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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 )

Foreign Tears, Hollow Morals: Echoes of 1919 in Modern India

From the Khilafat years to Khamenei’s funeral prayers, foreign grief on Indian streets revives old questions about loyalty, identity and selective outrage.

The death of Iran’s Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei in joint Israel-US strikes in Tehran has unleashed a wave of grief across India, from the valleys of Jammu-Kashmir and Ladakh to the heartlands of Uttar Pradesh. Streets filled with protesters, mosques and imambaras resonated with prayers and Fateha recitations. This fervour eerily mirrors the 1919 Khilafat Movement, when Indians rallied for Turkey's Ottoman Caliph-never part of India-against British moves to abolish his title. Iran, too, holds no piece of Indian soil, yet its leader commands such allegiance today.

 

Following the strikes, hundreds of Pakistanis stormed the American Consulate in Karachi, causing widespread vandalism. A similar mob took to the streets in Iraq as well. What explains such intense attachment and affection for a foreign leader? Neither in India, Pakistan nor Iraq did Khamenei implement any welfare or development programs for them.

 

On the other hand, social media showed legions of Iranians celebrating Khamenei’s death, joyful that they were freed from decades of tyranny. People flooded the streets and women discarded their hijabs to declare their freedom. Some even thanked U.S. President Donald Trump and Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu for ending the tyrant’s rule. Yet, other videos depicted a group in Iran mourning Khamenei while chanting against America and Israel. Iran revealed two stark divides: celebration on one side, grief on the other.

 

Double Standards

 

In contrast, Pakistan, Iraq, and India saw only mourning for Khamenei’s death. This prompts another question that was Khamenei their religious leader, fuelling such sorrow? He could hardly be their social, economic or political ‘guide’ given that he did not rule either country. The world, including India, struggles to understand why people in these countries mourned and vented rage over his death.

 

Does India’s mourning for Khamenei signal some deeper message? History records that after the British monarch abolished the Ottoman Caliph in 1919-1924, India's Khilafat Movement had mobilized support for the Caliph. Muslims worldwide viewed the Turkish Sultan as the global Caliph, Islam's supreme religious authority, and sought to restore the Ottoman Empire's sovereignty. In India, brothers Ali, Muhammad Ali and Shaukat Ali, led the movement. Mahatma Gandhi linked it to the 1920 Non-Cooperation Movement, seeing it as a chance for Hindu-Muslim unity. The movement ended in 1924 when Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, modernizing Turkey, fully abolished the Caliphate.

 

Notably, Indian Muslims played no role in ending that movement. The Turkish Caliph offered no support to India’s freedom struggle, zero contribution on social, economic, or political fronts. Yet, much like today from Kashmir to Uttar Pradesh, widespread mourning and anger unfolded back then too.

 

Waves of mourning swept India after Khamenei’s death. Crowds in Sambhal, Lucknow, and Kargil marched with black flags, chanting against the US and Israel, viewing it as a blow to the Ummah. Shia leaders declared mourning periods, urged calm, while Delhi's Iran Culture House saw heightened vigilance amid grief and calls for peace. From Sambhal streets to Kashmiri vales, sentiments flowed, laced with hopes to avert global conflict.

 

What has emerged following Khamenei’s death in India was theatrical unanimity among sections of the political class and the so-called ‘left liberal’ commentariat. For them, the death of a theocratic strongman instantly became proof of Western imperial villainy. Khamenei’s record of crushing dissent, enforcing morality codes, empowering hardline militias across the Middle East barely warranted mention.

 

When Kashmiri Pandits were driven from their homes in the 1990s, where were these candlelight vigils? When terrorists massacred paramilitary personnel in Pulwama, where were the black flags in solidarity with Indian soldiers? When tourists were segregated by faith and slaughtered in Pahalgam, which liberal newsroom demanded emergency parliamentary debate?

 

The contrast is not accidental. It reflects a deeper ideological reflex that Islamist authoritarianism must be contextualised, rationalised or quietly excused. The moral yardstick bends depending on who pulls the trigger.

 

Votebank Politics

The reaction from Congress leader Sonia Gandhi exemplifies this duplicity. Her criticism of the Modi government’s supposed ‘silence’ on Khamenei’s death in a leading English daily is baffling. She went on to demand parliamentary discussion and ‘moral clarity’ on the issue. Yet, one may ask where was her ‘moral clarity’ and similar urgency when Hindus were daily being subjected to the most gruesome and barbaric violence and displacement in neighbouring Bangladesh. Were there any soaring editorials or impassioned calls for debate then? Any anguished social media post from Congress scion Rahul Gandhi. Or is this performative act only to appease a particular vote-bank?

 

This is selective outrage masquerading as principle. It is not about Iran. It is not about sovereignty. It is about electoral arithmetic and ideological vanity. The Gandhi dynasty and its echo chambers have perfected the art of swooping onto global crises to signal virtue, while stepping gingerly around uncomfortable domestic truths.

 

Meanwhile, in Kerala, this performance reached operatic levels after Chief Minister Pinarayi Vijayan condemned the US–Israeli strikes as “grave cruelty” and a symptom of American imperialism.

 

Vijayan conveniently forgot that Kerala’s economy is not intertwined with Tehran. It is intertwined with Dubai and Abu Dhabi, on whom Iran launched strikes. Nearly every Malayali household has a Gulf story. Remittances from the UAE and other Gulf states are the invisible scaffolding of Kerala’s celebrated social model. They fund homes, education and consumption. They stabilise banks and prop up real estate. The Gulf is not a distant geopolitical chessboard but a tangible payroll.

 

And yet, Vijayan’s instinct was to denounce Washington while Iran’s missiles streaked toward the very economies that sustain his state despite being well aware that Gulf monarchies have quietly underwritten Kerala’s welfare ambitions for decades. The anti-imperialist vocabulary may thrill party cadres, but it does little to reassure a Malayali construction worker sheltering under air raid sirens in Dubai.

 

The hypocrisy is glaring. Condemn Western force as ‘destabilising,’ but soften the glare when Iran’s retaliation endangers civilians in Gulf states hosting millions of Indians. Speak of humanitarian concern, but frame the narrative in a way that conveniently aligns with ideological preferences.

 

India’s central government, for its part, has adopted a more measured tone calling for restraint, respecting sovereignty and engaging diplomatically. External Affairs Minister S. Jaishankar spoke with regional counterparts, emphasising de-escalation.

 

What we witnessed after Khamenei’s death was a revealing stress test of India’s intellectual honesty. A foreign ruler’s death mobilises street marches and editorials but domestic tragedies rarely evoke such gestures. Islamist autocracy is romanticised as resistance.

 

The echoes of 1919 are unmistakable because the same emotional transnationalism continues to tug at parts of its political class.

 

Personal grief for a foreign leader is a private right. But turning that grief into partisan ammunition while ignoring suffering closer to home is something else entirely.

 

If India’s so-called liberal journalists and political leaders wish to claim the mantle of conscience, they must first apply their principles evenly by condemning tyranny consistently and mourn victims universally. They will have to resist the temptation to convert every foreign explosion into domestic vote-bank theatre.

 


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