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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.)

Why 1974’s Murder on the Orient Express is the finest Agatha film

Updated: Jan 2

Murder on the Orient Express

1974 was a banner year for cinema, a time when screens were graced with films of exceptional variety and brilliance, from ‘The Godfather Part II’ to ‘Chinatown.’ Nestled among titans was Sidney Lumet’s adaptation of Agatha Christie’s ‘Murder on the Orient Express,’ a film that stands not just as a masterclass in storytelling but as a shining beacon among Christie adaptations.


At the heart of this triumph is Albert Finney, delivering a performance as Hercule Poirot that reportedly won Christie’s rare seal of approval. Finney’s Poirot is simultaneously larger than life and grounded in meticulous realism. His accent, mannerisms and obsessive quirks leap off the screen with a vivacity that feels tailor-made for the character. Where other portrayals might lean into caricature, Finney’s approach ensures Poirot is both absurdly comic and deeply human - a detective whose “little grey cells” pulsate with energy and purpose.


Lumet, renowned for his dexterity across genres, helms the film with an assured touch, marshalling one of the most dazzling (and suspicious) casts ever assembled and ensuring every player is given a moment to shine.


And what a cast it is: Vanessa Redgrave exudes elegance and warmth; Sean Connery brings his trademark gravitas; Wendy Hiller’s regal air commands attention. Sir John Gielgud’s butler is pitch-perfect, while Lauren Bacall’s brash and haughty performance brims with charisma. Ingrid Bergman, in an Oscar-winning turn, imbues her role with a poignant yet crafty ‘simplicity’ that lingers long after her brief scenes. Add to this Anthony Perkins’s shifty nervousness, Martin Balsam’s dependable solidity, and Jean-Pierre Cassel’s understated charm, and the train feels populated not just with characters but with a vibrant cross-section of humanity. At the core of this ensemble lies Richard Widmark’s sinister Ratchett, whose murder sets the plot in motion and whose presence haunts every frame.


One of the most striking aspects of the 1974 version is its meticulous attention to detail. From the luxurious, claustrophobic train compartments to the haunting snowscapes of the Balkans of the 1930s, the film’s setting is an active participant in the drama. Paul Dehn’s literate screenplay and Geoffrey Unsworth’s sumptuous cinematography immerses the viewer in a world where every clue feels tangible, every gesture significant.


The film is further elevated by Richard Rodney Bennett’s exquisite score which is a haunting, evocative mix of melancholy and intrigue, particularly while underscoring the Baby Armstrong kidnapping case. It is a score that lingers in memory, as integral to the film’s atmosphere as the locomotive’s whistle or the crunch of snow underfoot.


Contrast Lumet’s version to Kenneth Branagh’s 2017 all-star remake, which falls short on nearly every front. Where Lumet’s sumptuous version feels timeless and organic, Branagh’s feels sterile and hollow, a pale echo of its predecessor with the talented Branagh no match for Finney.


While many actors have stepped into Poirot’s patent leather shoes, few have managed to leave a lasting impression. David Suchet’s portrayal in the ITV series remains the definitive interpretation - a Poirot so finely realized that he has become synonymous with the character. However, the Suchet-led ‘Murder on the Orient Express’ utterly lacks the cinematic flair and ensemble dynamism that make the 1974 film so unforgettable.


The 1974 Orient Express also casts a long shadow over subsequent Christie adaptations for cinema. Peter Ustinov’s outings as Poirot, though entertaining in their own right, fail to capture the gravitas and finesse of Finney’s Poirot or the tight orchestration of Lumet’s direction. Death on the Nile (1978), while passable, lacks the tension and narrative drive of ‘Orient Express,’ and Evil Under the Sun (1982) leans too heavily on camp at the expense of mystery.


Ultimately, what sets the 1974 version apart is its ability to balance reverence for Christie’s work with the demands of cinematic storytelling. Lumet, Finney, and the ensemble cast create a world that is as intricate and compelling as the novel itself. It is a rare adaptation that not only honours its source material but transcends it, becoming a classic in its own right.


In a year crowded with cinematic masterpieces, ‘Murder on the Orient Express’ carved out its own niche — not by chasing trends or reinventing the wheel, but by embracing the timeless allure of a well-told story.

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