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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.)

Snubbing Sarfaraz Khan – Masterstroke or Hit Wicket?

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The sweet symphony of Indian cricket selection – a melody so predictable it could be scored by a tone-deaf orchestra. Just when you thought the Board of Control for Cricket in India (BCCI) had exhausted its repertoire of baffling decisions, they drop another chart-topper: excluding Sarfaraz Khan from the India A squad for the upcoming red-ball series against South Africa A. Because nothing says “meritocracy” like ignoring a batsman who’s been piling up runs like he’s hoarding them for a rainy day in Mumbai’s monsoons. It’s October 25, 2025, folks, and apparently, in the grand theater of Test cricket grooming, Sarfaraz is the understudy who forgot his lines. Or, more likely, the one they never bothered to audition.


Let’s rewind the tape – or, in this case, the scorecard – for those blissfully unaware of the farce unfolding. Sarfaraz Khan, the Mumbai middle-order maestro, isn’t some wide-eyed rookie begging for scraps. No, this is a man who’s treated the Ranji Trophy like his personal batting nets, amassing over 3,900 runs at an average north of 67 since his debut in 2014. In the 2023-24 season alone, he notched up 556 runs at 92.66, including three centuries that screamed “pick me!” louder than a vuvuzela at a World Cup. And let’s not forget his Test cameos: a gritty 66 on debut against England in 2024, followed by a counter-attacking 68 in the same series. He even smashed 92 against England Lions just weeks ago, a knock so elegant it could make Picasso weep. Yet, here we are, with the India A squad announcement on October 23 reading like a who’s who of “anyone but him.” Rishabh Pant returns from his toe-tapping hiatus? Splendid. Yashasvi Jaiswal and Sai Sudharsan get the nod? Of course, they’re the flavor of the month. But Sarfaraz? Oh, honey, sit this one out. The bench is warm; we’ve saved it just for you.


The official line from the BCCI? A masterpiece of evasion worthy of a Kafka novel. Sources whisper it’s because Pant’s back, as if one wicketkeeper-batsman is a zero-sum game where room must be made by evicting the guy who’s actually been, you know, playing and scoring. Or perhaps it’s that perennial favorite: “not fully match-fit.” Never mind that Sarfaraz has been Mumbai’s rock in the ongoing Ranji Trophy, or that he turned 28 last week without so much as a participation trophy from the selectors. Shardul Thakur, bless his all-rounder heart, piped up yesterday with the gem: “Sarfaraz doesn’t need India A games to play international cricket.” How adorably optimistic! It’s like telling a PhD candidate they don’t need a thesis defense because they’ve already read the books. Sure, Shardul, and I don’t need oxygen because I’ve breathed before. But in the cutthroat arena of Indian selections, where spots are doled out like party favors to the connected, “not needing” something is code for “we’re pretending you don’t exist.”


And oh, the delicious undercurrents of this snub – because nothing spices up incompetence like a dash of controversy. Kerala politician Shama Mohamed couldn’t resist tweeting the elephant in the room: “Not selected because of surname?” Ouch. Sarfaraz Khan – that distinctly Muslim name in a lineup where diversity often stops at “safe bets” – suddenly feels like the plot twist in a bad Bollywood drama. Remember when he was overlooked for years despite domestic hauls that could fill a warehouse? Or how, post-debut, he’s been shuttled like a spare tire, only to be deflated at the first sign of “balance”? It’s almost poetic: a player from a minority community, grinding through Islamophobic whispers and selector blind spots, only to be told, “Thanks, but we’ve got enough brown-skinned talent… just not your kind.” Sarcasm aside (though who are we kidding?), if merit were the metric, Sarfaraz would be captaining India A by now, not cooling his heels while lesser lights get their glow-up.


The selectors, ensconced in their air-conditioned echo chambers, probably patted themselves on the back for “strategic depth.” Depth? More like the shallow end of the talent pool, where favoritism floats and form sinks.


It’s a travesty that reeks of the BCCI’s favorite perfume: entitlement. They’ve turned “A” team into “Also-Rans” for players like Sarfaraz, who dare to excel without the right godfather or Instagram filter. Irfan Pathan called it “not even close to the truth” when excuses flew, and he’s spot on. This isn’t oversight; it’s obstruction. A board that preaches workload management but overloads its darlings, that champions youth but benches proven performers – it’s a clown car careening toward irrelevance.


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

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