Learning & Change

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

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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

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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

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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.

AI Natives Are Here: Are You Keeping Up?

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It’s a question that used to be common. “What’s your native place?” It was a way of asking where you were from, where your roots lay. The word native carried warmth. It evoked childhood memories, a sense of belonging, and the unmistakable comfort of home.

The word native, I have since learned, comes from the Latin nativus, meaning “born” or “innate.” It later traveled through Old French as natif and reached Middle English, where it took on meanings tied to birthplace and inherent qualities.

Years later, in 2001, Marc Prensky introduced me to a new kind of native—the digital native. His essay Digital Natives, Digital Immigrants described those who had grown up in the digital world, instinctively fluent with technology, unlike the digital immigrants who had to painstakingly learn it. The metaphor was compelling until David White and Alison Le Cornu refined it further. They suggested that digital engagement was less about birth year and more about behavior—some were Visitors, using technology as needed, while others were Residents, living deeply within it.

For the first time, I understood what it meant to be an immigrant—not just in a country but in a way of thinking. To be a native was to belong effortlessly; to be an immigrant was to adapt, often clumsily.

And then, last week, I read about HudZah.

A New Native

Meet Hudhafaya Nazoorde aka HudZah. HudZah is changing how people interact with knowledge. He built a nuclear fusor—a device that accelerates ions to create nuclear fusion. And he did it with the help of an AI assistant, Claude, right inside his rented house in San Francisco.

Using AI, he gathered information from fusor.net, spoke to experts, and studied diagrams. AI refused to help at first. But HudZah found a way. He asked better questions, breaking big problems into smaller ones. Slowly, AI started guiding him. Piece by piece, he built the fusor.

It’s a fascinating story. (Read more here).

The AI Native

The part of HudZah that really caught my attention in that piece is this:

“I must admit, though, that the thing that scared me most about HudZah was that he seemed to be living in a different technological universe than I was. If the previous generation were digital natives, HudZah was an AI native.

HudZah enjoys reading the old-fashioned way, but he now finds that he gets more out of the experience by reading alongside an AI. He puts PDFs of books into Claude or ChatGPT and then queries the books as he moves through the text. He uses Granola to listen in on meetings so that he can query an AI after the chats as well. His friend built Globe Explorer, which can instantly break down, say, the history of rockets, as if you had a professional researcher at your disposal. And, of course, HudZah has all manner of AI tools for coding and interacting with his computer via voice.

It’s not that I don’t use these things. I do. It’s more that I was watching HudZah navigate his laptop with an AI fluency that felt alarming to me. He was using his computer in a much, much different way than I’d seen someone use their computer before, and it made me feel old and alarmed by the number of new tools at our disposal and how HudZah intuitively knew how to tame them.”

Managing the Shift

Change is never easy. Some people jump in eagerly, others hold back until they have no choice. Everett Rogers’ Diffusion of Innovations model explains this well. There are innovators, the risk-takers who embrace the new before anyone else. Then come the early adopters, who follow closely behind. The majority waits and watches, taking time to adjust. And at the very end are the laggards—those who resist until change is unavoidable.

HudZah is an innovator. He hasn’t waited for AI to become mainstream. He has explored, experimented, and pushed boundaries, using AI to do what few would even attempt—build a nuclear fusor in his bedroom. His approach isn’t just about technology; it is about mindset. He sees AI not as a tool to be feared but as an ally to be mastered. That’s what sets innovators apart.

The question is, where do you stand? Are you adapting, exploring, or waiting for change to push you forward?

The Immigrant Elephant

Even as the world debates immigration and NIMBYism, an elephant grows in the room. Borders are tightening, and immigrants are being sent back. Yet, at the same time, a new kind of nativity is emerging—AI natives, like HudZah, who navigate the digital world with an ease that others struggle to match. And then there’s the rest of us—the AI immigrants, trying to find our place in this rapidly changing landscape.

But here’s the real question: if the world is sending back immigrants, where do AI immigrants go? What happens to those who can’t—or won’t—adapt? That’s the elephant in the room, and it’s only getting bigger.

I am an optimist. There are some realities that can’t be ignored. The pace of AI development is rapid, and there are legitimate concerns. At the same time, we cannot underestimate the prowess of the human mind and humankind. We have adapted to every technological shift in history, and we will do so again.

AI is not something to be feared. It is something to be embraced. Perhaps the best way forward is to experiment—to incorporate AI into our daily rhythms, much like HudZah does. Of course, this is going to greatly change how we all work and, most importantly, who we will become. Like Marshall McLuhan said, man shapes the tools, and then tools shape the man!

If the world belongs to the young, AI might just be the elixir that helps the rest of us stay young at heart—and in deed. More importantly, it can help us engage with the world in new ways, rather than being stuck in old paradigms.

Perhaps the only thing required? A willingness to experiment and take to it.

Arrivals and Departures

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I have been on a break and taking the time to examine the life I lead. Between quiet times, copious notes and filter coffee, unvarnished truths strut around. I hope to write and post some thoughts, ideas and “notes to myself” here. This post ‘Arrivals and departures’ is based on some notes I scribbled sitting at a roadside coffee shop.

Many moons ago, English August by Upmanyu Chatterjee gave me an unforgettable line. A line that I have used many times over now about arrivals and departures. It goes like this.

“The excitement of the arrival never compensates for the emptiness of the departure.”

Arrivals are filled with joy and celebration. A birth in the family. Joining a new organisation. Starting a new account. Buying a new car. Or a phone. Arrivals are joyous. Departures in contrast are quiet affairs. Sometimes, happening without a trace with a hint of “let’s get done with this quickly’. At other times, they are solemn. With a muffled tear, a hint of sadness or a full throated wail.

The ceremony of the arrival and departure obscures the time in between.

Arrivals and departures through the lens of learning and change

I view every new learning is an arrival of sorts. There is an aha moment and a flicker of bright lights. A new piece of information or skill brings a heightened moment of possibility filled emotion. There is a genuine happy emotion of discovery. An arrival that is filled with excitement.

But change is a different matter altogether. Change requires a ‘departure’ of a way of living or working or being. It requires a letting go for the letting in to happen. That is not an easy act. The excitement of picking up a new skill does not automatically translate to change happening. That is a long boring process by itself.

Every departure is its own arrival. And every arrival, a departure. To learn hard things quickly, you must focus intensely without distraction. To learn, in other words, is an act of deep work. If you’re comfortable going deep, you’ll not only win now, you will also develop the foundations for future victories.

If you instead remain one of the many who skim the surface, for whom depth is uncomfortable, life will be on the hamster wheel.

My current challenge levels at work have gotten me to stare at a new horizon. A horizon that spans newer geographies, greater scale and an incessant complexity that redraws the ‘Normal’. It’s a good problem to have for it reveals areas that I am out of depth in!

To discover new depths I have to depart from my old ways that have brought me success (and comfort). And for that, I have to depart from where I have been.

Arrivals and departures are inevitable part of our lives. When we live our lives consciously, we chart a plan to live by. In more than one way, it makes the journey worthwhile!

Good Design

Learning & Change, ,

The Netflix docu-series Abstract: The Art Of Design has been quite something. One of my favourites there is the one that features the Greek photographer Platon.

Perhaps it is my fledgling interest in photography (that has resolutely stayed fledgling). But, I would like to think that it is more than that. I think, it is at the core, the philosophy of design that that I deeply resonate with.

At the end of it, I asked myself ‘what is good design?’

Here are some sponataneous thoughts that emerged.

Good design goes beyond aesthetics. It is a seamless weave of form and functionality. To get to get to awesome design, you sure need imagination and a certain courage to go beyond immediate feedback.

But at the very core, design to me, is about how much you care.

Design manifests in subtle and obvious ways, when deep empathy and listening beyond what is said is the norm. Good design is often mistaken to be an outcome. It actually is a way of thought. Sure, it looks pretty and feels good. But if you look deeper than that, you would find that the designer ‘cared’!

I liked a couple of lines from the episode with Platon.

“Before a shoot I am not thinking of how can I get a good picture, but what can I learn from this person.”

“Taking a picture is very technical, but 99.9% of it is the connection that allows me to reach someone.  And through that connection, there’s just a chance you’re going to feel something too.”

Great design is about connecting with other people. That is something that I am inspired by and try to practice. Every single client interaction and consequent solution design is about care and empathy. At least, that’s my endeavour.

There is another widely held belief that good design is a function of awesome tools that you have. Sure, tools help. Heres my opinion: design that is purely a function of the tools at hand is a lazy mind at work.

Good design brings out the human in the other. It evokes an emotion. That’s a function of connections. Be it a photograph, a costume, car or a workshop, good design is a function of how much you really care.

That’s why good design is rare.

Why am I interested in the future?

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I have been interested in the future for a couple of decades. Perhaps more. My wonder years went by between my indulgences in daydreaming and the whimsies of those days. The future was a good escape chute from the pressing dilemmas of the present, back then. Ironical, when I consider how often I dip into the nostalgia of those times, to escape the difficult times we live in now! Those were pristine days. 

But the future has always given me hope. Back then and now. Hope about a better life.  

The trouble with the future. 

William Gibson said it well. The future is already here – it is just not very evenly distributed. 

Sample this. 

A few months ago on one of my rural sojourns, I was at a small village in rural India. I was shooting the breeze with villagers and as always, they were saying some rather profound truths. I reached for my iPad and started scribbling some notes.  Little did I think that the iPad would become the cynosure of the village’s attention for a bit. They had never seen an iPad. To them, it seemed that the iPad was a magical device! Imagine that happening in 2019. 

Another example. 

Two different organisations I consult with had similar asks of me. They both wanted to decipher their futures. They operate in different contexts but the pictures that emerged for them were a study in contrast. One team spoke of robots, holograms and the like. The other team’s best version of the future was video calls and not relying on emails to communicate. 

Both were valid and predicated by their present worlds, their exposure and expectations they had of the future.  

The future is already here – it’s just not evenly distributed. What is a magical dream that will come alive in the distant future for some is already alive and kicking for a few!  The other deceptive element about the future is that it comes in trickles. One day at a time. It does not arrive with cymbals chiming and trumpets piercing through the air. The future is amoebic. It seeps in steadily and occupies centre stage for a bit. Only to be swept away by a newer version. 

So, why should you be interested in the future? 

Well, for one, the future is where we and our children will spend time in. Plus, the future bristles with possibility while being cloaked by uncertainty. We have ideas about what might be. We have hopes about what perhaps should (and shouldn’t) be. 

While what will be will be. But there is no limit to human curiosity about what will be.  There are different providers for this market that extends from the local astrologer to Linda Goodman to futurists!  

My interest in the future extends far beyond it being an escape from the present. It has a simple logical premise as the base. It reads something like this: The present is a product of the past. Our futures are going to be a function of what we do now. Our understanding of what can possibly shape the world will help us sculpt our action now. Wayne Gretzky the famed ice hockey player said it well. “I skate to where the puck is going to be, not where it has been”. 

Reason number two. The rate of change that is accompanying our everyday life is at such a fast clip, that a lack of understanding of the change would be debilitating. I don’t want to be the person who brings morbid news to a happy world. On second thoughts, I might as well be. We need to be aware and prepared to be able to embrace the change. If not, the inequality between the haves and the have nots will have a new dimension. A defining dimension at that. 

The flux will create will mean that the ones who are better prepared have a better chance at adapting and surviving. 

Over the years, I have a four-pronged way of working on my understanding of the future. 

Indulge in reading, listening & conversation. (Soaking). Indulge in experimentation at the edge of your comfort levels. (Playing)
Indulge in reflection. (Reflecting). Feed the reflection back into the conversation. (Re-soaking). 

Soaking.

Read up. Listen in. Speak up. The more I read and indulge in conversations about what I have read and listened in to, I am left with more questions. It is almost like a curious detective going after clues. That’s the thing about thinking about the future. I have learnt that I stop looking for answers, but more for clues! 

One result of this endeavour is The OWL Despatch (OWL standing for Our Work in Learning) that I publish every other Tuesday that reaches the inbox of numerous subscribers around the world. Just putting it together has been such a fulfilling experience that its the best example I can think of for ‘soaking’.  

Playing.

If soaking it in is one component, experimenting with a sense of play is another. Experiments at the frontiers of comfort zones test levels of comfort and push learning. Often asking myself ‘when was the last time I tried something out for the first time’ has kept me on alive. 

Experiments in robotics, in new technologies for everyday work, in play etc always reveal something new. Many are hopeless flops. But the few that remain make it worthwhile. They reveal more about blowing winds of change in the world. Even better, they reveal a thing or two about myself! Over to you, what was the last experiment about the thing of future you have had? How did it go?

Reflection.

That question, ‘how did it go?’ is a question of reflection. Having a reflective conversation about my experiments with sparring partners has offered me insights that would have been otherwise beyond me. Yes, a sparring partner helps quite a lot. I have been ever so thankful for the handful that I have! 

Feeding forward.

Feeding the reflection back into the soaking and playing anew is a crucial part. Sharing ideas, collecting conversations and continuing the ideas keeps it in the perpetual beta mode. 

By the way, there is a webinar coming up. Hosted by the International Association of Facilitators. I am so looking forward to it. 

One such is this webinar at the International Association of Facilitators. The IAF has such amazing people that a fantastic conversation is guaranteed. Conversations are the ideal stages for learning and change. Stay tuned for more updates on how the conversation went. 

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