Learning & Change

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

Me? Quit?

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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.

Unlearning for Success in an AI-Driven World: Why Past Wins Can Hold You Back

Learning & Change, , , , , , , ,

AI is breaking boundaries and dismantling old ways of thinking. It has made a rather impolite but firm introduction to irrelevance. Leaders today must prioritise unlearning for success in an AI-Driven world —or risk being left behind.

AI is rewriting the rules of work, creativity, and competition. Every day, new breakthroughs make yesterday’s expertise obsolete. The old playbooks? No longer enough. The rate of change is massive. And it’s not slowing down.

The real question is: How fast can you adapt?

I clicked the picture above somewhere in Ladakh, where our car had been halted by an avalanche. Workers were labouring to clear the road, knowing full well that another could strike at any moment. That’s the nature of avalanches—sudden, disruptive, and unforgiving.

AI is that avalanche. In the real world, avalanches block roads. In the metaphorical world of fast change, they bury careers, industries, and entire ways of working. The only way to survive? Move, adapt, and find your slope.

Slope and Intercept

A professor whose work I follow is Mohanbir Sawhney. He wrote a piece titled “SLOPE, NOT INTERCEPT: WHY LEARNING BEATS EXPERIENCE” in LinkedIn. The piece resonated and helped me refresh my high school coordinate geometry 🙂

I have been thinking about it ever since. So, Indulge me for the next couple of minutes. Here we go.

Equation of a straight line: y = mx + c

m: The slope—indicating how fast you’re learning.
c: The intercept—representing your starting point or existing knowledge.

Imagine three learners. Mr. Red starts ahead (high intercept) but learns slowly (low slope, small ‘m’). Mr. Purple starts lower (low intercept) and progresses steadily (moderate slope, medium ‘m’). 

Ms. Blue starts behind (low intercept) but picks up new skills quickly (steep slope, large ‘m’), eventually overtaking both. Over time, Ms. Blue’s higher slope (greater ‘m’) allows her to progress faster, proving that the speed of learning (slope) matters more than where one begins (intercept).

That’s Prof. Sawhney’s point. In a world moving at breakneck speed, slope beats intercept every time.

It’s a neat explanation that accentuates the importance of learning and the role of past experience. Which is the point to this post. Past experience can interfere with future learning.

What gets in the way of learning and change? Three things stand out for me.

1. Past Success is a Sneaky Obstacle

What got you here won’t get you there. Yet, we cling to past knowledge like a badge of honour. The problem? Yesterday’s wins can become today’s blind spots.

The best learners stay humble. They don’t assume what worked before will work again. Instead, they ask, “What do I need to unlearn to make space for what’s next?”

This isn’t just opinion—it’s backed by another favourite professor, Clay Christensen, in his classic work, The Innovator’s Dilemma.

Christensen showed how successful companies often fail when disruption hits. Why? Because their past success locks them into old ways of thinking. They keep optimising what worked before instead of adapting to what’s coming next. That’s how giants lose to scrappy newcomers unburdened by legacy thinking.

Exhibit A: BlackBerry

Once a leader in mobile technology, BlackBerry clung to its physical keyboard design, convinced loyal customers would never give it up. Meanwhile, Apple and Samsung bet on full-touchscreen smartphones. BlackBerry’s refusal to move beyond its own past success led to its decline.

Exhibit B: Zomato

Contrast that with Zomato. It started as a restaurant discovery platform but saw the market shifting. It let go of its original success model and pivoted to food delivery. Then to restaurant supplies. Then to quick commerce. By unlearning what had worked before, Zomato stayed ahead.

The same applies to individuals. If you define yourself by what has worked before, you risk missing what could work next. Adaptation isn’t about forgetting your strengths; it’s about not letting them become limitations.

2. Fear Kills Growth

New learning requires trying. Trying involves failing. And failure—especially when experience has given you relevance—can feel uncomfortable.

Many don’t fear learning itself; they fear looking foolish while learning. That’s why kids learn faster than adults. They don’t care if they fall; they just get up. Adults, on the other hand, hesitate. They protect their image, avoid risks, and stick to what keeps them looking competent.

This isn’t just instinct—it’s backed by research. In The Fear of Failure Effect (Clifford, 1984), researchers found that people with a high fear of failure avoid learning opportunities—not because they can’t learn, but because they don’t want to risk looking bad.

Think of it this way: If you’re only playing to avoid losing, you’re never really playing to win. The antidote? Make experimentation a habit. Small experiments create room for both success and failure—without the fear of high stakes. They provide just enough space to try, adapt, and grow.

Reflections on Rahul Dravid

Rahul Dravid’s career is an interesting study in adaptation. Once labelled a Test specialist, he gradually refined his game for ODIs, taking up wicketkeeping to stay relevant. Later, he experimented with T20 cricket and, post-retirement, started small in coaching—mentoring India A and U-19 teams before stepping into the senior coaching role. His evolution wasn’t overnight; it was a series of calculated experiments.

3. New Minds, New Paths

Left to ourselves, we reinforce what we already know, surrounding ourselves with the same familiar circles—colleagues, family, and close friends. That’s exactly why new perspectives matter. We don’t have enough of them. Our past experiences shape our networks, and over time, we rely on the same set of strong connections, limiting exposure to fresh ideas.

Sociologist Mark Granovetter’s research on The Strength of Weak Ties (1973) found that casual acquaintances (weak ties) expose us to new ideas and opportunities far more than close friends or colleagues (strong ties). Why? Because strong ties often operate in an echo chamber, reinforcing what we already believe. Weak ties, on the other hand, bring in fresh perspectives, unexpected insights, and access to new fields.

A few years ago, an MD I know took up cycling. What started as a fitness and lifstyle activity became something more. As he grew more integrated with his diverse cycling community, I saw firsthand how it influenced him—not just physically, but mentally. He hasn’t just learned new skills; he has unlearned old assumptions. His outlook, I realised, has changed simply by being around people who think and live differently.

He has transformed without realising it and is thriving professionally. I’ve been working on the sidelines with him and can see the transformation firsthand. I am not undermining his professional challenges and success, but I cannot help but see the changes his cycling community has brought to him.

The world is moving fast. The only way to keep up? Have more unexpected conversations, seek out people who challenge your views, and surround yourself with thinkers from different worlds.

Sometimes, seeing others take risks in adjacent spaces is all the permission we need to start experimenting ourselves.

Opportunity for Change

The ability to learn, unlearn, and adapt has never been more critical. In a world shaped by AI, rapid disruption, and shifting industries, clinging to past successes is the surest way to fall behind. The real competitive edge lies not in what you know today, but in how quickly you can evolve for tomorrow. Unlearning for success in an AI-driven world is mandatory.

So, ask yourself: What am I absolutely sure about? Because that’s often where the biggest opportunity for growth lies.

The world belongs to those who can learn fast, forget fast, and adapt even faster.

The Elephant in the Room – Not as Invisible as You Think

Learning & Change, , , , ,

My work revolves around making change happen and stick—at all kinds of levels. And if there’s one universal truth, it’s this: there’s always something unsaid, something avoided. Sometimes, it’s just a small discomfort. An Elephant in the room! Sometimes, there’s a full herdThe other day, I wrapped up a conversation where everyone expertly avoided making eye contact with the massive, wrinkled reality in the room.


I’ve been thinking about these elephants in the room. Unspoken realities. They have a tough job. And honestly, so do I. Because the more I work with organisations and teams, the more I see how much avoidance of this elephant in the room stands in the way of progress. It can be incredibly frustrating to watch brilliant people, well-resourced teams, and ambitious strategies get stalled because no one wants to name the obvious.

Interestingly, the phrase “elephant in the room” has its roots in an old fable by Russian poet Ivan Krylov, titled The Inquisitive Man (1814). The story follows a man who visits a museum and marvels at all the tiny, insignificant details but somehow fails to notice the elephant right in front of him. If that isn’t the perfect metaphor for how most organisations and families deal with uncomfortable truths, I don’t know what is. We focus on minor distractions, but the massive, inconvenient reality remains untouched.

Wild thought. What would it be like to hire an elephant in the room? I mean, how would the job description look? What would be its responsibilities? How would you review its performance? What would the elephant say? Where would they go to cry? And what else could they do?

Some days of intense frustration make me think like this. Creative licence to deal with day-to-day difficulties, if you will.

Now Hiring: Elephant in the Room

Position: Elephant in the Room
Location: Every office, family gathering, and awkward social situation.
Reports To: No one, because no one acknowledges its existence.

Job Responsibilities:

  • Stand silently in meetings, absorbing tension like an unpaid intern.
  • Ensure everyone pretends everything is fine when it clearly isn’t.
  • Occasionally wave a trunk in frustration, only to be ignored.
  • Be the invisible force behind passive-aggressive emails that start with “As discussed earlier…”

Performance Review:

“Exceptional ability to be avoided. Maintains presence without making a sound. 10/10 at making people glance at their phones instead of addressing the real issue. Keep up the great work!”

A Word from the Elephant Itself

“Look, I didn’t apply for this job. But here I am. Stuck in boardrooms where people discuss alignment instead of accountability. Hovering over family dinners where everyone tiptoes around Cousin Ramesh’s mysterious ‘business venture.’ Sitting in post-crisis town halls where leadership promises ‘synergy’ while employees quietly update their LinkedIn profiles.

I’ve tried everything. Waving my trunk. Wearing a hat. Bringing snacks. (Nothing gets humans talking like free food, right?) But nope. Silence.

At this point, I just sigh and sit down. If you won’t acknowledge me, I might as well be comfortable.”

Support Group for Elephants in the Room

  • “I’ve been in an office for five years, and they still pretend I don’t exist!”
  • “Try being the elephant at a wedding where everyone knows the bride’s ex is in the audience.”
  • “At this point, I’m considering a career switch. Maybe become the ‘Monkey on Someone’s Back’ instead.”

Ways Forward: Working with the Elephant in the Room

Addressing the unspoken isn’t about charging headfirst into confrontation. It requires a mix of awareness, strategy, and patience. Leaders who handle these situations well focus on a few key things.

First, recognising discomfort is essential. What are the conversations being avoided? What patterns keep repeating? Naming the issue doesn’t always mean calling it out immediately but being aware of its impact.

Creating an environment where people feel safe to speak up makes a difference. If raising concerns is met with silence or punishment, people will simply stop trying. Timing also matters—some truths need gentle nudges, others require direct conversations.

Finally, not every situation can be resolved. Some rooms thrive on avoidance. And in those cases, knowing when to step away is just as important. Progress happens when people choose to see what’s right in front of them.

The Next Career Move

“With all the rooms filled with ignored elephants, I’m considering a career change. Maybe I’ll become the ‘Skeleton in the Closet’ instead. Seems like a better gig!”

What’s the biggest elephant you’ve seen in the room?
Let’s talk. No peanuts required.

AI in Academia: The Grind, The Gain, and the Great Recalibration

AI & Tech, Learning & Change, , , , ,

A few months ago, I was teaching a bright MBA class when a student raised his hand in the middle of a lecture. He said he had misgivings about my arguments. And then, right there in class, he told me he had been using an AI tool to critique my points.

I learned a thing or two that day. Not just about the subject, but about how AI was changing the very nature of learning. I left the class not thinking about how students should avoid AI, but about how I could use AI to prepare better.

I wasn’t prepared for the question, and I’ll admit—I felt mildly threatened.

Now, my parents were both professors. I’ve been teaching a paper at a top-tier business school for over a decade, in addition to my other work. I’ve seen academia up close—the passions, the programmes, and the politics. So when I came across the California Faculty Association (CFA) resolution on AI, I paid attention.

California, after all, is at the heart of the tech world. If any faculty association could chart the future of AI in academia, I thought it would be this one.

But what the CFA put out was quite the contrary.

The CFA is pushing for strict rules on AI in universities, raising concerns that AI might replace roles, undermine hiring processes, and compromise intellectual property. As they put it:

“AI will replace roles at the university that will make it difficult or impossible to solve classroom, human resources, or other issues since it is not intelligent.”

I respect their concerns. But I also believe the real challenge isn’t what AI should do—it’s what humans should still do in a world where AI can do so much.

And that leads to some fundamental dilemmas.

A Moment to Recalibrate

The goal of education was always to teach thinking—knowledge was simply a measure of that thinking. Somewhere along the way, we confused the measure with the goal.

Instead of focusing on fostering deep thought, we turned education into a test of memory. AI now forces a reckoning. If AI can retrieve, process, and even generate knowledge faster, more accurately, and with greater depth than most students, what does that mean for education?

AI offers an opportunity not to restrict learning, but to recalibrate it—to return to the real goal: teaching students how to think, question, and navigate complexity.

Three Dilemmas Academia Must Confront

1. Who Does the Work—Humans or AI?

AI can grade essays, draft research papers, and provide instant feedback. It’s efficient. But efficiency isn’t learning.

Law firms now use AI for contract analysis. Junior lawyers “supervise” the process. The result? Many don’t develop the deep reading skills that once defined great legal minds. If universities follow the same path—letting AI mark essays and summarise concepts—students may pass courses but never truly engage with ideas.

Douglas Adams once said, “We are stuck with technology when what we really want is just stuff that works.” AI works—but at what cost?

2. Who Owns the Work?

Professors spend years developing course material. AI scrapes, reuses, and repackages it. Who owns the content?

The entertainment industry has been fighting this battle. Writers and musicians pushed back against AI-generated scripts and songs trained on their work. Academia isn’t far behind. If AI creates an entire course based on a professor’s lectures, who gets the credit? The university? The AI? Or the human who originally built it?

The CFA resolution warns about this:

“AI’s threat to intellectual property including use of music, writing, and the creative arts as well as faculty-generated course content without acknowledgement or permission.”

The same battle playing out in Hollywood is now knocking on academia’s door.

3. Does Efficiency Kill Learning? Or Is That the Wrong Question?

It is easy to assume that efficiency threatens deep learning. The grind—rewriting a paper, wrestling with ideas, receiving tough feedback—has long been seen as an essential part of intellectual growth.

AI makes everything smoother. But what if the rough edges were the point?

A medical student who leans on AI for diagnoses might pass exams. But will they develop the instincts to catch what AI misses? A student who lets AI refine their essay may get a better grade. But will they learn to think?

Victoria Livingstone, in an evocative piece for Time magazine, described why she quit teaching after nearly 20 years. AI, she wrote, had fundamentally altered the classroom dynamic. Students, faced with the convenience of AI tools, were no longer willing to sit with the discomfort of not knowing—the struggle of writing, revising, and working their way into clarity.

“With the easy temptation of AI, many—possibly most—of my students were no longer willing to push through discomfort.” – Victoria Livingstone

And therein lies the real challenge.

The problem isn’t efficiency itself—it is what is being optimised for.

If learning is about acquiring knowledge, AI makes that easier and more efficient. But if learning is about developing the ability to think, question, and synthesise complexity, then efficiency is irrelevant—because deep thinking requires time, struggle, and iteration.

So maybe the question isn’t “Does efficiency kill learning?” but rather:

What kind of learning should be prioritised in an AI-enabled world?

If efficiency removes barriers to learning, then we must ask:

What should learning look like when efficiency is no longer a limitation?

A Complex Problem Without Simple Answers

It is tempting to look for quick fixes—ban AI from classrooms, tweak assessments, introduce AI literacy courses. But this is not a simple or even a complicated problem. It is a complex one.

Dave Snowden, from his Cynefin framework, would call this a complex problem—one that cannot be solved with predefined solutions but requires sense-making, experimentation, and adaptation.

Livingstone’s frustration is understandable. AI enables students to sidestep the very struggle that shapes deep learning. But banning AI will not restore those lost habits of mind. Universities cannot rely on rigid policies to navigate a world where knowledge is instantly accessible and AI tools continue to evolve.

Complex problems do not have rule-based solutions. They require adaptation and iteration. The real response to AI isn’t restriction—it is reimagination.

Engage with AI, rather than fight it. Encourage students to think critically about AI’s conclusions. Reshape assessments to focus on argumentation rather than recall.

In a complex system, progress does not happen through control. It happens through learning, adaptation, and deliberate experimentation.

Reimagination, Not Regulation

Saying no to AI is a false choice. AI will seep into academia like a meandering tsunami that doesn’t respect traffic lights at the shore. The real challenge is not limiting AI, but reimagining education.

The CFA is right to demand a conversation about AI in education. But academia must go beyond drawing lines in the sand. It must reinvent itself.

AI is not the threat. The real danger is holding on to learning models that worked well in an earlier time.

That time is past.

It is time to unlearn. And recalibrate.