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By:

Rashmi Kulkarni

23 March 2025 at 2:58:52 pm

Making a New Normal Feel Obvious

Normal is not what’s written. Normal is what repeats. The temple bell rings at the same time every day. Not everyone prays. Not everyone even walks in. Some people don’t care at all. And yet when that bell rings, the whole neighborhood syncs. Shops open, chores move, calls pause. The bell doesn’t convince anyone. It simply creates rhythm. That’s how “normal” is built inside a legacy MSME too. Not by speeches. By repetition. Quick recap: Week 1: You inherited an equilibrium. Week 2: People...

Making a New Normal Feel Obvious

Normal is not what’s written. Normal is what repeats. The temple bell rings at the same time every day. Not everyone prays. Not everyone even walks in. Some people don’t care at all. And yet when that bell rings, the whole neighborhood syncs. Shops open, chores move, calls pause. The bell doesn’t convince anyone. It simply creates rhythm. That’s how “normal” is built inside a legacy MSME too. Not by speeches. By repetition. Quick recap: Week 1: You inherited an equilibrium. Week 2: People resist loss, not improvement. Week 3: Status quo wins when your new way is harder. Week 4 is the next problem: even when your idea is good and even when it is easy, it can still fail because people don’t move together. One team starts. Another team waits. One person follows. Another person quietly returns to the old way. So, the old normal comes back … not because your idea was wrong, but because your new normal never became normal. Which Seat? • Inherited : people expect direction, but they only shift when they see what you consistently protect. • Hired : people wait for proof “Is this just a corporate habit you’ll drop in a month?” • Promoted : people watch whether you stay consistent under pressure. Now here’s the useful idea from Thomas Schelling: a “focal point”. Don’t worry about the term. In simple words, it means: you don’t need everyone convinced. You need one clear anchor that everyone can align around. In a legacy MSME, that anchor is rarely a policy document. It’s not a rollout email. It’s a ritual. Why Rituals? These firms run on informal rules, relationships, memory, and quick calls. That flexibility keeps work moving, but it also makes change socially risky. Even supportive people hesitate because they’re thinking: “If I follow this and others don’t, I’ll look foolish.” “If I share real numbers, will I become the target?” “If I push this new flow, will I upset a senior person?” “If I do it properly, will it slow me down?” When people feel that risk, they wait. And waiting is how the status quo survives. A focal ritual breaks the waiting. It sends one clean signal: “This is real. This is how we work now.” Focal Ritual It’s a short, fixed review that repeats with the same format. For example: a weekly scoreboard review (15 minutes) a daily dispatch huddle (10 minutes) a fixed purchase-approval window (cutoff + queue) The meeting isn’t the magic. The repetition is. When it repeats without drama, it becomes believable. When it becomes believable, people start syncing to it, even the ones who were unsure. Common Mistake New leaders enter with energy and pressure: “show impact”. So they try to fix reporting, planning, quality, procurement, digitization … everything. The result is predictable. People don’t know what is truly “must follow”. So everything becomes “optional”. They do a little of each, and nothing holds. If you want change to stick, pick one focal ritual and make it sacred. Not forever. Just long enough for the bell to become the bell. Field Test Step 1 : Pick one pain area that creates daily chaos: delayed dispatch, pending purchase approvals, rework, overdue collections. Step 2 : Set the ritual: Fixed time, fixed duration (15 minutes). One scoreboard (one page, one screen). Same three questions every time: – What moved since last time? – What is stuck and why? – What decision is needed today? One owner who closes the loop (decisions + due dates). Step 3 : Protect it for 8 weeks. Don’t cancel because you’re busy. Don’t skip because a VIP came. Don’t “postpone once” because someone complained. I’ve seen a simple weekly dispatch scoreboard die this exact way. Week one was sharp. By week three, it got pushed “just this once” because someone had a client visit. Week four, it moved again for “urgent work”. After that, nobody took it seriously. The old follow-ups returned, and the leader was back to chasing people daily. The first casual cancellation tells the system: “This was a phase”. And the old normal returns fast. One Warning Don’t turn the ritual into policing. If it becomes humiliation, people will hide information. If it becomes shouting, people will stop speaking. If it becomes a lecture, people will mentally leave. Keep it calm. Keep it consistent. Keep it useful. A bell doesn’t shout. It just rings. (The author is Co-founder at PPS Consulting and a business operations advisor. She helps businesses across sectors and geographies improve execution through global best practices. She could be reached at rashmi@ppsconsulting.biz)

Algorithms Without Guardians

The Ghaziabad tragedy is not a freak accident but a policy failure born of digital neglect and adult abdication.

Uttar Pradesh
Uttar Pradesh

The deaths of three minor sisters in Ghaziabad is a troubling indicator of India’s refusal to treat digital addiction among children as a serious social risk requiring regulation, literacy and early intervention.


At 16, 14 and 12, the sisters belonged to a generation that has grown up almost entirely inside screens. Their addiction to a Korean task-based online gaming app, established from a diary recovered from their home, suggests that the game had become central to how they understood themselves. When their parents barred them from playing, the girls apparently made a joint decision to end their lives.


What happened in Ghaziabad was an extreme manifestation of a broader, poorly acknowledged reality that Indian children are spending formative years in unregulated digital environments that shape behaviour, self-worth and emotional resilience while the adults responsible for them remain largely unprepared.


Many digital products aimed at adolescents are designed to reward compliance, persistence and immersion through points, rankings, praise and ‘tasks.’ Over time, these systems can displace offline sources of validation. Competence in the game becomes competence in life; failure or exclusion becomes existential rather than recreational.


Psychologists have warned for years that such dynamics can narrow a child’s emotional universe, especially when family life, schooling or peer relationships are already strained.


What happens when that universe collapses is not always predictable as India has no robust framework to help families navigate this transition. Most parents lack even basic digital literacy. They do not know what their children are playing, watching or internalising.


For many children, books have become an occasional obligation rather than a daily refuge. Screens now dominate leisure, learning and identity, leaving little space for the slow, solitary discipline that reading demands. What was once a habit of attention has become an economy of distraction.


As screens have expanded, books and deep reading have receded, taking with them the habits of reflection and emotional self-regulation they once quietly taught.


Furthermore, schools offer little backup and quality mental-health education remains marginal with teachers are seldom trained to identify behavioural signs of digital dependency. Adolescents who are emotionally isolated but digitally hyper-connected often pass unnoticed, so long as exam scores hold up. By the time distress surfaces, it is already acute.


The state’s response has been conspicuously inadequate. India regulates physical risks to children with enthusiasm. But the digital ecosystems where children spend hours daily operate in a regulatory vacuum. Gaming apps face minimal scrutiny beyond data and payments. There is no meaningful enforcement of age-appropriateness, no requirement for mental-health safeguards, and no obligation to provide crisis interventions for vulnerable users. Advisory guidelines exist, but they rely almost entirely on parental vigilance that policymakers know does not exist.


When tragedies occur, no one address the structural issue. Digital childhood has arrived without a safety architecture. Responsibility is diffused between parents who feel powerless, platforms that optimise for engagement, and regulators who treat online harm as either a moral panic or someone else’s problem.


Blaming one app will achieve little. India is among the world’s largest gaming and social-media markets. Its children are valuable users, and its regulatory choices shape global platform behaviour. Yet it has been slow to acknowledge that attention extraction can be as harmful as substance abuse when left unchecked, particularly for minors.


The Ghaziabad case should therefore prompt less outrage and more clarity. Children need graduated digital autonomy, not unrestricted access followed by sudden prohibition. Parents need tools, training and institutional support, not retrospective guilt. Schools need to integrate mental-health monitoring into daily practice, not treat it as an annual seminar topic. And the state needs to move beyond advisories towards enforceable standards for child-facing digital products.


None of this will eliminate risk as adolescence has always been volatile. But refusing to adapt to the realities of screen-mediated childhood makes that volatility more dangerous. 


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