Learning

Spilled Water, Sharp Wit, and a Lesson in Leadership

Leadership, Learning & Change, , ,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stanford thinks so too

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

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

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

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

Humour is the glue

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

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

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

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

So how do you cultivate this?

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Closing Line

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

It humanises the moment.

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

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

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.

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.

Learning from Experience: A Leadership Journey in Stories

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Some conversations stay with you long after they end. They challenge you, nudge you, and sometimes, quietly reshape your thinking.

A leadership workshop with a diverse group of professionals from the South Gujarat region turned into one such experience. It wasn’t about grand theories or textbook leadership—it was about stories. Stories of beginnings, growth, setbacks, and decisions that shaped careers and lives.

At the heart of it was Vivek Patwardhan, whose wisdom and experience anchored the dialogue. Learning alongside him is always a privilege, and this time was no different.

What made it truly special, though, were the participants—their openness, their willingness to share not just successes but struggles and turning points. They gave themselves fully to the process, making the space richer for everyone. Learning wasn’t just something that happened; it was something we built—together.

Himanshu Bhatt steered in the participants with remarkable passion and persistence. Atul Industries and its leadership proved to be perfect hosts and provided the perfect setting for these reflections to unfold.

One moment stood out—a letter from the future. Writing to our 2025 selves from 2040 sparked something deeper. Reflection, possibility, and perhaps, a quiet resolve to shape the road ahead with intention.

This was not just another workshop. It was a shared journey—one where the greatest learning came not from a stage, but from each other. And that made all the difference.

Here is Dr.Kunal Thakkar, a participant, writing in Linkedin.

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.

Travel For Growth

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Travel is a pathway for growth and development. That’s why I say travel to grow. After years of conscious travel, I can say with emphasis that I have packed and unpacked disproportionately large self-awareness, new learnings and beliefs than I have of bags and suitcases. If there is one more thing that I can add with equal if not more emphasis, then it is this: Travel is hugely under rated as a catalyst for development.

My love for travel got accentuated after reading Pico Iyer’s famous ‘Why We Travel’ piece from March, 2000. It was comforting to realise that there was nothing wrong with me if I just didn’t want to go check places off a “must-see” list. For I was (and continue to be) slow in soaking up a place. In small conversations, observations and just hanging out!

There are four paragraphs from Pico Iyer’s post that have been my guideposts. They are here.

“We travel, initially, to lose ourselves; and we travel, next, to find ourselves. We travel to open our hearts and eyes and learn more about the world than our newspapers will accommodate. We travel to bring what little we can, in our ignorance and knowledge, to those parts of the globe whose riches are differently dispersed. And we travel, in essence, to become young fools again — to slow time down and get taken in, and fall in love once more.”

“Yet for me the first great joy of traveling is simply the luxury of leaving all my beliefs and certainties at home, and seeing everything I thought I knew in a different light, and from a crooked angle.”

“Thus travel spins us round in two ways at once: It shows us the sights and values and issues that we might ordinarily ignore; but it also, and more deeply, shows us all the parts of ourselves that might otherwise grow rusty. For in traveling to a truly foreign place, we inevitably travel to moods and states of mind and hidden inward passages that we’d otherwise seldom have cause to visit.”

Shorncliff Pier, Brisbane

“So travel, at heart, is just a quick way to keeping our minds mobile and awake. As Santayana, the heir to Emerson and Thoreau with whom I began, wrote, “There is wisdom in turning as often as possible from the familiar to the unfamiliar; it keeps the mind nimble; it kills prejudice, and it fosters humor.” Romantic poets inaugurated an era of travel because they were the great apostles of open eyes. Buddhist monks are often vagabonds, in part because they believe in wakefulness. And if travel is like love, it is, in the end, mostly because it’s a heightened state of awareness, in which we are mindful, receptive, undimmed by familiarity and ready to be transformed. That is why the best trips, like the best love affairs, never really end.“

Every time I have stood in the queue of a land where I clearly am ‘foreign’ irrespective of the passport I hold, I learn something new. Especially so, when am not peering into my phone or consumed by the desire to see more. Just being present to all thats happening around me and reflecting on the experiences and thoughts those experiences brought alive for me have been life-altering in many ways. Because, even if I dont immediately change or do something different, I am very present to the fact there is a different way.

When I get back to where I start from, I rarely find that some pronounced changes have taken place since the time I set out. But to my eyes that sprout new lenses because they have absorbed different places, everything seems different. My mind colours old realities with new beliefs, ideas and hopes. Giving new energy for action and reflection.

If that is not a pathway to development and change, I don’t know what is.

Pico Iyer’s essay is here. Go read.

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!

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. 

Image Credit: www.unsplash.com

It’s Not What You Work On—It’s How You Do It

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He sat, painting red stripes on a quiet, unremarkable side step of the Meenakshi Temple. No rush, no shortcuts—just steady, precise strokes, his diligence filling the air.

Much of our work is like that. We aren’t always building rockets or reshaping the world. Most days, we show up, put in effort, and add our strokes to something bigger than ourselves.

The real magic isn’t in what we work on, but how we do it. With care. With intention. With the quiet belief that even the smallest efforts hold meaning.

And that’s not a trick. That’s the truth.

The Lotus Leaf and the Droplet: A Quiet Lesson in Life

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A lotus leaf on water is a quiet spectacle. It doesn’t just float—it holds space. And any droplet of water on it? It turns into a pearl, rolling around like a child in a toy shop—excited, weightless, free.

In their quiet play, the leaf and the droplet offer a lesson or two. To be close, yet unaffected. To hold, yet not cling. To let things flow, yet stay grounded.

So, quick—what do you see? A simple leaf? Or something more?

(at Mumbai, India)