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By:

Rashmi Kulkarni

23 March 2025 at 2:58:52 pm

Loss Aversion Is Why Your Good Idea Fails

Your upgrade is their loss until you prove otherwise. Last week, Rahul wrote about a simple truth: you’re not inheriting a business, you’re inheriting an equilibrium. This week, I want to talk about the most common reason that equilibrium fights back even when your idea is genuinely sensible. Here it is, in plain language: People don’t oppose improvement. They oppose loss disguised as improvement. When you step into a legacy MSME, most things are still manual, informal, relationship-driven....

Loss Aversion Is Why Your Good Idea Fails

Your upgrade is their loss until you prove otherwise. Last week, Rahul wrote about a simple truth: you’re not inheriting a business, you’re inheriting an equilibrium. This week, I want to talk about the most common reason that equilibrium fights back even when your idea is genuinely sensible. Here it is, in plain language: People don’t oppose improvement. They oppose loss disguised as improvement. When you step into a legacy MSME, most things are still manual, informal, relationship-driven. People have built their own ways of keeping work moving. It’s not perfect, but it’s familiar. When you introduce a new system, a new rule, a new “professional way,” you may be adding order but you’re also removing something  they were using to survive. And humans react more strongly to removals than additions. Behavioral economists Daniel Kahneman and Amos Tversky called this loss aversion where we feel losses more sharply than we feel gains. That’s why your promised “future benefit” struggles to compete with someone’s immediate fear. Which seat are you stepping into? Inherited seat:  People assume you’ll change things quickly to “prove yourself”. They brace for loss even before you speak. Hired seat:  People watch for hidden agendas: “New boss means new rules, new blame.” They protect themselves. Promoted seat:  Your peers worry the old friendship is now replaced by authority. They fear loss of comfort and access. Different seats, same emotion underneath: don’t take away what keeps me safe. Weighing Scale Think of an old kirana shop. The weighing scale may not be fancy, but it’s trusted. The shopkeeper has used it for years. Customers have seen it. Everyone has settled into that comfort. Now imagine someone walks in and says, “We’re upgrading your weighing scale. This is digital. More accurate. More modern.” Sounds good, right? But what does the shopkeeper hear ? “My customers might think the old scale was wrong.” (loss of trust) “I won’t be able to adjust for small realities.” (loss of flexibility) “If the digital scale shows something different, I’ll be accused.” (loss of safety) “This was my shop. Now someone else is deciding.” (loss of control) So even if the new scale is better, the shopkeeper will resist or accept it politely and quietly return to the old one when nobody is watching. That is exactly what happens in companies. Modernisation Pitch Most leaders pitch change like this: “We’ll become world-class.” “We’ll digitize.” “We’ll improve visibility.” “We’ll build a process-driven culture.” But for the listener, these are not benefits. These are threats, because they translate into losses: Visibility can mean exposure . Process can mean loss of discretion . Digitization can mean loss of speed  (at least initially). “Professional” can mean loss of status  for the old guard. So the person across the table is not debating your logic. They’re calculating their losses. Practical Way Watch what happens when you propose something simple like daily reporting. You say: “It’s just 10 minutes. Basic discipline.” They hear: “Daily reporting means daily scrutiny.” “If numbers dip, I will be questioned.” “If I show the truth, it will create conflict.” “If I don’t show the truth, I’ll be accused later.” In their mind, the safest response is: nod, agree, delay. Then you label them “resistant.” But they’re not resisting change. They’re resisting loss . Leader’s Job If you want adoption in an MSME, don’t sell modernization as “upgrade”. Sell it as protection . Instead of: “We need an ERP.” Try: “We need to stop money leakage and order confusion.” Instead of: “We need systems.” Try: “We need fewer customer escalations and less rework.” Instead of: “We need transparency.” Try: “We need fewer surprises at month-end.” This is not manipulation. This is translation. You’re speaking the language the system understands: risk, leakage, blame, customer loss, cash loss, fatigue. Field Test: Rewrite your pitch in loss-prevention language Pick one change you’re pushing this month. Now write two versions: Version A (your current pitch): What you normally say: upgrade, modern, efficiency, best practices. Version B (loss prevention pitch): Use this template: What are we losing today?  (money, time, customers, reputation, peace) Where is the leakage happening?  (handoffs, approvals, rework, vendor delays) What small protection will this change create? (fewer disputes, faster closure, less follow-up) What will not change?  (no layoffs, no humiliation, no sudden policing) What proof will we show in 2 weeks?  (one metric, one visible win) Now do one more important step: For your top 3 stakeholders, write the one loss they think they will face  if your change happens. Don’t argue with it. Just name it. Because once you name the fear, you can design around it. The close If you remember only one thing from this week, remember this: A “good idea” is not enough in a legacy MSME. People need to feel safe adopting it. You don’t have to dilute your standards. You just have to stop selling change like a TED talk and start selling it like a protection plan. Next week, we’ll deal with another invisible force that keeps companies stuck even when they agree with you: the status quo isn’t a baseline. It’s a competitor. (The writer is CEO of PPS Consulting, can be reached at rashmi@ppsconsulting.biz )

An Open Letter to Bollywood celebrities, cricketing icons and social media influencers

When two nations clash, it is not just armies that go to war but entire nation that rises together.

Jai Hind! Today, I write to you not as a critic, nor as a cynic—not even as a disappointed fan—but as someone who has lived to be a so-called hero in reel life and in real life as well. One in olive green, where orders are followed without question and sacrifice is routine. The other under studio lights, where scripts replace strategy and stories stir the soul. My journey, from battlefields to film sets, has shaped me into a storyteller, a voice that speaks today not just from experience, but also for a purpose and cause as an international TEDx speaker.


I am Major (Dr.) Mohommed Ali Shah (Veteran). I have commanded troops as a Major in the Indian Army, and I have performed on screen in National award-winning films like ‘Haider’, ‘BajrangiBhaijaan’, ‘The Tashkent Files’,’ ‘Agent Vinod’ and many more. My heart has always stood at this strange, beautiful intersection between the real and the reel, between uniformed action and cinematic expression.


It is from that very space that I write to you today, with both understanding and anguish.


Operation Sindoor was not just a military triumph but a moment steeped in symbolism. Even the name was chosen with cinematic flair and reverence. Sindoor—evoking images of sacrifice, soil, blood and valour. It could easily be the title of a powerful film. And yet, what followed has been disheartening silence from those who have long worn the uniform on screen and draped the tricolor in their reels. The film fraternity, the cricketing heroes, the influencers—those whose voices echo far and wide—have not spoken a word as yet and it is very disheartening to say the least.


We’ve seen the outpouring of support when a film trailer is launched, or when a cricketer scores a century. We’ve seen hashtags trend for birthdays and box office milestones. So why does a real victory—Operation Sindoor—go unnoticed by you so called stars & celebrities ?


Yes, there have been a couple of murmurs, a stray comment here, a passing tweet there. A few individuals, almost cautiously, have begun to say something. But where is the thunderous, united voice? Where is that collective heartbeat of the industry that roars when a film releases or when an award is won? What we’re hearing right now feels like whispers in a storm, barely audible and quickly forgotten. We’re not asking for slogans. We’re not asking for parades. Just one powerful, unmissable voice that tells every soldier returning home: You are seen. You are celebrated. You are our country’s real heroes.


And here’s what hurts a little more. Right now, when the wounds are fresh, when our jawans are still returning from the line of fire, there is silence. But give it a few months, and someone somewhere in the industry will write a gripping script. A stellar cast will be signed. The promotional drums will beat, and the box office will roar. It’ll be called Sindoor: ‘The Untold Story’ or something equally poetic. And suddenly, everyone will remember.


But that’s not fair, is it? To ignore the sentiment now, and cash in on it later. Patriotism isn’t a plot device; it is pulse. And it deserves presence in real time, not just posthumous applause.


I say this not with bitterness, but with a quiet ache. Because I know how closely our worlds are tied. The soldier and the storyteller. The player and the patriot. The screen and the sky.


Not long ago, I wrote an open letter addressed to terrorists, challenging them with nothing but words, courage, and conviction. That letter went viral. Why? Because I spoke of Hindu-Muslim unity. Because I spoke not from a political platform, but from the heart of a soldier - who loves his country-whole and undivided. I was trending in brainless Pakistani media as a villain for calling out their propaganda & misinformation. However, if I was viral there as a villain, I certainly take it as a compliment. I’m trying, in my own small way, to bring sanity where there is noise, and hope where there is fear.


But I am just a Major, not a General. I am a passionate artist, not a celebrated star. My voice is small, and yet I try to make it count. I do not have millions hanging on to each word, but you do. And that’s exactly why your silence resounds so deeply.


I have had the honour of safeguarding our National frontiers in the difficult terrains of J&K & the North East part of India. I along with my brave colleagues have risked our lives on several occasions so that you all are safe & peaceful. We have lived at the border in bunkers barely a few meters away from the Pakistani post, where grenades were thrown at us with a frequency one never forgets. In those bunkers, we didn’t sleep but waited. For the next grenade. For the next breath. For dawn. We learnt to embrace uncertainty, to celebrate survival, and to carry on without applause and yes we did give a befitting reply to the enemy.


I have witnessed life and death not through the lens of a camera, but through the fog of war. I have invaded terrorist hideouts not only on screen but in actual counter-insurgency operations. That is not fiction. That is my memory.


And yet, I’ve also stood on a film set, correcting an actor’s insignia out of reflex—not because I was acting, but because I had worn the original with pride and responsibility. That’s how blurred the lines are for someone like me. And that’s why I feel this silence so deeply.


To our respected icons like Amitabh Bachchan, Shah Rukh Khan, Akshay Kumar, M.S. Dhoni, Virat Kohli, Ranveer Singh, and Deepika Padukone—you have inspired millions with your talent, skill and charm. You’ve united this country in stadiums and cinemas alike. Your voice, even in a whisper, has the power to move a nation.


If Pakistani actors could find the courage to post messages praising their army, despite the consequences they may face, then what is stopping us—citizens of a free and proud nation—from standing by our own? Yes, you might lose a little bit of your fan following from Pakistan, whose relationship is not good with our country, however, you will definitely win more love of millions of Indians who already adore you.


So all I ask from you with an open heart: will you speak up when real-life heroes return from real-life missions after putting their life in danger for you ?


This is not a boycott call. This is not outrage. This is an invitation to remember that your influence reaches hearts the way even battle cries sometimes cannot. A post. A word. A gesture of respect can go a long way in reminding the soldier that his courage is not invisible, not unacknowledged.


You do not have to raise slogans. You just have to raise awareness.


(The writer is an army veteran. Views personal.)

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