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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.)

The Universe’s Most Timely Masterstroke

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Rejoice cricket fans, for the stars have aligned, the gods have spoken, and Virat Kohli, the eternal monarch of Indian cricket, has decided to hang up his Test whites at the perfect moment. Yes, in a move so impeccably timed it could make a Swiss watchmaker weep, Kohli has bid adieu to the longest format, leaving us all to marvel at the sheer brilliance of his decision. Was it too soon? Too late? Such pedestrian questions don’t apply to a man who operates on a cosmic schedule.


First, let’s address the elephant in the room: Kohli’s Test career was, frankly, a burden on the poor man. Imagine the audacity of expecting a modern cricketing deity to slog it out in five-day matches, where runs come slower than a bureaucracy-stamped letter and glory is measured in gritty centuries rather than Instagram reels. For over a decade, Kohli carried the weight of India’s Test batting like Atlas holding up the world, scoring 9,040 runs at an average of 47.83, with 29 centuries and 32 fifties. But who needs such trivial stats when you’ve already redefined batting with that trademark cover drive and a glare that could melt glaciers? Test cricket, with its endless sessions and pesky draws, was clearly holding back the Kohli brand. Retiring now frees him to focus on what truly matters: T20 leagues, brand endorsements, and maybe a Netflix docu-series titled King Kohli: Beyond the Crease.


And let’s not forget the timing—oh, the timing! At 36, Kohli is practically a fossil in cricketing terms, isn’t he? Never mind that Joe Root is still piling on runs like a kid collecting Pokémon cards or that Steve Smith continues to baffle bowlers with his eccentric genius. Kohli, in his infinite wisdom, knew that Test cricket’s grind was no place for a man who’s already conquered every peak worth climbing. Why bother with another tour to Australia, where he’s averaged a measly 54.08, or another English summer, where he’s tamed swing like a lion tamer? Been there, done that, got the viral stump-mic rants to prove it. By stepping away now, he’s generously allowing younger players—those bright-eyed Gen Z batters who think a forward defense is a TikTok dance move—to shoulder the burden of India’s Test ambitions. Noble, really.


Bench strength

The state of Indian cricket also screams, “Perfect timing, Virat!” With the team in a golden era of fast bowling—Bumrah, Shami, Siraj, and the bench strength of a small army—Kohli’s departure ensures the spotlight stays on the pacers. Why distract the narrative with yet another gritty Kohli hundred when we can all swoon over Jasprit Bumrah’s yorkers? Besides, India’s batting lineup is positively bursting with talent.


Shubman Gill, Yashasvi Jaiswal, and KL Rahul (when he’s not injured) are ready to fill the void, right? Sure, they might lack Kohli’s aura, his ability to single-handedly drag India out of a 36/9 collapse, or his knack for silencing crowds from Lord’s to Perth. But they’ve got potential! And isn’t potential just a fancier word for “we’ll figure it out eventually”? Kohli’s exit is practically a public service, giving these youngsters a chance to shine without his colossal shadow looming over them.


Eye on the future

Let’s also tip our hats to Kohli’s foresight in dodging the inevitable. Test cricket, let’s be honest, is a dying art form, like vinyl records or handwritten letters. In an era where attention spans are shorter than a T10 match, who has the patience for a game that might not even produce a result after five days?


Kohli, ever the visionary, saw the writing on the wall. Why stick around for a format that’s increasingly irrelevant when you can dominate the IPL, where sixes are currency and matches wrap up before bedtime? By retiring now, he’s spared himself the indignity of playing to half-empty stands in some far-flung Test venue, where the only spectators are seagulls and the occasional drunk chanting “Kohli, Kohli!” from the 2010s. Instead, he can bask in the adoration of packed IPL stadiums, where every boundary is a mini-festival and every fifty a cue for fireworks.


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

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