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By:

Rashmi Kulkarni

23 March 2025 at 2:58:52 pm

Loss Aversion Is Why Your Good Idea Fails

Your upgrade is their loss until you prove otherwise. Last week, Rahul wrote about a simple truth: you’re not inheriting a business, you’re inheriting an equilibrium. This week, I want to talk about the most common reason that equilibrium fights back even when your idea is genuinely sensible. Here it is, in plain language: People don’t oppose improvement. They oppose loss disguised as improvement. When you step into a legacy MSME, most things are still manual, informal, relationship-driven....

Loss Aversion Is Why Your Good Idea Fails

Your upgrade is their loss until you prove otherwise. Last week, Rahul wrote about a simple truth: you’re not inheriting a business, you’re inheriting an equilibrium. This week, I want to talk about the most common reason that equilibrium fights back even when your idea is genuinely sensible. Here it is, in plain language: People don’t oppose improvement. They oppose loss disguised as improvement. When you step into a legacy MSME, most things are still manual, informal, relationship-driven. People have built their own ways of keeping work moving. It’s not perfect, but it’s familiar. When you introduce a new system, a new rule, a new “professional way,” you may be adding order but you’re also removing something  they were using to survive. And humans react more strongly to removals than additions. Behavioral economists Daniel Kahneman and Amos Tversky called this loss aversion where we feel losses more sharply than we feel gains. That’s why your promised “future benefit” struggles to compete with someone’s immediate fear. Which seat are you stepping into? Inherited seat:  People assume you’ll change things quickly to “prove yourself”. They brace for loss even before you speak. Hired seat:  People watch for hidden agendas: “New boss means new rules, new blame.” They protect themselves. Promoted seat:  Your peers worry the old friendship is now replaced by authority. They fear loss of comfort and access. Different seats, same emotion underneath: don’t take away what keeps me safe. Weighing Scale Think of an old kirana shop. The weighing scale may not be fancy, but it’s trusted. The shopkeeper has used it for years. Customers have seen it. Everyone has settled into that comfort. Now imagine someone walks in and says, “We’re upgrading your weighing scale. This is digital. More accurate. More modern.” Sounds good, right? But what does the shopkeeper hear ? “My customers might think the old scale was wrong.” (loss of trust) “I won’t be able to adjust for small realities.” (loss of flexibility) “If the digital scale shows something different, I’ll be accused.” (loss of safety) “This was my shop. Now someone else is deciding.” (loss of control) So even if the new scale is better, the shopkeeper will resist or accept it politely and quietly return to the old one when nobody is watching. That is exactly what happens in companies. Modernisation Pitch Most leaders pitch change like this: “We’ll become world-class.” “We’ll digitize.” “We’ll improve visibility.” “We’ll build a process-driven culture.” But for the listener, these are not benefits. These are threats, because they translate into losses: Visibility can mean exposure . Process can mean loss of discretion . Digitization can mean loss of speed  (at least initially). “Professional” can mean loss of status  for the old guard. So the person across the table is not debating your logic. They’re calculating their losses. Practical Way Watch what happens when you propose something simple like daily reporting. You say: “It’s just 10 minutes. Basic discipline.” They hear: “Daily reporting means daily scrutiny.” “If numbers dip, I will be questioned.” “If I show the truth, it will create conflict.” “If I don’t show the truth, I’ll be accused later.” In their mind, the safest response is: nod, agree, delay. Then you label them “resistant.” But they’re not resisting change. They’re resisting loss . Leader’s Job If you want adoption in an MSME, don’t sell modernization as “upgrade”. Sell it as protection . Instead of: “We need an ERP.” Try: “We need to stop money leakage and order confusion.” Instead of: “We need systems.” Try: “We need fewer customer escalations and less rework.” Instead of: “We need transparency.” Try: “We need fewer surprises at month-end.” This is not manipulation. This is translation. You’re speaking the language the system understands: risk, leakage, blame, customer loss, cash loss, fatigue. Field Test: Rewrite your pitch in loss-prevention language Pick one change you’re pushing this month. Now write two versions: Version A (your current pitch): What you normally say: upgrade, modern, efficiency, best practices. Version B (loss prevention pitch): Use this template: What are we losing today?  (money, time, customers, reputation, peace) Where is the leakage happening?  (handoffs, approvals, rework, vendor delays) What small protection will this change create? (fewer disputes, faster closure, less follow-up) What will not change?  (no layoffs, no humiliation, no sudden policing) What proof will we show in 2 weeks?  (one metric, one visible win) Now do one more important step: For your top 3 stakeholders, write the one loss they think they will face  if your change happens. Don’t argue with it. Just name it. Because once you name the fear, you can design around it. The close If you remember only one thing from this week, remember this: A “good idea” is not enough in a legacy MSME. People need to feel safe adopting it. You don’t have to dilute your standards. You just have to stop selling change like a TED talk and start selling it like a protection plan. Next week, we’ll deal with another invisible force that keeps companies stuck even when they agree with you: the status quo isn’t a baseline. It’s a competitor. (The writer is CEO of PPS Consulting, can be reached at rashmi@ppsconsulting.biz )

Time for Atonement: Veer Savarkar and the Stolen Legacy of a Patriot

As India reassesses its history, justice demands acknowledging Savarkar’s contributions to the freedom struggle and the injustices he endured over Gandhi’s assassination.

On February 10, 1949, a special court exonerated Vinayak Damodar Savarkar of any involvement in the assassination of Mahatma Gandhi. Yet, history has not been as kind. The mere inclusion of his name in the case, despite a lack of evidence, remains a travesty of justice, one that cast a long shadow over his political career and deprived India of an influential voice.


The Gandhi assassination trial, which began on May 27, 1948, and lasted eight months, resulted in the sentencing of nine individuals. Nathuram Godse and Narayan Apte were sentenced to death, four others received life imprisonment, one was given a seven-year term, and another was acquitted due to lack of evidence. The only person who managed to evade legal repercussions was Digambar Badge, who turned approver. Savarkar’s arrest and subsequent acquittal should have been the end of the matter. However, his political marginalization continued well beyond the trial.


Dr. Pankaj Phadnis, a Savarkarite, has argued before the Supreme Court that the trial was, in fact, a ‘mistrial.’ He contends that Savarkar was falsely implicated in a political conspiracy aimed at sidelining him. The timing of his arrest and the lack of substantial evidence to prove his involvement in the plot lend some weight to this argument. Savarkar was a vocal critic of what he termed “distorted secularism,” advocating for equal treatment of majority and minority communities. He also opposed the transfer of Rs. 55 crores to Pakistan, warning that it would be used against India. His vision for an assertive India included sending 10,000 young men to the United States for military training and another 10,000 to develop a scientific temperament—an agenda that, if realized, could have reshaped India’s strategic landscape.


The aftermath of his acquittal was no less punitive. He was arrested again in 1949 and released only after agreeing not to contest the 1952 elections. A man whose ideological clarity and vision could have contributed significantly to Indian politics was silenced, leaving a vacuum that was never quite filled. He passed away in 1966, never again holding an electoral post.


The assassination of Gandhi was a carefully plotted act, orchestrated by a motley group of men, each with their own grievances and motivations. Nathuram Godse, a former editor of the Hindu Rashtra, was transformed from a mild-mannered writer into a radical Hindu nationalist after his early interactions with Savarkar in Ratnagiri. Narayan Apte, his close associate, was an ex-Indian Air Force officer who shared Godse’s ideological fervour.


Other figures involved included Vishnu Karkare, who dedicated himself to aiding Hindu-Sikh refugees in Ahmednagar, and Gopal Godse, Nathuram’s younger brother, who was swept up in his brother’s radicalism. Digambar Badge, an arms dealer, was initially a co-conspirator but later turned approver, testifying against the others. Shankar Kistya, Badge’s servant, had little understanding of the plot but was caught in its web. Madanlal Pahwa, a refugee from West Punjab, had seen Muslim atrocities firsthand, while Dr. Sadashiv Parchure played a key role in procuring the Beretta pistol that fired the fatal shots.


The conspiracy took shape as Gandhi’s perceived ‘Muslim appeasement’ policies enraged the plotters. His fast to pressure the Indian government into transferring Rs. 55 crores to Pakistan was the final straw. On January 20, 1948, an initial assassination attempt at Birla House failed. Pahwa detonated a bomb to create chaos, but the others were unable to execute their plan in the ensuing melee. The police’s inefficiencies allowed them to escape and regroup.


On January 30, they struck again. Gandhi, as was his custom, had no security checks for visitors. Godse entered first, followed later by Apte and Karkare. As Gandhi walked towards his evening prayer meeting, Godse stepped forward, folded his hands in greeting, and fired three shots. Gandhi collapsed. Witnesses were divided on whether he uttered his famous last words, “Hey Ram.” What is undisputed is that Godse raised his hands and called for the police, eager to prove that his act was deliberate, rational and ideological.


The police, under Bombay’s Chief Minister Morarji Desai and Police Chief Jamshed Nagarvala, moved swiftly. Savarkar’s house was raided, and thousands of letters and documents were seized, but no evidence directly linked him to the assassination. However, Badge’s testimony that he overheard Savarkar telling Godse and Apte, “Yashasvi houn ya” (Come back victorious), became the cornerstone of the prosecution’s case against him. Gopal Godse, in later interviews, revealed that Badge had been tortured into naming Savarkar.


Despite the shaky foundation of the case, Savarkar was dragged through the legal process. In Judge Atmacharan’s verdict on February 10, 1949, Savarkar was acquitted due to lack of evidence. Godse and Apte were sentenced to death, while others received varying degrees of imprisonment. The only person visibly distressed by the verdict was Badge, the betrayer.


Justice G.D. Khosla, one of India’s most respected jurists, later remarked that had the trial been decided by a jury, Godse might have been found not guilty, given the public sentiment at the time. The real injustice, however, was not just the trial but the post-acquittal punishment of Savarkar, when his political career was deliberately stifled - a fate undeserving for a man of his ideological stature.


As India reassesses its history, it is imperative that a more balanced narrative on Savarkar emerges. He was a revolutionary, a thinker and a nationalist whose contributions to India’s freedom struggle remain overshadowed by the controversy surrounding his alleged involvement in Gandhi’s assassination.

A nation’s moral fabric is not just defined by its heroes but also by how it treats those whose legacies have been unfairly tarnished. In Savarkar’s case, the scales of justice have remained unbalanced for too long.


(The author is a motivational public speaker. Views personal.)

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