Learning & Change

Every Country Is Adopting AI. Very Few Are Asking What Kind.

Learning & Change, ,

Every great leap forward casts a shadow. We just rarely look at it.

History has a pattern. The printing press gave us the Reformation and the pamphlet. It also gave us the propaganda leaflet. The compass opened up trade routes and the age of discovery. It also opened up the age of colonisation. Gunpowder lit up fireworks and festivities. And battlefields. Transformative technologies always carry a shadow story, a disruption running quietly beneath the triumphant narrative. The people living through the transformation rarely see it. They are too busy celebrating the light.

We are, right now, in the middle of one such transformation.

Artificial Intelligence is having its summit moment. The India AI Impact Summit 2026 in New Delhi brought together the luminaries, the announcements, the investments in data centres and cloud infrastructure, the excitement of a country positioning itself as a global hub. All of it warranted. All of it real.

And running quietly alongside it — almost in the shadow of it — was a different kind of conversation.

In January 2026, a closed-door strategic dialogue was convened at the India International Centre in New Delhi. NatStrat, in partnership with Strategic Foresight Group and Founding Fuel, brought together voices from national security, science, policy and academia. Not to celebrate AI. To interrogate it.

The dialogue produced a special policy report — India’s AI Gambit: Navigating the Global Race — and a rich public record in video and writing. Founding Fuel has curated the most consequential ideas from this conversation in two pieces worth reading carefully: India’s AI Gambit: The Choices That Will Define Power and India’s AI Moment by Ambassador Pankaj Saran.

The shadow, it turns out, tells quite a bit about what is coming.

The Arguments Worth Sitting With

The central provocation from this dialogue is deceptively simple: every country is adopting AI, but very few are asking what kind of AI power they want to become.

Most of the public conversation — including most of what you will hear at summits — concentrates on the consumption side. AI for productivity. AI for inclusion. AI for efficiency. 

These are real and important. And they are not the whole story.

Ambassador Pankaj Saran, former Deputy National Security Adviser and Convenor of NatStrat, writes in India’s AI Moment: “In both the United States and China, the centre of gravity in artificial intelligence is moving beyond consumer-facing applications and productivity tools. Increasing emphasis is being placed on advanced AI systems designed to accelerate scientific discovery and strengthen national security.”

The US has its Genesis Mission, coordinated by the Department of Energy, using AI for discovery science with national security implications. China, through the Chinese Academy of Sciences and related institutions, is pursuing the same territory — science and security, tightly integrated. The race is not just about who has the better chatbot. It is about who rewrites the rules of biology, chemistry and strategic power.

Sundeep Waslekar, President of Strategic Foresight Group, put it plainly at the dialogue: “The US and China are building AI for scientific discovery — new rules in biology and chemistry. They fear falling behind in science. We think we are doing fine.”

That last sentence carries some weight. The assumption that we are doing fine, while others are asking harder questions, is precisely the kind of complacency that history tends to punish slowly and then all at once.

Why These Voices Matter

Here is what I want you to notice about the people in this conversation.

They are not selling anything. They are not vendors of technology with a price attached. They are not optimising for applause at a summit.

Alok Joshi, Chairman of the National Security Advisory Board, spoke about building “assurance systems” and the balance between sovereignty and trusted outreach in diplomacy. Air Marshal S. P. Dharkar (Retd.), former Vice Chief of the Air Staff, articulated the governance tension plainly: “Centralised control. Decentralised execution. Without coherence, we fragment. Without flexibility, we slow down.”

Dr. V. K. Saraswat, Member of NITI Aayog and former Director General of DRDO, noted: “Strategic autonomy does not mean isolation. AI thrives on collaboration. The challenge is balancing openness with control.”

These are people whose professional lives have been spent thinking about consequences — national, institutional, long-term. The kind of thinking that is rarely represented in the summit stage lineup, and almost never in the LinkedIn posts celebrating AI’s potential.

When people like this sit in a room and say we need to think more carefully, it is worth slowing down and listening.

The Scenarios Ahead

What happens if we do not ask these questions? A few possibilities, none of them dramatic, all of them consequential.

The first is the talent and capability gap. If the world’s leading nations are deploying AI for scientific discovery — new materials, new drugs, new energy sources — and we are primarily deploying it for productivity and use cases, the gap between AI-as-tool and AI-as-power widens. 

We become very good consumers of a future that others are building.

The second is the governance vacuum. AI is interdisciplinary, as Dr. Preeti Banzal of the Principal Scientific Adviser’s office noted at the dialogue. One rule cannot govern all of it. Sectoral regulators need to adapt, coordinated through a whole-of-government approach. Without this, the default is fragmentation — or worse, governance that arrives after the disruption rather than before it.

The third is the sovereignty question. Advanced AI systems have already demonstrated the ability to generate hazardous knowledge in chemistry and biology, to interact with critical decision-support systems, to reshape cyber resilience. As Ambassador Saran writes, “questions of control, accountability and unintended escalation become increasingly salient.” These are not alarmist scenarios. They are the sober assessments of people with clearances and consequences.

The disruption of lives that AI will bring is as certain as its benefits. The printing press did not ask permission before upending the church’s monopoly on knowledge. Gunpowder did not pause for governance frameworks. The question is not whether disruption will come. It is whether we will have thought about it before or after.

What You Can Do

If you are reading this as a professional, a leader, a curious person trying to make sense of the moment — here is what I think is worth your attention.

Read the primary sources. Not the summaries. Not the LinkedIn posts. Read the Founding Fuel pieces. Watch the full dialogue on YouTube. The policy report by Strategic Foresight Group is available as a PDF. These are not long. They are dense with things worth thinking about.

Ask the shadow question. Every time you encounter an AI claim — a product, a policy, a prediction — ask: what is this not saying? Who benefits? What gets disrupted? What governance is missing? This is not cynicism. It is literacy.

Count the costs alongside the benefits. The printing press, the compass, gunpowder — we inherited the full story, shadow and all. We are in the middle of writing this one. The people who shaped the earlier transformations were not the ones who celebrated the loudest. They were the ones who thought the hardest.

The AI summit had its lights. Bright and real and warranted.

The shadow conversation happened quietly, in a room at the India International Centre, with people who spend their lives thinking about what comes next.

Both deserve your attention.

The shadow, especially.

If this resonated, you might enjoy A Small Defence Of Thinking — on why slowing down to think is its own kind of courage.

Spilled Water, Sharp Wit, and a Lesson in Leadership

Leadership, Learning & Change, , ,

It was a long oak table. The kind around which serious men in serious suits talked serious strategy.

The Managing Director was about to make a big presentation. Papers needed to be passed around.
Years ago, as a junior manager, I’d been entrusted with setting it all up. I grabbed the opportunity with both hands. Possibly legs too.

I had worked closely with the CEO. Learnt a ton. And put it all together like my life depended on it. Because, frankly, it felt like it did.

People filed in. The room filled up. And just as the meeting was about to begin, Murphy showed up. My elbow hit a glass of water. It emptied itself on the neat sheaf of the CEO’s printed presentation. Numbers, projections, strategy, all now soaking in regret.

Right then, the CEO walked in. I froze. So did time.

He looked at the mess, smiled, picked up the damp stack, and said: “Well, here’s a watered-down version of next year’s strategy.”

The room erupted. The tension vanished. The meeting was sharp, alive, and unexpectedly joyful.

And I learnt something I’ve never forgotten: The best leaders don’t just stay calm in a crisis. They know when to crack a joke.

These days, humour has become something else. It’s often loud. Crass. Sharp-edged. Reduced to personal attacks, one-upmanship, and clever jabs. It’s lampooning more than laughing. And it leaves no room for dignity. Only applause or offence.

Which is a pity. Because true humour of the quiet kind, the kind with timing and taste, adds a certain sophistication to everyday life.

It disarms. It connects. It shows perspective. It’s not about who can say the most outrageous thing as much as it about holding the moment lightly, without letting it slip.

Stanford thinks so too

At Stanford’s Graduate School of Business, Professors Jennifer Aaker and Naomi Bagdonas teach a popular course called Humour: Serious Business. Their research is clear: humour is an underrated superpower in leadership.

Used well, it boosts trust, increases engagement, and makes communication stick. More interestingly, humour makes leaders appear more competent, not less.

Because being able to laugh — and more importantly, to make others laugh, signals something powerful: you’re comfortable. You’re present. You’re not afraid of the room.

And the very best leaders? They don’t just use humour. They can take a joke too. Without flinching. Without getting defensive. Often, with a smile and a comeback that lifts the moment rather than hijacks it.

Humour is the glue

There’s a Japanese art form called kintsugi. It involves repairing broken pottery using gold. The cracks are not hidden. They’re highlighted. Because the break is part of the story. And the gold, quite literally, holds it all together.

I think humour plays a similar role in leadership. When things crack, as they often do, humour is the gold we can pour into the situation.

It doesn’t erase the problem. But it holds the room together, highlights resilience, and reminds everyone that we can move forward. With perspective.

The best part? Once you’ve laughed with someone, it’s much harder to stay divided.

So how do you cultivate this?

Start by observing. Noticing moments of lightness or the ones begging for it. I once worked with a manager who was famous for his campus presentations. He would rehearse meticulously, plan every slide and then grin and say,

“In the fifth minute, I’ll crack a spontaneous joke.”

Yes. Spontaneous, by appointment. And strangely, it worked. The room laughed. Every time. For some people, humour is a performance. 

But for the truly great ones, it’s a practice. It comes from noticing. From being present. From taking small risks. And yes, from being open to taking it on the chin when it doesn’t land.

The next time you’re in a heavy meeting, watch what lifts the room. It’s rarely slide 47. It’s often a well-timed comment. A look. A line. Something small but true.

Read people who write with wit. Hang around people who laugh easily, not just loudly. And most importantly, practise on yourself. Learn to take a joke. Especially about yourself. That’s the real test. And the best training ground.

The Closing Line

This is not a call to turn every meeting into a stand-up set. At best, It’s a quiet reminder that in ‘serious’ rooms , a well-timed laugh can change everything.

It humanises the moment.

Because humour, when done right, doesn’t just break the ice. It becomes the gold that mends the cracks. The pause that helps the room breathe. The tiny spark that reminds us: we’re all in this together. Elbow, water spills and all.

And maybe, just maybe, the best way to hold the room, is to let it laugh.

The Hidden Costs of WiFi (and Other Stories of Progress)

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I visited Keezhadi recently—a quiet village near Madurai, where the ground is giving up secrets that are 2,600 years old. Brick houses, water systems, writing on pottery… all part of a once-thriving civilisation during the Sangam period.

They had trade routes, poetry, tools, and systems. They crossed seas without GPS. Built cities without cement trucks. Passed down knowledge without cloud backups.

It made me wonder—how much have we really gained through “progress”? And what have we lost along the way?

Phones gave us connection on tap. But they took away long, meandering conversations. The kind where you talked just because you had nothing else to do.

Google Maps made life easier. But it also took away the chance encounters—the awkward, hilarious, occasionally helpful conversations with strangers while hunting for that elusive street corner.

The elevator saved our knees. But it also saved us from cardio, eye contact, and the accidental small talk that sometimes brightens a dull day.

Microwaves gave us convenience. But they also gave us uniformly hot but uniformly dull meals. The kind of food that’s warm but somehow lifeless—like a hug from a vending machine.

Air-conditioning gave us comfort. And buildings with sealed windows, where fresh air is just a theory.
Social media gave us reach. But often at the cost of depth.

Even the humble washing machine—blessing that it is—removed a time when people sat together, washing clothes by the river, exchanging gossip, jokes, sometimes wisdom. (It also reduced arm strength.)

I’m not arguing against technology. I’m not packing for a cave just yet.

But here’s the thing: with every upgrade, something old and human quietly exits the frame. Not with a bang, but with a polite shrug—like the friend who left the party without saying goodbye.

We rarely keep track of what we lose.
We almost never count the things that disappear.

What Do We Lose When Everything Gets Easier?

In trying to smoothen every experience, we may have polished off something essential. Friction isn’t always a flaw—it’s often the fingerprint of effort, presence, and care.

The delay before a letter arrived. The clumsy directions from a stranger sitting at the corner tea stall. The slow-cooked meal that made you wait—and talk while waiting. These weren’t bugs. They were features. They made us pause. Pay attention. They made the world—and each other—a little more real.

In our obsession with speed, scale, and seamlessness, maybe it’s time we asked: what’s the value of a little resistance? Of things that take effort, but leave a mark? Of progress that still lets humanity show through?

Friction reminds us that something is being done. That time is being taken. That life is still being lived in full sentences, not just swipes.

Progress is not the enemy. But friction is not always the villain. Sometimes, it’s the only thing standing between us and forgetting what it means to be human.

Keezhadi reminded me: our ancestors were inventive, but not obsessed with convenience. They built thoughtfully. Slowly. With care and friction.

Maybe that’s what made them civilisations worth unearthing.

Quitting gets a bad name. But what if it’s not failure, but clarity?

Me? Quit?

Learning & Change, , ,

A young man in his mid-20s came to me a few years ago. Well, technically, his parents sent him. They wanted me to “talk some sense into him.” He had decided he was done with the corporate world. Said it was petty. Petulant, even. He didn’t believe in it, didn’t enjoy it, and didn’t want to stick it out.

He had no grand plan for what came next—just a clear conviction that there had to be something better.

We had a fantastic conversation. We explored possibilities, entertained wild dreams, and poked at what really mattered to him. He didn’t need advice. He needed space to think.

His parents, on the other hand, were unimpressed. They were hoping I’d march in, deliver a sermon about hard work and perseverance, and send him back to the grind. Instead, I made quitting sound even more interesting.

In their eyes, I’d joined the rebellion. Alas.

Quitters Never Win?

Let’s face it—quitting gets a bad rap.

Everywhere you look, there’s something preaching against it. Posters shouting “Never give up!” Books with suitably motivating titles. And videos of people crawling across finish lines while orchestras swell in the background.

It’s all very dramatic. And, frankly, slightly exhausting.

But what if quitting isn’t failure? What if, instead, it’s a deliberate, thoughtful choice?

We tend to think of quitting as dramatic or desperate. But some of the most thoughtful people have done it with calm, clarity, and purpose.

A Bend in the Road

Simone Biles, the world’s most celebrated gymnast, stunned everyone at the Tokyo Olympics by withdrawing from several events. She was at the top of her game, but “the twisties” had set in—a mental block that could have caused serious harm. So, she stepped back. It wasn’t weakness. It was wisdom.

Ashleigh Barty retired from tennis. Twice. The first time, she left to play professional cricket. The second, after winning Wimbledon and the Australian Open, she walked away for good. Why? She’d achieved what she wanted and didn’t see the point in chasing more.

Ravichandran Ashwin recently retired from Test cricket. He’s known for adapting and reinventing himself. His decision wasn’t emotional or sudden. It was calm, careful, and clear-eyed.

These aren’t stories of people giving up. They’re stories of people turning corners.

The Quiet Quitting Trap

Then there’s the other kind of quitting. The quiet kind.

You show up every day, but your mind isn’t in it. You go through the motions, but the spark is gone. The work feels dull. The goal is a blur.

It’s not quitting, technically. But it might as well be. Quiet quitting isn’t dramatic. It’s just sad.

The Sunk Cost Spiral

Knowing when to stop isn’t easy. Especially when you’ve poured so much of yourself into something.
But not everything we invest in is worth continuing. Sometimes, we keep going for all the wrong reasons.

Sendhil Mullainathan, Harvard professor and co-author of Scarcity, explains this beautifully using a simple classroom game. He auctions off a $20 note. The rules are simple: the highest bidder gets the $20, but both the highest and second-highest bidders must pay their bids.

It starts off small—$1, $2—but then things get out of hand.

Someone bids $1. Someone else says, “No way he’s getting $20 for just $1,” and bids $2.

Now both are stuck. The highest bidder may get the $20, but the second-highest still has to pay.

The $1 bidder thinks, “I can’t lose $1 for nothing. I’ll bid $3—maybe I’ll win.” The other counters with $4. Then $5. It still feels like a bargain.

But soon, it becomes about something else. Not losing face. Not “wasting” what’s already spent.

And just like that, it spirals. $10. $20. $30. Even more.

It sounds silly. But we do this all the time. Stay in jobs we don’t enjoy. Stick with plans that no longer excite us. Keep going just because we’ve already spent time, effort, or money.

It’s not about the $20 anymore. It’s about the fear of letting go.

The Strength of Knowing

Here’s the thing about quitting: it’s not about giving up. It’s about knowing when to step back and ask, “Is this still worth it?”

Some goals begin as passing desires. But they can grow into something deeper, if nurtured. Other times, we realise the goal was never really ours to begin with.

Both are perfectly okay. What matters is that we notice the difference.

And just to be clear—this isn’t about walking away the moment something gets hard.
Challenge is part of the journey. Stay. Struggle. Figure things out.

What I’m speaking of is the opposite: don’t stay in something just because you’ve already stayed for a bit.

Not every story of quitting makes headlines. Some play out quietly, with a different kind of courage.

Moving Forward

As for the young man who walked away from the corporate world? He’s doing well—for now. He’s a tour guide and runs a fledgling travel company, employing four other people. Still figuring things out, but loving the journey. “I wake up with joy,” he told me.

Quitting didn’t end his story. It helped him start a better one—at least for this chapter.

I’m not saying he’s found his forever. Or that every day is perfect. Just that, at this point in time, this is where he is. And it seems to fit.

Sometimes, what looks like the end of the road is just a bend.
You pause. You breathe. And then, you move forward—lighter, clearer, and ready for what’s next.

Flyover: What Birds Can Teach Us About Teamwork

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At Nudgee, I once saw something curious. Two birds — clearly different species — were standing a little apart, watching the water. One flapped its wings noisily, stirring up fish. The other swooped in and grabbed a snack. Then they did it again. And again. It looked rehearsed. It made me think about what birds can teach us about teamwork — not just within their own flocks, but even across species.

I didn’t know what they were at the time. I just stood there, amused. Impressed. A few clicks and a bit of help from the internet later, I figured them out — one was a white-faced heron, the other an eastern great egret. Different birds, different styles. But clearly in sync.

They didn’t speak. Didn’t exchange glances. But they worked together like seasoned professionals. It was quiet, effective teamwork. And it stayed with me.

We’ve been studying animals for years. Not in the wild, but in labs. Think of Skinner’s pigeons. Pavlov’s dogs. Harlow’s monkeys. Thorndike’s cats. All of them in cages, pressing levers, solving puzzles, or drooling on cue. From them, we learned about rewards, conditioning, learning curves, even motivation.

Great science. But very controlled. And very individual.

Push a button. Get a treat.
Climb a pyramid. Reach your potential.
Respond to a bell. Salivate on time.

Useful frameworks, no doubt. But they often missed something that birds in the wild seem to understand naturally — the power of doing things together.

Birds Of Different Feathers

A new study from the Smithsonian Conservation Biology Institute changes the frame. Researchers analysed more than 20 years of data from five bird banding stations in the Americas. What they found was remarkable. Certain migratory songbirds — like the American redstart and magnolia warbler — regularly travel together, across species lines.

Not by accident. On purpose.

These birds form what the researchers call “cross-species communities.” They migrate together, stop at the same places, forage in the same areas. Not because they’re best friends. But because it works. More eyes to spot predators. More beaks to find food. Less energy wasted. Better odds of survival.

Emily Cohen, co-author of the study, put it well: “We found support for communities on the move — considering migrating birds as part of interacting communities rather than random gatherings.”

It’s a lovely phrase: communities on the move.

Not networks. Not teams. No. Not even flocks. Communities.

It makes you pause and ask again: what birds can teach us about teamwork may be deeper than we assumed.

Together Is Smarter

We humans still cling to the idea of the lone genius. The hero’s journey. The self-made success story. But the truth is usually more tangled. Behind every solo act is a hidden chorus. A parent. A mentor. A partner. A team. A silent helper who made the win possible.

Flying solo might get you a headline. But it rarely gets you very far.

Those birds at Nudgee reminded me of that. Different feathers. Different instincts. But a shared goal. They weren’t doing a trust fall exercise. They were trying to eat. And they knew they could do it better together.

Nature doesn’t do TED Talks. It does what works.
And what seems to work — even across species — is collaboration.

So next time someone says, “I built this myself,” you might want to ask:
Really?
Or did someone help stir the fish?

The Checklist Trap: How We Turned Leadership into a Lifestyle Product

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Leadership used to be messy, thoughtful, human work. Now, it risks becoming a lifestyle product—complete with listicles, morning routines, and pastel-quote inspiration. That is the essence of Satish Pradhan’s post titled “The Seductive Simplicity of ‘7 Steps to Greatness’“. Satish is a thought leader I immensely respect and whose views have guided me for a while now. This time, as always, his writing offers a sharp take.

He writes: “Leadership becomes a lifestyle—a performative state of constant optimisation and vague inspiration.” Ouch. True.

I couldn’t help but add this in the comments:

“Also begs the question—who made it this way?
Boards, wanting bandaids?
Leaders, craving a formula?
HR, trying to package potential?
Consultants, with frameworks that look good on slides?
Academia, chasing citations over messy reality?
Or TED Talks, with applause timed to the speaker’s smile?
Not a blame game. Just a call to reflect.
If leadership is now theatre—who wrote the script?
And more importantly… who’s still reading the footnotes? 🙂”

Truth is, we didn’t land here overnight. As I wrote earlier in a piece titled “Decline Creep,” these shifts happen gradually, then suddenly. The seductive simplicity of seven steps isn’t a glitch—it’s a feature of a broader cultural operating system.

Leadership development is a multi-billion dollar global industry. Estimates put it at over USD 350 billion annually. With that kind of investment, you’d expect profound change. We often get ‘pass me the popcorn’ stuff.

The Current Cultural Operating System

The milieu we operate in shapes our defaults. Leadership and its development has not escaped the broader shift toward speed, scale, and surface over substance. Here are some attributes of this time and space.

1. Everything must be tangible.

If it’s not tangible, it must not matter. This is a tragic oversimplification. Real progress in leadership is often subtle. A better conversation. A delayed reaction. An unexpected apology. Tangible, if you know where to look—and if you look with intent.

Deep learning and behavioural change are not immediately visible, but they are transformational over time. Sitting with the intangible, the ambiguous, the unresolved—this takes patience. But that’s precisely what we seem to be losing.

2. We live in a fast-food world.

Everyone wants nourishment in the form of a nutrient bar they can eat before catching a train. Sure, it feeds the immediate hunger. But it cannot offer the satisfaction of a full-course meal. Or the long-term health. Leadership frameworks are now nutrition bars: portable, efficient, and forgettable.

Herbert Simon, who coined the term “bounded rationality,” reminded us that humans tend to satisfice—settling for what’s good enough. Quick lists cater to that tendency. But leadership needs more than adequacy. Over time, ‘adequate’ becomes the benchmark. And then the ceiling.

3. The tyranny of the quarterly result.

The short term is now. The long term is the next quarter. It’s as if the world will cease to exist beyond the quarter. If something doesn’t shift short-term metrics, it’s dismissed. Leadership development doesn’t always give you a spike in numbers. Sometimes it just quietly prevents a disaster. Or helps someone stay.

Peter Drucker is often quoted as saying, “What gets measured gets managed.” Full stop. But that’s not where he stopped. He actually said: “What gets measured gets managed — even when it’s pointless to measure and manage it, and even if it harms the purpose of the organisation to do so.”

Perhaps we were in a hurry and didn’t soak up the full sentence.

4. The obsession with machine-like efficiency.

We’ve come to admire speed, standardisation, and output so much that we expect people to behave like machines. Fast. Predictable. Always on. That logic has quietly crept into leadership development too.

It’s now packaged like a factory model—designed to scale, deliver uniform results, and run on schedule. But leadership doesn’t work on conveyor belts. It doesn’t follow a clean workflow or offer batch processing.

People are messy. They take time. Conversation. Reversals. Detours. Leadership requires recalibration, not just repetition. Efficiency looks good on paper. But it rarely builds trust or courage.

This obsession leads to box-ticking: feedback session done, 360 report filed, coaching logged. But that’s not growth. That’s admin. Cookie cutters work well with cookies—not people.

5. We’ve unhooked from research.

There is a deep and evolving body of work in the social sciences and leadership literature—decades of inquiry into motivation, learning, group dynamics, and organisational culture. Thinkers like Chris Argyris, Edgar Schein, and Mary Parker Follett have explored the nuances of influence, systems thinking, and human potential. Their work offers complex, often uncomfortable truths.

But such research rarely makes it to the glossy handouts or keynote slides. Why? It demands thought. It questions assumptions while resisting slogans. And isn’t easily reduced to three boxes and a circle.

Instead, we pick up ideas stripped of their richness—psychological safety as a checklist item, or systems thinking reduced to bullet points. The substance is lost in the translation.

Academia speaks in nuance. Practitioners crave action. Somewhere in between, we abandoned the bridge.

We need to reclaim it. Not for the sake of theory—but for depth, integrity, and honest conversation. Leadership deserves nothing less.

6. Deliberate effort on development is seen as optional.

Focused development is treated like a side hobby—something to do if there’s time. A luxury. Not core. There’s a comforting belief that leadership emerges on its own. That wisdom arrives with age. That real work is separate from leadership work.

But the demands are more complex now. The path to leadership is often shorter, with less grounding. And the illusion of expertise is everywhere. Ten-second clips pass off as wisdom. Everyone has an answer. Few ask better questions.

What’s missing? Time. And deliberate effort. To learn. To experiment. And reflect. The pause to ask, “What did I learn from that?” feels indulgent. But without it, growth is shallow.

7. Real change happens at work. And it is bespoke.

You can have perspective in a classroom. Maybe even a breakthrough in an offsite. But change? That happens on the ground. In Monday meetings. In the pause before a reply. When noticing what you once missed.

One size doesn’t fit all. It doesn’t even fit most. What works for one leader may confuse another. The best leadership development is bespoke—stitched with care and context. You can learn from shared perspectives. But applying them? That’s personal. That cannot be outsourced.

As Manfred Kets de Vries once quipped, “Leadership is like swimming—it cannot be done by reading a book about it.”

Change is contextual. It escapes formula. It demands participation. So yes, the seven steps might sell. They might even help a little. But let’s not forget: leadership is a practice. Not a product. Not a performance. And definitely not a PowerPoint.

It is messy, slow, human work. And if we want real change, we must learn to value that again—even when it doesn’t come with a checklist or a bestselling cover.

So, there. 7 points. Stacked and ordered. I have a few more. But they won’t fit seven. I am part of the problem you see 🙂

I Am the Traffic

A road safety campaign in Sweden once carried a brilliant line: “You are not in traffic. You are traffic.” Simple. Sharp. It flipped the narrative—from blame to ownership.

That idea travels well. In leadership, culture, and checklist thinking, we aren’t bystanders. We’re not stuck in the system. We are the system. Participants. Sometimes even enablers.

It was never just about traffic. It was about agency. And responsibility. In many ways, it’s a reminder for all of us engaged in leadership and development work.

We may not like the system. But let’s admit it—we help make it. Through what we reward. What we tolerate. And what we scroll past without question.

Culture is not created in boardrooms alone. It’s created in choices. Daily ones. A ticked box here. A skipped conversation there. Over time, these become norms.

We are not stuck in it. We are it.

Development doesn’t happen by accident. It needs intentional choices. Time. Attention. Depth.

So, what do we do? I don’t know. Perhaps, start with Satish’s post. Maybe read the comments. Linger. See what resonates. What provokes. What’s missing.

Because no framework—however snappy—can replace the quiet courage of doing the hard, human work of change. And yes, let’s still read the footnotes. 🙂

The Second Story: Seeing Beyond Failures and Success

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In December 2017, Charlene Murphey, a 75-year-old patient, was admitted to Vanderbilt University Medical Center in Tennessee after suffering a brain bleed. Within two days, her condition had improved. Doctors ordered a PET scan before she was discharged, and prescribed Versed, a mild sedative, to help calm her nerves.

Nurse RaDonda Vaught was assigned to administer the medication. She went to the automated medication cabinet, typed in the drug name—but it didn’t show up. This was a familiar glitch. Staff had grown used to bypassing it. So Vaught used the override function, a routine workaround in the hospital.

But something went terribly wrong. Instead of Versed, she pulled out vecuronium—a powerful paralytic. She administered the drug and left. Murphey stopped breathing and never woke up.

The First Story and Its Limits

The hospital fired Vaught. Her license was revoked. She was convicted of criminally negligent homicide.

To many, the case seemed open and shut. A nurse made a fatal error. Justice was served.

But that’s only the surface story—the one that provides a name, a mistake, a punishment. Sidney Dekker, Professor in the School of Humanities, Languages and Social Science at Griffith University in Brisbane invites us to look deeper: Why did this make sense to the nurse at the time?

That’s where the Second Story begins.

A System Set to Fail

Vaught was not careless. She worked in a system that had quietly normalised risk. Medication cabinets were glitchy. Overrides were expected. Nurses weren’t trained on the risks of the override function. No one flagged it, because everyone used it.

This wasn’t just human error. It was a system error.

Organisational thinker Chris Argyris called the surface-level response Single-Loop Learning—fixing the behaviour without questioning the system. The real opportunity lies in Double-Loop Learning: changing the underlying rules and culture that made the behaviour possible.

Culture in Action—And Why It Matters

Every organisation has two cultures: the one printed in posters and handbooks, and the one people actually live.

One says, “We value safety.” The other says, “Don’t slow down.” When those messages clash, people choose the one that protects their job or helps them survive the day. It’s that simple.

Over time, shortcuts become habits. Risks become invisible. And when something breaks, the system often blames the person it failed to support.

But it doesn’t have to be that way. In Japanese train stations—some of the safest and most efficient in the world—staff follow a practice called “pointing and calling.” I saw them point to signals, say them aloud, and actively confirm their actions. It looked dramatic, but I learnt that it significantly reduces errors. There, safety isn’t a statement. It’s a system. It’s culture by design—not by hope.

That’s why the Second Story in organisations matters so much for managers, leaders and of course, consultants. The First Story gives you a neat diagnosis and a fast fix. The Second Story in organisations requires deeper listening and more courage—but it reveals where change is truly needed. It shows the disconnect between values and behaviour. It helps leaders shift from blame to learning and therefore, to change.

Questions To Ask

Crucially, the Second Story isn’t only for understanding failure—it helps explain success too. When an athlete wins gold, it’s not just about training hard. It’s about the coach, the physiotherapist, the diet plan, the mental support, the facilities, DNA—everything behind the scenes that made excellence possible.

In organisations, too, when a team thrives, don’t just clap. Ask: What made this work? What conditions allowed people to do their best work? When we see the system behind the success, we can repeat it. When we ignore it, we leave future outcomes to luck.

Final Thought

The Second Story is always there. It’s not about blame—it’s about learning. It helps us see not just what went wrong or right, but why it made sense, and what needs to change.

Charlene Murphey didn’t just deserve a trial; she deserved a transformation. A system that looked at what failed her—not just who did. And perhaps the Nurse RaDonda Vaught, too, didn’t just need punishment; she needed a system that supported her, trained her, and designed work that made safety easier, not harder.

Because the best way to honour a tragedy is to make sure the system learns from it—and becomes less likely to repeat it.

If you’re willing to look deeper, you’ll see more. And in that, lies the path to better systems, better culture, and better outcomes.

Robert Paul Wolff: A Personal Tribute to a Life of Teaching and Thought

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I didn’t get to know of Robert Paul Wolff’s passing until recently. And yet, his work has been with me for years.

He made Kant and Freud more accessible to me. For that, I will always be grateful to him. I was an Eklavya of sorts—learning from a distance, drawing from his words, and inspired by a life that fought on despite odds that I only knew too well.

His personal blog, with all its warts and all, is a window to his mind. It is unfiltered, deeply intellectual, sometimes grumpy, often humorous, and always honest. It is a rare thing—to get inside the head of a philosopher, not through curated books but through everyday reflections, political rants, and candid stories of struggle.

This is a personal tribute to the man.

A Teacher Until the End

In the spring of 2024, at the age of 90, Robert Paul Wolff was still teaching. From a nursing home in North Carolina, he logged into Zoom every Friday to lead a discussion on Das Kapital. His students weren’t just eager undergraduates—among them were Harvard faculty and graduate students, all drawn in by his ability to make Marxist theory come alive.

“It was one of those very rare Harvard events where people actually showed up, not because of some resume item, but because they were actually interested,” said Social Studies lecturer Bo-Mi T. Choi in The Harvard Crimson, who helped design the course.

Even through a screen, his presence was unmistakable.

“Even on the Zoom screen, you could tell he was probably one of the most compelling teachers one could ever meet, a truly extraordinary man,” said David Armitage, Chair of the Committee on Degrees in Social Studies.

It wasn’t about status or prestige for Wolff. Teaching was simply what he did.

The Man Who Built Ideas

Robert Paul Wolff was the last surviving co-founder of Harvard’s Social Studies concentration—one of the first interdisciplinary programs of its kind. Launched in 1960, it brought together philosophy, politics, and economics to help students engage with the complexities of the real world. The idea was simple: problems don’t fit neatly into academic departments, so why should education?

During his time at Harvard, Wolff was one of the founding members of the Social Studies concentration in 1960 and became the head tutor for the program’s first year. At its inception, the program admitted only 20 to 30 honours degree candidates a year, hoping to train them in cross-disciplinary thinking unconstrained by departmental boundaries.

Armitage said Wolff, in the 1950s, felt that the world’s problems were “so big that they cannot be handled by one single department”—something Armitage believes is still true today.

But Wolff didn’t just build programs. He built ways of thinking.

At the University of Massachusetts Amherst, he co-founded the Social Thought and Political Economy (STPEC) program, and when UMass wanted to establish a PhD program in African American Studies, he was asked to help. He had no background in the field. So, as the story goes, he spent an entire summer reading every major book in the discipline—because if he was going to be involved, he would do it right.

Why He Matters

1. He Made Philosophy Accessible

Philosophy can be dense and difficult. Wolff had a way of making it clear. His works on Kant, Freud and several others continue to be read by students around the world. His lectures—many of which remain freely available on YouTube—are a reminder that great teachers don’t just explain things well; they make you care about them.

His blog, The Philosopher’s Stone, was an extension of this. He wrote about the subjects that fascinated him, but also about his personal struggles, his frustrations with academia, and his reflections on life. It wasn’t always polished. But it was real.

2. He Never Stopped Teaching

By 2021, he had already been living with Parkinson’s disease for over a year. His handwriting had become nearly illegible, and he relied on speech-to-text software to continue his work. In a deeply personal note on his blog, he shared that while his body had begun to slow down, his mind remained clear.

By January 2024, at the age of 90, he reflected on how much his mobility had declined. He accepted it with characteristic bluntness. But what mattered to him most? He had one more chance to teach. He was preparing for a study group—one that would explore ideas he had studied for decades. That, more than anything, brought him joy.

3. He Stood for What He Believed In

Wolff wasn’t just an academic; he was an activist. He protested against apartheid, fought for university divestment from South Africa, and stayed politically engaged until the very end. For him, philosophy was never just about ideas—it was about action.

A Legacy That Carries On

Robert Paul Wolff passed away on January 6, 2025, at the age of 91.

The tributes that followed said it all.

The University of Massachusetts Amherst remembered him as a “brilliant mind and fierce advocate for interdisciplinary education.“ The North American Kant Society acknowledged his “significant contributions to philosophy.” Philosopher Brian Leiter summed it up best: “A long life, well-lived.”

Even Parkinson’s couldn’t stop him. Even when his body failed, his mind kept working, his passion for learning never dimmed.

His work lives on. His ideas live on. And if you haven’t looked him up before, now might be a good time. His books, his lectures, and his blog are still out there.

And if you want to see his mind in its rawest, most unfiltered form, start with his blog. It’s all there.

There are more fascinating insights about his generosity and commitment to change in his obituaries in The Harvard Crimson and UMass Amherst.

Decline Creep: The Slow Slide You Never See Coming

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How do you go bankrupt?

Well, gradually, then suddenly.

Thats my most favourite quote. By Ernest Hemingway in The Sun Also Rises

To me, his words aren’t just about money. They hold true for everything—careers, health, relationships, and even ambition. Because decline doesn’t happen in one dramatic collapse. It happens quietly, unnoticed, until the damage is done.

The slow erosion of standards isn’t dramatic. It doesn’t announce itself with alarms. It’s just small compromises made in moments of exhaustion—one deadline missed, one corner cut, one excuse justified. At first, they feel harmless. But over time, what was once non-negotiable becomes optional, and then, eventually, forgotten.

The quiet dulling of ambition doesn’t happen overnight. It starts with settling—choosing comfort over challenge, convenience over growth. The fire that once pushed you forward dims, not because you chose to give up, but because you stopped choosing to push. The hunger fades, replaced by a vague sense of inertia.

The steady lowering of expectations is the final piece. What you once aspired to feels distant, even unrealistic. You adjust—not because you believe less is enough, but because expecting more feels pointless. The extraordinary becomes unattainable, the average becomes acceptable, and before you know it, mediocrity becomes the norm.

Then, one day, you look around and wonder: How did things get here?

Not in a single moment. Not with a single decision. But with a thousand tiny ones.

Decline Creep is real. It thrives on neglect. It doesn’t need effort—it just needs you to stop paying attention. Many a time decline creep happens while you were busy with other things!

Progress, on the other hand, is different.

It doesn’t happen by accident. It requires intent. Effort. Discipline.

It’s never overnight. It’s never one sweeping transformation. It’s the small things, held steady. The right habits, practised consistently.

It starts with paying attention—continuously reflecting on what’s working and what isn’t. It requires taking corrective action before small missteps turn into major setbacks. A bit of optimism keeps you moving forward, but real progress demands a lot of focus.

Good things don’t come in sudden bursts. They come from the little things, done right, again and again.

Progress is built by design. Decline is powered by defaults.

Good things take time. So does decline.

The difference? One is a choice. The other is what happens when you stop choosing.

India’s Progress: Poverty Fell While the Doomsday Clock Ticked Closer

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The world feels heavy with crisis—wars, climate disasters, and a growing sense that things are falling apart. But here’s something worth paying attention to: India has made remarkable progress in reducing poverty. Over the last few decades, millions have moved out of extreme poverty, quietly reshaping the country’s economic landscape.

This isn’t just a feel-good statistic. It’s hard evidence that things can get better, even in challenging times.

And Yet, the Doomsday Clock Ticks Closer

Despite such progress, the Doomsday Clock, that dramatic symbol of how close we are to global catastrophe, was reset to 89 seconds to midnight this year. It has barely moved—stuck at 100 seconds for years, then 90, now 89. The change is cosmetic, not meaningful.

At a Founding Fuel Masterclass on The World in 2025, Sundeep Waslekar called this reset a cop-out. He argues that the real number should be closer to 60 seconds. He pointed to a joint article by Prince Hassan of Jordan, advocating for a sharper reset.

But while the world debates whether catastrophe is inevitable, there’s another story playing out—one of real, measurable progress. One that gives me hope amidst all the gloom and doom.

India’s Role in Reducing Poverty

A recent study by Armentano, Niehaus, and Vogl found that global extreme poverty fell from 44% in 1981 to just 9% in 2019—and India played a huge role in that shift. The study found that 57% of those who started in poverty in rural India managed to escape it—one of the highest exit rates among all countries surveyed.

How Did India Do It?

Some long-held assumptions don’t hold up. The study found that:

  1. People didn’t need to switch careers. Most who escaped poverty kept working in the same industry, improving gradually rather than making risky jumps.
  2. Moving to cities wasn’t the golden ticket. Rural-to-urban migration wasn’t a major factor, and in some cases, rural-to-rural moves worked better.
  3. Self-employment was key. Unlike in Mexico or South Africa, where wage jobs mattered more, in India, self-employment played the biggest role in lifting people out of poverty.

Handouts Helped, But Progress Was Broader

Government support, cash transfers, and aid helped cushion families from falling back into poverty. The study found that when people slipped below the poverty line, social protection measures often softened the blow and gave them a fighting chance to recover.

But the biggest long-term gains came from economic activity—steady income, better opportunities, and gradual improvements in livelihoods. India’s 1991 economic liberalization, expansion of micro-businesses, small-scale farming improvements, and informal work created conditions for many to climb out of poverty while staying in familiar trades.

What’s the Big Takeaway?

Poverty isn’t a static trap. People move in and out of it constantly. The good news? In India, more people have been moving up than down.

The Doomsday Clock may be ticking, but time isn’t running out just yet. The world has seen real progress—and with the right focus, there’s more to be done.

Read the full study [here]. It’s messy, surprising, and hopeful.

Progress doesn’t stop—and neither should we.