learn to live

with the silence of a child who will never again call her home?

How does a father return to a house

where one voice is missing, where a pair of shoes waits by the door,

where yesterday still lives and tomorrow has ceased to exist?

**

Do not tell me this was fate. Do not ask the Goddess to bear the burden of our failures.

What is the meaning of worship

if we cannot protect the living?

What is the sanctity of a festival

if human lives become expendable

in the pursuit of devotion and spectacle?

The drums will beat again. The lights will shine again. Kolkata will return to its celebrations.

But somewhere, seventeen homes will remain dark.

**

And perhaps the most painful prayer

we can offer the Goddess this year

is not for her blessings,

but for the wisdom to become worthy of them.

In musing…… Shakti Ghosal

Post Script:

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When a Revolution Stops Asking Questions


History has a peculiar habit. It rarely announces its darkest chapters at the beginning.

Revolutions usually arrive carrying beautiful promises. Justice. Equality. Freedom. A ‘better world’ for those who have been denied one. And often, these promises are genuine. Societies do need to change. Injustices do need to be challenged. The young have every right to question the world they inherit. But history also leaves us with an uncomfortable question.

At what point does the struggle for freedom begin to take freedom away? Look at the history of the twentieth century.

After the Russian Revolution, intellectuals, writers and scientists who questioned the new order faced exile, imprisonment and persecution. Under Stalin, the machinery of the state turned against countless people, including educated professionals and ordinary citizens suspected of disloyalty.

In China, Mao’s Hundred Flowers campaign initially invited intellectuals to speak freely. When many accepted the invitation and criticised the Communist Party, the Anti-Rightist Campaign followed. Hundreds of thousands were labelled political enemies, and many suffered imprisonment, forced labour and professional ruin.

Then came the Cultural Revolution. Young people were mobilised in the name of ideological purity. Teachers were humiliated, intellectuals persecuted and families torn apart by political denunciations. The very people who had been encouraged to become instruments of a revolution could themselves become its victims.

In Cambodia, the Khmer Rouge pursued an even more brutal vision of social transformation. Education, professional status and the mere suspicion of intellectual life could invite persecution. The result was a human catastrophe.

These were different societies, different circumstances and different political histories. They should not be reduced to one simplistic explanation. But they leave behind a troubling lesson.

When an ideology begins to claim a monopoly over truth, the first casualty is often the freedom to disagree.

The danger does not belong exclusively to the Left or the Right. Nor does it belong only to revolutions. It can emerge wherever a movement becomes convinced that its cause is so righteous that ordinary restraints no longer apply.

The language may be different. The destination may be different. But the temptation is remarkably familiar. First, divide society into the virtuous and the corrupt. Then persuade people that those who disagree are not merely mistaken, but morally suspect. Next, make compromise appear cowardly, dissent appear disloyal and opponents appear unworthy of being heard.

Eventually, the cause becomes more important than the people in whose name it began. And somewhere along the way, the freedom to think independently becomes an inconvenience.

This is not an argument against protest. Far from it. Protest is an essential instrument of democracy. It gives voice to those who feel unheard, challenges the powerful and forces institutions to confront uncomfortable truths. Without protest, many of the rights we take for granted might never have been secured.

But a protest does not become right merely because it is passionate. Nor does a government become right merely because it possesses authority. Both must answer to reason, evidence, law and the rights of fellow citizens.

Which brings me to a question closer home. Whenever a contentious public issue arises, whether it concerns elections, citizenship, governance or social justice, we should resist the temptation to judge it solely through the political loyalties we already possess.

If citizens fear that their names may be wrongly removed from electoral rolls, their concerns deserve a fair hearing and transparent remedies. If an electoral process is challenged, the evidence must be examined and the institutions responsible must be willing to explain themselves. And if protests take place, their legitimacy must be judged by their purpose and conduct, not simply by whether we agree with those participating. The right to question a process and the duty to protect its integrity are not opposing ideas. They are two sides of the same democratic obligation.

We should be equally wary of those who demand unquestioning faith in institutions and those who insist that every institution is beyond redemption. Blind obedience and blind suspicion may appear to be opposites, but both can destroy the space in which reason operates.

SIR protests in Delhi

The same principle applies to our young. Young people should question their parents, teachers, governments and inherited beliefs. That is how societies learn and evolve. But they must also learn to question the movements that claim to speak for them. Anger can awaken a conscience; it cannot substitute for one. Passion can challenge injustice; it cannot make every action just.

And perhaps this is where our responsibility as a society begins. We must teach our children to think, not merely to take sides. To examine history, not merely inherit its grievances. To defend the right of those with whom they disagree to speak, because that is the real test of whether they believe in freedom. Above all, we must give them something more enduring than outrage: the capacity to build, the courage to question and the humility to accept that they may be wrong.

I do not believe every agitation leads to extremism. I do not believe every radical idea is dangerous, or every established order deserves to survive. Sometimes, it is the system that needs to change. Sometimes, the protest exposes a truth that those in power would rather not confront.

The challenge is to distinguish between the courage to challenge authority and the arrogance of believing that one’s own cause must never be challenged. That distinction matters more than ever.

History warns us about what happens when people stop asking questions. The more immediate question is whether we have the courage to keep asking them—even when the questions unsettle our own side. Because the moment we stop questioning those who claim to fight for us may be the moment we begin to lose the freedom they promised to defend.

In musing…..                                              Shakti Ghosal

The Coloniser Within


I have been thinking about a rather uncomfortable idea. We fought colonialism to win our freedom. But what if, somewhere along the way, we began surrendering that freedom all over again? What if…. this was happening as I write?

Frantz Fanon, in The Wretched of the Earth, explored how colonialism leaves behind something far more enduring than the physical presence of the coloniser. It seeps into the mind. It changes how people see themselves, what they aspire to, and what they come to accept as normal. The coloniser may leave. The colonisation does not.

I wonder whether we are witnessing a new version of this today. Except that this time, there is no foreign flag to pull down. No imperial army to drive away. We are doing it to ourselves. We have willingly entered a world where almost everything has a price, and increasingly, a value is assigned to everything. Our time. Our attention. Our relationships. Even our dreams.

I look at myself; I look at my friends and acquaintances. We measure success by the size of our bank balance, the value of our investments, the houses we own and the lifestyle we can display. We work longer, consume more and keep running, often without stopping to ask what exactly we are running towards. Somewhere in this race, life itself becomes an entry into a balance sheet.

Our health, our years, our quality of life — everything gets quietly converted into economic value. The hours we surrender become somebody else’s profit. Our anxieties feed markets. Our attention becomes a commodity. And the wealth created by millions of such small surrenders accumulates, disproportionately, in the hands of a few. The irony is that the balance sheet records the wealth we create, but not the life we spend creating it. It will record our assets when we are gone. It will not record the conversations we postponed, the sunsets we missed, the friendships we neglected or the years we cannot get back. It will not even note our passing.

I am not arguing against wealth, ambition or enterprise. They matter. Money can provide freedom, dignity and choices. But there is a difference between using money to live well and organising our entire lives around making more of it. Perhaps the real question is not how much wealth we accumulate, but how much of our lives we are willing to exchange for it.

Colonialism once took away our freedom without asking our permission. Today, we may be surrendering it voluntarily, one working day, one unfulfilled promise, one postponed pleasure at a time. And the most disturbing part? We have begun to call this freedom.

Perhaps the last act of liberation is not to overthrow another ruler, but to recognise the one we have installed within ourselves.

In musing…..                                                 Shakti Ghosal

AI and Indian Railways: The Real Transformation Is in Our Mindset


Will we compete with machines, or learn to work with them?

Model of the Fairy Queen, the oldest working steam locomotive in the world

Early in my career as an Assistant Mechanical Engineer (Heavy Repairs) at the Itarsi Diesel Electric Locomotive Maintenance Workshop, I encountered a problem that used to trouble me. A small engine component called the equalizing yoke would frequently break, sometimes resulting in locomotive failures while the engines were in service.

What puzzled me was that the maintenance records showed no obvious cause for concern. The component had been found satisfactory during scheduled repairs, yet it could fail soon afterwards. I had no convincing answer to why this was happening.

Looking back, I often wonder whether AI, with its ability to analyse maintenance histories, operating conditions and patterns of component failures, could have helped us identify the early warning signs. Perhaps it could have enabled us to anticipate failures that conventional maintenance records and inspection routines could not explain. That is one of the possibilities that makes AI particularly exciting for Indian Railways.

Now, years later, I returned to this world of engineering in a different capacity. Yesterday, I conducted a seminar on Artificial Intelligence: Transforming Indian Railways, at the Eastern Railways Headquarters in Fairlie Place, Kolkata. The seminar was well attended by Railway Engineers and we had the opportunity to explore how AI could help the organisation move from reactive operations to predictive intelligence. From anticipating equipment failures to improving safety and punctuality, the opportunities are considerable. But one intervention during the seminar stayed with me.

The AI Seminar

A senior railway engineer expressed his strong conviction that AI would lead to a massive loss of jobs. It is a legitimate concern. Technology does disrupt established roles, and we should not underestimate the challenges of transition. But I believe we need to ask another question: ‘Are we looking at AI only as a threat to employment, or also as an opportunity to upgrade human performance?’

Consider my experience with the equalizing yoke. An engineer brings practical knowledge, experience and an understanding of how locomotives behave under operating conditions. AI could add the ability to analyse thousands of maintenance records, correlate failures with operating patterns and identify relationships that might otherwise remain hidden.

The engineer asks the right questions, evaluates the findings and decides what action is required. AI helps uncover what might have been missed. This is the real opportunity: AI as a force multiplier, not merely a replacement for human effort.

For Indian Railways, the challenge is twofold. It must scale up AI applications across safety, security, maintenance and operations. Equally important, its people must develop AI competence relevant to their respective domains. Not every railway professional needs to become an AI expert. But every professional should understand how AI can help them do their job better. This calls for a shift in mindset—from protecting existing ways of working to continuously upgrading our capabilities; from competing with technology to collaborating with it.

AI is not infallible. Its findings must be validated, particularly in a safety-critical organisation. The objective is not to surrender human judgement to machines, but to combine experience with better information and more powerful analytical capabilities.

The lesson extends well beyond Indian Railways. Across professions, the future will demand continuous learning, organisational support and a willingness to question familiar practices. Perhaps, then, the most useful question is not simply, “How many jobs will AI replace?” It is : “How many problems that have puzzled us for years could we solve if we learnt to work intelligently with AI?”

I think back to that small equalizing yoke at Itarsi. At the time, I had maintenance records, engineering knowledge and experience—but no satisfactory explanation for a recurring failure. Today, AI offers us new ways of connecting the dots. The technology has changed. The engineering challenge remains the same: to understand why things fail, anticipate problems and prevent them wherever possible. And that, to my mind, is where the real transformation begins.

In musing……                                                                         Shakti Ghosal

#ArtificialIntelligence #IndianRailways #FutureOfWork #Leadership #DigitalTransformation #HumanAI Collaboration

MAHALAYA — The Call of Ma


The first light of the morning came and sat on the window grille, hesitated, then leapt in. Like an old song, tired and familiar, trying to be remembered.

Rudra Bose sat by the window, a cup of tea steaming beside him. The cup was chipped, the saucer mismatched, the tea, a stubborn blend of milk, tea dust, and habit.

Outside, the lane yawned into a waking slumber, its air thick with last night’s incense, stale samosa oil, and the ever-present, low-grade emissions.

“Ma is coming,” he had heard someone shout on the street last evening……

Durga Pujo. Once, it had been magic.

As a boy, he had spent mornings watching Mashis, aunts and Boudis, sisters-in-law, threading marigolds for the Pandal and Thakurer Bedi.

— An excerpt from The Last Writer of Kolkata and Other Stories

What does Durga Pujo mean to you?

Is it the Goddess, the neighbourhood, the people we grew up with—or a Kolkata that lives on in our memories, even as the city changes around us?

This Mahalaya, I invite you to step into Rudra Bose’s world: a future Kolkata where technology has transformed the city, but the longing for what has been lost remains deeply human.

📖 Discover the Last Writer of Kolkata and Other Stories: https://www.amazon.in/dp/9376313402 ( India) , https://www.amazon.com/dp/ B0GYX13WF1 (US)

Some stories imagine the future. Others help us remember what we must not lose.

In musing….. Shakti Ghosal

The City outside my window


A room with a view

From the tenth floor of a hotel room, Kolkata offers an interesting perspective.

Below me, traffic rushes towards destinations I can only guess at. The Metro glides above the road. Beyond the concrete, patches of green survive, almost defiantly, against the advancing city.

At night, the landscape transforms. Buildings light up, roads become rivers of red and white, and the city acquires a certain grandeur.

Kolkata oh!

Yet I find myself wondering about the Kolkata that lies beyond these views.

The person hurrying to work. The family waiting for someone to return. The lives unfolding behind those illuminated windows.

A city is never merely what we see. It is everything that remains unseen.

Perhaps that is why I continue to observe, to question and to write.

Every window offers a view. Every view conceals a thousand stories.

And somewhere among them, there may be another story waiting for Rudra Bose. Shakti Ghosal

In musing …….      Shakti Ghosal

What if…..


….. Education Stops Educating?

I came across a post recently about Palantir that made me pause.

It quoted its CEO, Alex Karp, as saying that the company is no longer relying entirely on traditional university degrees to identify talent. Instead, young people are being given the opportunity to work on real problems, demonstrate what they can do, and learn by doing.

The post made a provocative observation: “The university had centuries to shape the best minds. Entrepreneurs will do it in a decade.” That stayed with me.. Because it raises a much more uncomfortable question: Have our educational institutions slowly forgotten what education is supposed to accomplish?

We teach children what to think. We rarely teach them how to think. We reward the right answer more than the difficult question. We celebrate memory more than curiosity.
We measure achievement through certificates rather than through the ability to see what others cannot. And then we wonder why so many highly educated people struggle to imagine a different future.

I realised that companies like Palantir are beginning to look beyond degrees. Young people are being given real problems to solve instead of certificates to prove that they are ready to solve them. It reminded me of something we seem to have forgotten. Perhaps education was never meant to manufacture employable people. Perhaps it was meant to create unmanageable minds. Minds that question. Minds that doubt. Minds that refuse to accept “this is how it has always been done.”

Perhaps the real crisis is not that AI will replace education. Perhaps it is that AI will expose how little education was actually about thinking.

As I closed the newspaper, the thought came to me. What if the future doesn’t need better educated children…… but freer minds?

— Rudra Bose, The Last Writer of Kolkata

WHAT IF…


THE VOTER LIST FORGOT YOU?

This morning I opened the newspaper to find that democracy had acquired a new battlefield.

Not Parliament. Not the streets. It was about the voter list.

There were allegations, counter-allegations, objections, explanations and demands for resignation. The Election Commission said decisions were unanimous. Others said two Commissioners had repeatedly raised objections. I wondered what happens when the referee becomes part of the argument.

Newspaper report on the ongoing controversy.

Then I imagined something more frightening. What if, one morning, I walked into a polling booth and discovered that my name was no longer there?

Not because I had died. Not because I had moved. Not because I had stopped being a citizen. But because somewhere inside a database, a decision had been made.

And suddenly I realised: Democracy does not merely depend on the right to vote. It depends on the quiet certainty that when you arrive to exercise that right, your name will still be there.

Perhaps that is the real test of an election. Not who wins or loses. But whether the citizen still trusts the hand that counts his vote.

— Rudra Bose, the Last Writer of Kolkata

From Amboseli to Rabindra Sarobar: The Art of Standing Still


Rabindra Sarobar in the evening light

There are moments when a familiar place suddenly reveals a secret.

Two evenings ago, we went to Rabindra Sarobar for our usual evening walk. The main lake was as familiar as ever. But somewhere beyond it, we discovered a smaller water body that we had somehow never noticed quite like this before.

It was almost entirely covered with water lilies, hyacinths and lotus plants. There was nothing manicured about it. Nothing curated for the eye.It was nature in its slightly unruly form.And perhaps that was precisely its charm.

The evening light had begun to soften everything. The water reflected the fading sky. The floating leaves formed patterns that seemed almost deliberate. The dense vegetation created the feeling of a little ecosystem existing quietly within the city.

The floating leaves and the patterns

We stopped. And then we saw them. A Bronze-winged Jacana and her tiny chick. The mother moved across the floating vegetation with remarkable ease. The chick followed, scurrying awkwardly behind her, disappearing momentarily among the leaves and then emerging again.

The Jacan Bird and its chick

We watched. And suddenly, Rabindra Sarobar transported us back to Amboseli.

Only a month earlier, while visiting Amboseli National Park in Kenya, we had encountered a Jacana there. The bird is often called the Jesus bird, because its extraordinarily long toes allow it to distribute its weight across floating vegetation, giving it the almost mystical appearance of walking on water.

We had marveled at it then. And now, thousands of kilometers away, we were watching the same extraordinary act again. There was something deeply humbling about that coincidence. Two completely different worlds. One a vast African wilderness. The other a lake tucked into an urban landscape in Kolkata. Yet the same bird. The same instinct. The same choreography of mother and child.

Nature has a way of reminding us that the boundaries we draw on maps mean very little to life itself. The Jacana did not care whether it was Amboseli or Rabindra Sarobar. It simply walked. The mother walked. The chick followed.
The water moved beneath them.


The evening slowly disappeared. And we stood there, watching. Perhaps that is the real luxury of growing older—not necessarily having more time, but learning to notice the time we have. To pause beside a lake. To watch a tiny bird crossing floating leaves. To recognise that what appears ordinary may, on closer observation, contain an entire universe.

We are constantly surrounded by such moments. But most of them pass unnoticed because we are moving too fast. Perhaps life does not demand that we always do more. Perhaps, occasionally, it asks something much simpler of us.

Stand still.
Look closely.
And allow yourself to be astonished.

Because one can never cease to wonder at the marvels of life— if only one is prepared to stand and stare.

In musing….. Shakti Ghosal