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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.)

What If Aurangzeb Had Lost the War of Succession?

Updated: Oct 21, 2024

What If Aurangzeb Had Lost the War of Succession

Counterfactual history, though generally disdained by scholars, can be valuable in exploring alternate historical outcomes by respecting historical evidence as stressed by historian Niall Ferguson.

While the question of what might have happened had Aurangzeb lost the ‘War of Succession’ (1658-59) may seem asinine, contemplating an alternate outcome is fascinating as it doubtless would have altered the trajectory of Indian history. Aurangzeb’s triumph over his elder brother Dara Shikoh in the decisive battles of Dharmat, Samugarh, and Deorai paved the way for his 49-year reign, marked by territorial expansion and religious orthodoxy.

Aurangzeb’s military prowess was undeniable. His victories were not the result of mere luck, but of superior generalship, tactical expertise, and an ability to remain calm under pressure. His defeat of not only Dara but also his other brothers, Shah Shuja and Murad Baksh, set the stage for his reign, which historian Sir Jadunath Sarkar describes as bringing the Mughal Empire to its greatest extent. In his monumental five-volume ‘History of Aurangzib’ (1912-24), Sarkar notes how Aurangzeb’s empire stretched from Ghazni to Chittagong and Kashmir to the Karnatak—an expanse unmatched by any Indian state prior to British rule.

Yet, the cost of this expansion was immense and the socio-religious tensions it fostered left lasting scars on the subcontinent. Had Dara Shikoh won, the ethos of the empire would have been fundamentally different. Known for his deep intellectual curiosity and his commitment to fostering religious inclusivity, his translation of the Upanishads, the ancient Hindu philosophical texts, from Sanskrit into Persian in Sirr-e-Akbar (‘The Greatest Mystery’), aimed to reconcile the mystical elements of Hinduism with Islam. He boldly asserted that the Upanishads held the key to understanding the esoteric aspects of the Quran, a view that placed him at odds with the more orthodox Islamic factions of the Mughal court.

Dara’s deep respect for Hindu culture and close relationships with Rajput rulers set him apart from Aurangzeb, who later alienated the Rajputs with his aggressive policies. It is conceivable that the Rajput revolt of 1679, which saw Durgadas Rathore rise against Aurangzeb after the Mughal emperor attempted to annex Marwar, would never have occurred under Dara’s rule.

Beyond the Rajput rebellion, the protracted Mughal-Maratha war in the Deccan (1681-1707), which bled the empire of its wealth and resources, could also have been avoided. Aurangzeb’s execution of Chhatrapati Sambhaji in 1689 incited widespread resistance among the Marathas, turning the Deccan into a quagmire that drained Mughal coffers and military might. Sarkar, in his comparison of this conflict to Napoleon’s Peninsular War, remarked that “the Deccani ulcer killed Aurangzeb.” A more diplomatically inclined Dara might have sought a peaceful resolution to the Deccan problem, sparing the empire from this debilitating war.

The execution of Guru Tegh Bahadur in 1675 solidified Sikh resistance, with Guru Gobind Singh transforming the Sikhs into a militant community through the founding of the Khalsa in 1699. Dara’s more inclusive policies might have prevented this radicalization, preserving the Sikhs as a spiritual movement rather than a military force.

The Jat rebellion in Agra, led by Churaman and later his nephew Badan Singh, was another consequence of Aurangzeb’s oppressive rule. The Jats, emboldened by the emperor’s preoccupation with other fronts, rose in defiance, destabilizing Mughal authority in northern India.

While François Bernier, the 17th-century French physician and traveller, dismissed Dara as politically naïve, Sarkar was critical of Dara’s limitations as a ruler of men. Nonetheless, had he triumphed, he would have left behind his vision for a pluralistic India. Aurangzeb’s orthodox reign, by contrast, left the empire weakened by internal strife, setting the stage for its eventual decline.

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