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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 )

Five Generations, One Sacred Text: Inside the Manuscript Birju Maharaj Guarded Like the Gītā

Some books arrive with the weight of history on their pages. ‘Saṅgīta-darpaṇaḥ’ is one such work; a 200-year-old manuscript that has travelled through five or six generations of the legendary Kalka–Bindādin Gharānā before finding its way to print. Published just weeks after Paṇḍit Birju Mahārāj's passing in January 2022, this book feels less like an academic exercise and more like a parting gift from a maestro to the world of classical arts.


The story behind this publication is as compelling as its contents. Carefully preserved by Pt. Birju Mahārāj's ancestors, the manuscript was written in a difficult-to-decipher calligraphic script, with verses running continuously without spaces, a common practice in pre-modern texts but a nightmare for modern readers. Previous attempts to decode it had failed. It took a dedicated team led by Arjun Bharadwaj, with support and a foreword from the renowned scholar Śatāvadhānī Dr. R. Ganesh, to finally bring this work to light.


What makes this edition special is not just the translation but the transparent scholarly apparatus. Bharadwaj doesn't hide the manuscript's imperfections, the scribal errors, the missing verses, the regional dialect influences. Instead, he documents them meticulously, allowing future researchers to revisit his interpretations. In his moving acknowledgment, he describes how Pt. Birju Mahārāj would tap his walking stick to the rhythm of the druta-vilambita meter in which many verses are composed, treating the manuscript with the reverence one reserves for the Bhagavad-gītā.


Saṅgīta-darpaṇaḥ is structured as a conversation between Lord Śiva (called Gaurīśvara here) and Tomara, a gandharva-rāja (celestial musician). The text opens with a beautiful creation myth: how Brahmā seeks to see his father Mahāviṣṇu, performs intense tapas, and in the form of Hayagrīva (the horse-headed incarnation), Viṣṇu appears. Nārada impresses everyone not just with his devotion but with his artistic skills, he performs sāmagāna and tāṇḍava-nṛtya with gati-bhedas. This establishes a fundamental principle of the text: artistic excellence can be as powerful as spiritual practice in reaching the divine.


Disappointed at receiving fewer divine blessings than Nārada, Tomara, another son of Brahmā, embarks on a cosmic quest to understand why art pleases the divine. His journey takes him through the abodes of various deities until Śiva reveals the answer through the Nāda-vidyā, the knowledge of sound itself. From Śiva's ḍamaru emerge the fourteen and thirteen nādas that birth both Sanskrit grammar and this very treatise. Pārvatī creates rāgas and rāgiṇīs in anthropomorphic form, Viṣṇu blesses the musical knowledge, and finally Gaṇeśa narrates while Śāradā transcribes the entire Saṅgīta-darpaṇa at the dawn of Satya-yuga, making divine knowledge accessible to mortals.


A note of personal preference: Chapter 5 holds a special place for this reviewer. There is something deeply satisfying about this particular chapter, and it rewards patient readers who have followed Tomara's journey from his initial disappointment through his cosmic wandering to his ultimate enlightenment.


The treatise then moves into technical territory, covering 13 chapters on: The birth and classification of rāgas and rāgiṇīs, svaras, śrutis, and their mystical associations, tālas (36 types are described), mārga-bheda and musical ensembles, gaṇas, prabandhas, and letter classifications, musical instruments including the making of kiṅkiṇī-vīṇā, the emotions of nāyikās and principles of abhinaya, various dance forms and movements.


The final section, nine verses on Pt. Durga Prasad’s family lineage connects the divine knowledge transmitted through Tomara to the Mahārāj family, creating a direct link between celestial gandharvas and the earthly practitioners of Kathak.


One of the book’s many strengths is how Bharadwaj balances academic precision with accessibility. The critically edited Sanskrit text appears alongside English and Hindi translations, with extensive footnotes explaining technical terms. But what sets this edition apart is the additional material: new compositions by Pt. Birju Mahārāj inspired by the treatise, previously unknown works from Pt. Lachchū Mahārāj's diaries, fresh paintings of rāga–rāgiṇīs, and photographs showing practical applications of dance elements described in the text.


The Introduction is itself a valuable contribution. Bharadwaj carefully dates the work to somewhere between 1600–1780 CE, distinguishes it from other similarly named treatises attributed to Catura-dāmodara and Harivallabha, and provides a detailed comparative analysis. He lists 18 specific ways in which Gaurīśvara's work differs from Catura-dāmodara's Saṅgīta-darpaṇa, from unique terms like dvirukta to the presence of Gaṇeśa-kautha (found nowhere else).


In his Foreword, Dr. R. Ganesh raises an important point about the mindset needed to approach such texts. He warns against two extremes: scholars who can edit texts but lack understanding of practical performance, and performers who lack philosophical grounding. He praises this edition for bridging that gap as it is the work of someone who understands both śāstra (theory) and prayoga (practice).


The book is not without limitations, though. As Bharadwaj frankly acknowledges, medieval treatises like this one provide inadequate information for reconstructing rāga–rāgiṇīs in practice today. The text mentions that all rāgas should have the same aṃśa (predominant note), graha (starting note), and nyāsa (ending note), which is hard to imagine in actual performance. The descriptions of tālas, while detailed, are often so complex and unintuitive that few would be practical for contemporary use.


There are also segments that remain difficult to interpret, concepts like āvarta and svalpa-bhedas in Chapter 11, and the entire section on Nāyikā-bhāva-prakaraṇa in Chapter 13, contain material not found elsewhere and require further research. The book is a beginning, not a conclusion.


What makes this publication deeply moving is how it demonstrates the continuity of knowledge transmission in Indian classical arts. The manuscript was not locked away in some dusty archive, it was actively consulted by generations of Kathak maestros. Pt. Birju Mahārāj and his students could see parallels between the treatise’s descriptions and their own practice. Some ancestral compositions whose meanings had been forgotten suddenly made sense when read against this text.


The book includes comprehensive appendices: a glossary, indices of rāgas, technical terms, poetic meters, geographical locations, and profiles of scholars. There is even a transliteration guide for those unfamiliar with Devanāgarī script.


Saṅgīta-darpaṇaḥ is more than an academic publication; it is nothing short of a cultural event. It makes available a text that has remained within one family for two centuries, offers insights into the medieval understanding of music and dance, and provides a foundation for future research into the Lucknow–Ayodhyā school of classical arts.


Is it essential reading for every classical arts enthusiast? Perhaps not, its technical nature and the gaps in reconstructing practical applications make it primarily valuable for serious students, performers, and researchers. But for those interested in how our classical traditions have been theorized, preserved, and transmitted across generations, this book is a treasure.


The real achievement here is not just bringing an old manuscript to print, but doing so with integrity, transparency, and a deep respect for both the tradition it represents and the questions it leaves unanswered. In an age where we often see either uncritical glorification or dismissive rejection of traditional knowledge, Saṅgīta-darpaṇaḥ offers a model of ‘critical conservatism,’ honouring the past while engaging with it rigorously.


As Pt. Birju Mahārāj had hoped in his preface, this work is now available to “the entire Kathak world” and beyond. It deserves a place on the shelves of anyone seriously interested in understanding the theoretical foundations of North Indian classical arts.


(The author is a Natyashastra scholar, theatre director and producer whose work bridges traditional Indian performance theory with contemporary theatre economics. Views personal.)

 


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