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By:

Rahul Kulkarni

30 March 2025 at 3:32:54 pm

The Boundary Collapse

When kindness becomes micromanagement It started with a simple leave request.   “Hey, can I take Friday off? Need a personal day,” Meera messaged Rohit. Rohit replied instantly:   “Of course. All good. Just stay reachable if anything urgent comes up.”   He meant it as reassurance. But the team didn’t hear reassurance. They heard a rule.   By noon, two things had shifted inside The Workshop:   Meera felt guilty for even asking. Everyone else quietly updated their mental handbook: Leave is...

The Boundary Collapse

When kindness becomes micromanagement It started with a simple leave request.   “Hey, can I take Friday off? Need a personal day,” Meera messaged Rohit. Rohit replied instantly:   “Of course. All good. Just stay reachable if anything urgent comes up.”   He meant it as reassurance. But the team didn’t hear reassurance. They heard a rule.   By noon, two things had shifted inside The Workshop:   Meera felt guilty for even asking. Everyone else quietly updated their mental handbook: Leave is allowed… but not really. This is boundary collapse… when a leader’s good intentions unintentionally blur the limits that protect autonomy and rest. When care quietly turns into control Founders rarely intend to micromanage.   What looks like control from the outside often starts as care from the inside. “Let me help before something breaks.” “Let me stay involved so we don’t lose time.” “Loop me in… I don’t want you stressed.” Supportive tone.   Good intentions.   But one invisible truth defines workplace psychology: When power says “optional,” it never feels optional.
So when a client requested a revision, Rohit gently pinged:   “If you’re free, could you take a look?” Of course she logged in.   Of course she handled it.   And by Monday, the cultural shift was complete: Leave = location change, not a boundary.   A founder’s instinct had quietly become a system. Pattern 1: The Generous Micromanager Modern micromanagement rarely looks aggressive. It looks thoughtful :   “Let me refine this so you’re not stuck.” “I’ll review it quickly.”   “Share drafts so we stay aligned.”   Leaders believe they’re being helpful. Teams hear:   “You don’t fully trust me.” “I should check with you before finishing anything.”   “My decisions aren’t final.” Gentle micromanagement shrinks ownership faster than harsh micromanagement ever did because people can’t challenge kindness. Pattern 2: Cultural conditioning around availability In many Indian workplaces, “time off” has an unspoken footnote: Be reachable. Just in case. No one says it directly.   No one pushes back openly.   The expectation survives through habit: Leave… but monitor messages. Rest… but don’t disconnect. Recover… but stay alert. Contrast this with a global team we worked with: A designer wrote,   “I’ll be off Friday, but available if needed.” Her manager replied:   “If you’re working on your off-day, we mismanaged the workload… not the boundary.”   One conversation.   Two cultural philosophies.   Two completely different emotional outcomes.   Pattern 3: The override reflex Every founder has a version of this reflex.   Whenever Rohit sensed risk, real or imagined, he stepped in: Rewriting copy.   Adjusting a design.   Rescoping a task.   Reframing an email. Always fast.   Always polite.   Always “just helping.” But each override delivered one message:   “Your autonomy is conditional.” You own decisions…   until the founder feels uneasy.   You take initiative…   until instinct replaces delegation.   No confrontation.   No drama.   Just quiet erosion of confidence.   The family-business amplification Boundary collapse becomes extreme in family-managed companies.   We worked with one firm where four family members… founder, spouse, father, cousin… all had informal authority. Everyone cared.   Everyone meant well.   But for employees, decision-making became a maze: Strategy approved by the founder.   Aesthetics by the spouse.   Finance by the father. Tone by the cousin.   They didn’t need leadership.   They needed clarity.   Good intentions without boundaries create internal anarchy. The global contrast A European product team offered a striking counterexample.   There, the founder rarely intervened mid-stream… not because of distance, but because of design:   “If you own the decision, you own the consequences.” Decision rights were clear.   Escalation paths were explicit.   Authority didn’t shift with mood or urgency. No late-night edits.   No surprise rewrites.   No “quick checks.”   No emotional overrides. As one designer put it:   “If my boss wants to intervene, he has to call a decision review. That friction protects my autonomy.” The result:   Faster execution, higher ownership and zero emotional whiplash. Boundaries weren’t personal.   They were structural .   That difference changes everything. Why boundary collapse is so costly Its damage is not dramatic.   It’s cumulative.   People stop resting → you get presence, not energy.   People stop taking initiative → decisions freeze.   People stop trusting empowerment → autonomy becomes theatre.   People start anticipating the boss → performance becomes emotional labour.   People burn out silently → not from work, but from vigilance.   Boundary collapse doesn’t create chaos.   It creates hyper-alertness, the heaviest tax on any team. The real paradox Leaders think they’re being supportive. Teams experience supervision.   Leaders assume boundaries are obvious. Teams see boundaries as fluid. Leaders think autonomy is granted. Teams act as though autonomy can be revoked at any moment. This is the Boundary Collapse → a misunderstanding born not from intent, but from the invisible weight of power. Micromanagement today rarely looks like anger.   More often,   it looks like kindness without limits. (Rahul Kulkarni is Co-founder at PPS Consulting. He patterns the human mechanics of scaling where workplace behavior quietly shapes business outcomes. Views personal.)

Rites of Power

Maharashtra’s Dussehra rallies reveal that ideology, legacy and governance are potent weapons in the state’s upcoming civic elections.

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In Maharashtra, Dussehra has long been less a festival than a theatre of politics. For decades, the state’s political calendar turned on two very different kinds of oratory. In Mumbai, Balasaheb Thackeray’s speeches at Shivaji Park were flamboyant and fiery where the Congress and minorities alike were frequent targets. Balasaheb’s words reverberated in homes, chai shops and political corridors for weeks. Meanwhile, the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh’s (RSS) Vijayadashami gatherings in Nagpur were quiet, methodical and ideological, with little immediate spectacle but tremendous long-term impact. The Sangh, historically reticent about limelight, only became a central actor in national politics after the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) consolidated power in 2014. Since then, the Sarsanghchalak’s annual address has been scrutinised as a lodestar for the Sangh Parivar.


Multiple gatherings

With Balasaheb’s passing, Uddhav Thackeray inherited a legacy he struggled to preserve. Yet the political landscape has changed. The Shiv Sena has split, the RSS has grown more visible, and Maharashtra’s Dussehra rallies have multiplied. They are no longer confined to a single symbolic stage. The RSS, the Shiv Sena faction led by Chief Minister Eknath Shinde, and Uddhav Thackeray’s Shiv Sena (UBT) each now organise their own gatherings. These events are instruments of messaging, strategy and electoral preparation. This year, each carried weight not just for symbolism but for what they revealed about upcoming municipal and panchayat elections.


In Nagpur, the RSS marked its centenary year with its traditional Vijayadashami Sabha. Sarsanghchalak Mohan Bhagwat delivered his address with calm authority, eschewing direct political attacks while sketching an ideological roadmap. He spoke of economic growth, inequality, environmental fragility and India’s civilisational role. The global development model, he warned, was unsustainable with wealth concentrated in the hands of a few and ecological destruction unchecked. India, Bhagwat argued, must pursue self-reliance as a conscious civilisational choice. Climate irregularities, melting glaciers, and the vulnerability of the Himalayas were cited as urgent concerns.


Bhagwat also offered pointed lessons from abroad. He said that evolutions in Sri Lanka and Bangladesh that bypassed democratic processes had resulted only in instability. He outlined five areas for swayamsevaks: social equality, family awakening, environmental protection, swadeshi, and adherence to law and discipline. For the BJP and its allies, the message served as a subtle anchor, reminding candidates that campaigns must align with broader cultural and social narratives even while addressing local grievances.


Uncompromising rhetoric

In Mumbai, the Dussehra stage was contested with a very different energy. Deputy Chief Minister Eknath Shinde’s rally at Goregaon’s NESCO grounds radiated confidence and confrontation. His targets were clear: Uddhav Thackeray and the UBT. Shinde denounced Uddhav as a “conspiracy chief” and claimed that after the local elections “even Uddhav Thackeray’s shadow will not follow him.” The rhetoric was uncompromising: this was a bid to position Shinde’s faction, bolstered by the BJP and Mahayuti allies, as the dominant political force in civic affairs.


Yet, Shinde also sought to project governance credentials. He contrasted his hands-on approach with what he portrayed as Uddhav’s detachment, highlighting personal involvement in flood relief, promises of financial aid, housing, and protection of Marathi interests. The message was clear: leadership is not just about ideology but delivery. By framing the contest as governance versus betrayal, Shinde aimed to consolidate urban Marathi voters while casting himself as a credible administrator.


Uddhav Thackeray’s rally at Shivaji Park was markedly different. His tone was reflective, nostalgic, yet defiant. He compared the BJP to an “amoeba,” a metaphor for opportunistic, shapeless expansion, and warned against attempts to “steal votes” or fragment the Sena. The harshest criticism was reserved for defectors, whom he labelled “brass” in contrast to loyal cadres of “gold.” His speech intertwined legacy, civil liberties and democratic freedoms, positioning UBT not merely as a survivor of party splits but as a custodian of pluralism and rights.


Uddhav’s approach seeks to appeal simultaneously to Marathi sentiment and liberal-moderate voters wary of centralisation. But speeches alone may not translate into electoral success. Maharashtra’s local elections are decided not in grand halls but on granular issues: water supply, sanitation, housing, and flood mitigation. Without robust ground-level mobilisation and delivery-oriented messaging, UBT risks being outpaced by Shinde’s organisational strength and the disciplined machinery of the RSS-BJP nexus.


Together, the three rallies illuminate the contours of the state’s municipal and panchayat battles. The RSS, while not contesting directly, provides ideological direction and ensures cadre discipline. Shinde’s faction, wielding administrative resources, seeks to dominate civic polls and claim authenticity to Balasaheb’s vision. Uddhav, weakened by defections but buoyed by loyalty, fights to preserve relevance through a dual strategy of legacy and democratic advocacy.


For voters, the calculus is practical as well as symbolic. Who will unclog drains before the next monsoon? Who will ensure waste is collected efficiently? Who can deliver housing for slum dwellers or run municipal schools effectively? In rural panchayats, caste equations, agriculture, and local patronage may matter more than ideology.


Both Sena factions face the danger of splitting the Marathi vote. Shinde urges consolidation under his leadership; Uddhav warns against ceding ground to the BJP. In local elections, even marginal vote diversions can flip outcomes in closely contested wards, particularly in Mumbai’s BMC, where stakes are both financial and symbolic. With RSS influence ensuring disciplined campaigning by the BJP, UBT’s fortunes hinge on credible alliances and presenting itself as a viable alternative.


The verdict, however, will not be delivered on the podiums of Reshimbagh or Shivaji Park. It will emerge, painstakingly and incrementally, from thousands of polling booths across Maharashtra’s cities and villages. Dussehra has set the stage; the electoral battlefield now awaits.


(The writer is a political observer. Views personal.)

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