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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.)

Tickets for Sale

The ticket distribution for the upcoming 2025 Bihar Assembly elections reveals a democracy in decay, where caste, cash and chaos have replaced merit and public service.

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The violence and chaos surrounding ticket distribution for the 2025 Bihar Assembly elections are not new. They are merely the latest act in a decades-long political drama. Today, ticket allocation is no longer a matter of political merit or ideological conviction. It has become a theatre of caste, factionalism, money and opportunism. What once reflected democratic deliberation has degenerated into a showcase of influence, nepotism and transactional politics.


In the 1950s and 60s, when Congress dominated Bihar, caste dynamics and local power groups existed, but political disputes rarely turned violent. Politics, even modestly, retained civility; leaders resolved differences without muscle or street brawls. That moral order disintegrated in the 1990s, when post-Mandal politics under Lalu Prasad Yadav redefined the state’s political grammar through caste pride and social mobilisation. What began as a movement for justice gradually became a contest of caste egos. Yadavs, Kurmis, Dalits and sections of Muslims competed fiercely for party tickets. Violence among RJD and Janata Dal supporters became commonplace. Public meetings, once platforms for debate, turned into displays of strength, birthing entitlement and rebellion whenever coveted tickets were denied.


The coalition years from 2000 to 2010 made the landscape murkier. Seat-sharing negotiations tested alliances, while disgruntled local leaders often rebelled as independents, weakening parties from within. Every election season, ticket announcements sparked uproar: chairs flew, tempers flared, sometimes fists too. Congress headquarters in Patna’s Sadaqat Ashram became a recurring scene of chaos; BJP and RJD offices faced similar protests. By 2020, a new toxin had entered Bihar’s political bloodstream: money. Ticket distribution became less about public service and more about financial transactions. Parachuted candidates, who are outsiders with wealth or influence, began muscling in, leaving loyal grassroots workers alienated.


The run-up to the 2025 election exposes the system’s rot. A scuffle at Patna airport involving Congress leaders Krishna Allavaru and state president Rajesh Ram, amid allegations of ticket-selling, symbolises the moral freefall. BJP faces internal protests after dropping senior legislators. In the JD(U), MLA Gopal Mandal staged a sit-in in a VIP zone of the state government area, while MP Ajay Mandal offered to resign. RJD leaders confront rebellion over the Muslim-Yadav equation, with protests reaching Tejashwi Yadav’s doorstep. This is emblematic of a democracy on life support.


Deep fractures

Political analysts agree that Bihar’s ticket allocation has drifted far from merit, representation and public service. Money, donations and family lineage now outweigh competence and credibility. Hardworking cadres are sidelined in favour of rich newcomers or the well-connected elite. The result is deep fractures within parties and a dangerous breed of internal dissent that erodes both discipline and public faith. Senior politicians lobbying for their children or even film celebrities, while bureaucrats gain direct entry into electoral politics, reveal not modernisation but moral decay.


The growing influence of national parties, who often import candidates into Bihar from outside the state, has further complicated local politics. Such candidates, lacking grassroots connections, rely on money and muscle to secure support, undermining the very democratic process they claim to serve. Meanwhile, regional strongmen exploit the same vacuum to consolidate personal power, turning party offices into arenas of intimidation rather than deliberation.


The increasing violence, slogan-shouting and chair-throwing are not merely internal matters; they are warnings about the erosion of democratic values. When parties abandon internal democracy, they cannot nurture democracy outside. When the race for tickets is fought with fists, cash and caste, what message does that send to a young democracy already disillusioned by corruption and cronyism?


Dangerous paradox

Bihar’s politics today mirrors the most dangerous paradox of Indian democracy: elections without ethics. If every seat is for sale and every rebellion is an ego battle, politics ceases to be public service and becomes private enterprise. The people of Bihar, once vibrant participants in grassroots politics, now watch from the sidelines, disenchanted and disconnected.


There is a way out, but it demands courage. Parties must reinvent ticket distribution through transparency, accountability and respect for grassroots workers. Candidates should be chosen not for their capacity to fund campaigns but for credibility among the people. Those that open the windows of internal democracy might rediscover public trust.


Bihar’s history of electoral strife from Congress-era civility to coalition-era chaos and the present age of cash and caste tells a consistent story of politics forgetting its ethical foundation. Such cases have invariably led to violence and cynicism filling the vacuum. The 2025 poll ticket distribution saga is not merely a local issue but a mirror of the crises eating at Indian democracy. Unless Bihar’s political class rebuilds honesty, fairness and equality within its own walls, democracy will continue to be mocked in the marketplace of power.


Without reform, Bihar risks normalising transactional politics, where elections become a spectacle of wealth and influence rather than a forum for citizen choice. The state’s political malaise offers a cautionary tale for India at large, that democracy cannot survive if the machinery of parties themselves is corrupt.

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