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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.)

Same Old Script, New Clowns

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The Indian Premier League, that glittering carnival of sixes, scandals, and the occasional whiff of something rotten in the state of cricket. Just when you thought IPL 2025 might coast by on the fumes of overpriced players and undercooked controversies, along comes Jaideep Bihani, Rajasthan Cricket Association’s ad hoc committee convener and apparent part-time soothsayer, to declare that the Rajasthan Royals’ two-run loss to Lucknow Super Giants was—gasp—fixed. Cue the dramatic music, because here we are again, folks, wading through the same murky swamp of match-fixing allegations that the IPL seems to treat like a recurring Netflix subscription.


Picture this: Rajasthan Royals, chasing 181, need nine runs in the final over with six wickets in hand. Avesh Khan, Lucknow’s bowler, channels his inner action hero and defends the total, leaving RR two runs short. A thriller, right? Wrong. Enter Jaideep Bihani, who, with the gravitas of a man who’s watched too many crime dramas, declares, “Even a kid would say that match was fixed.” Really, Jaideep? A kid? Because apparently, the only explanation for a team choking harder than a sitcom character in a job interview is a grand conspiracy involving bookies, players, and probably a shadowy figure in a trench coat. Never mind that RR’s batting line-up might’ve just had an off day—or that Avesh bowled like his life depended on it. No, it’s got to be match-fixing, because why let logic ruin a perfectly good tantrum?


Bihani’s not alone in this circus. Former Pakistan cricketer Tanvir Ahmed, never one to miss a chance to stir the pot, chimed in, claiming “most IPL teams are controlled by match-fixers.” Oh, Tanvir, you sweet summer child, bless your heart for thinking the IPL’s chaos needs a mastermind when it’s already a masterclass in self-inflicted drama. Fans on X, with all the restraint of a toddler with a sugar rush, called him a “clown,” and honestly, they’re not wrong. But let’s not pretend this is new. The IPL’s been dodging these allegations since its inception, and 2025 is just the latest episode in a saga that’s less Breaking Bad and more Groundhog Day.


Déjà Vu, Courtesy of 2013

If this all feels like a rerun, it’s because the IPL’s been here before—specifically in 2013, when the league was rocked by a spot-fixing and betting scandal that made Bihani’s outburst look like a polite suggestion. Back then, Delhi Police arrested three Rajasthan Royals players—Sreesanth, Ajit Chandila, and Ankeet Chavan—for allegedly spot-fixing, while Chennai Super Kings’ team principal Gurunath Meiyappan was nabbed for betting and passing team info to bookies. The fallout was glorious: both RR and CSK were banned for two seasons (2016-2017), and the Lodha Committee, appointed by the Supreme Court, declared the whole mess had brought cricket “into disrepute.” No kidding, Justice Lodha—nothing says “disrepute” like players allegedly throwing overs for cash while the BCCI scrambled to look shocked.


The 2013 scandal wasn’t just a one-off; it was a neon sign that the IPL’s glitz comes with a dark underbelly. Bookies, underworld dons like Dawood Ibrahim, and even a diamond dealer got name-dropped in the investigation, turning the league into a Bollywood thriller minus the catchy soundtrack. Sreesanth and co. were later cleared by the courts for lack of evidence, but the BCCI slapped Chandila with a life ban anyway, because nothing says “zero tolerance” like a punishment that doesn’t quite stick. Fast forward to 2025, and Bihani’s dragging this history back into the spotlight, pointing to RR’s past and owner Raj Kundra’s 2013 betting rap sheet as proof of… something. What, exactly? Who knows? But it’s a great way to make everyone nostalgic for the days when “IPL” stood for “Incredibly Problematic League.”


Predictable pirouette

The BCCI, ever the master of damage control, has responded to the 2025 allegations with all the enthusiasm of a kid forced to eat broccoli. Rajasthan Royals, to their credit, didn’t just sit there; they denied the claims as “false, baseless, and without evidence” and lodged complaints with the Rajasthan government, demanding action against Bihani. Deep Roy, an RR official, called the accusations damaging to the team’s reputation, which is a bit like saying water is wet—congratulations, Deep, you’ve cracked the case. Meanwhile, the BCCI’s Anti-Corruption Security Unit (ACSU) is busy warning players about a shady Hyderabad businessman allegedly cozying up to franchises with expensive gifts. Because nothing screams “integrity” like a pre-emptive memo about a guy who sounds like he’s auditioning for The Wolf of Wall Street.


This isn’t the BCCI’s first rodeo. Post-2013, they beefed up anti-corruption measures, hired more ACSU officers, and started regulating player agents. Yet here we are, with allegations flying and no concrete evidence to show for it. The BCCI’s response to Bihani’s claims? Crickets—pun intended. No investigation has been announced, and the league’s chugging along like a train that’s derailed but refuses to stop. Maybe they’re hoping we’ll all get distracted by Rishabh Pant’s record-breaking auction price or Virat Kohli’s latest milestone. Spoiler: we won’t.


(The author is a senior journalist based in Mumbai. Views personal.)

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