Leading with purpose

 "Leadership is not about being in charge. It is about taking care of those in your charge." – Simon Sinek.

Over the past two years I have been running a Leadership training course for aspiring GEMS leaders and some very pertinent and thought provoking discussions have taken place .

As leaders, we face challenges every day, from making tough decisions to inspiring teams to reach their potential. 

But beneath the surface, subtle dynamics like the Dilbert Principle, Peter Principle, and Impostor Syndrome often shape our leadership journey in ways we may not fully realize. 

These concepts, though not always familiar to everyone, have a profound impact on how we lead and grow.

The Dilbert Principle humorously suggests that organizations  sometimes promote less competent employees into leadership to limit the damage they might cause elsewhere. While this might sound like a joke, it highlights a real issue: the need to ensure leadership roles are filled by those with vision, empathy, and capability—not just anyone available.

The Peter Principle adds another layer, reminding us that people are often promoted until they reach a role they can’t handle. Think about times when a brilliant individual contributor became a struggling manager. To avoid this trap, we must invest in leadership training and recognize that growth isn’t just about climbing the ladder, it’s about finding the right fit.

Then there’s the probably  lesser understood  Impostor Syndrome-  something many of us have felt at some point or the other . Imposter syndrome stems from self-doubt, perfectionism, fear of failure, or external pressure. 

It causes undue anxiety, stress, low self-esteem, and a persistent fear of being exposed as a fraud, despite evident success, thus  hindering personal growth and professional confidence.

That nagging doubt: “Am I really good enough to be here?” 

It’s a silent struggle, but acknowledging it is the first step. Building self-belief and surrounding ourselves with mentors and supportive teams can make all the difference.

Leadership, at its core, is about self-belief and the courage to bring out the best in others. It’s about embracing vulnerability and recognizing that perfection isn’t the goal—authenticity is.

 A good leader inspires, not by always having the answers but by showing others that they, too, can rise above challenges. 

When we understand and address these principles, we empower ourselves and our teams to grow, thrive, and create a culture of trust, resilience, and shared success.

 Leadership isn’t just a role; it’s a responsibility to foster growth, inspire confidence, and leave a lasting, positive impact.

Confessions of a not so great traveler

 Confessions of a Not-So-Great Traveler

It’s confirmed: I’m a terrible traveler. Okay - let me not be too harsh on my poor self- I am not a very good traveler, and I am too old to change now – so be it! 

 The chaos begins with booking tickets, where I spend far too much time triple checking my passport details, than I do, deciding on other important aspects. One typo, and I’m convinced I’ll be detained at immigration and will probably have to return home. Seat selection? Non-negotiable. I am ready to pay.  As a claustrophobe, the aisle seat is my lifeline; I need the illusion of escape, even if it’s just to stretch my legs.

Then comes the Packing, which is an Olympic sport in our family. I weigh and re-weigh suitcases & bags a dozen times, like my entire trip depends on it (which, frankly, it does). My wife, however, treats packing as a philanthropic mission. “This is for family members, this for the neighbours,” she says.  I fret while calculating how many extra kilos we’ll be charged for. We argue over packing and the weight of our luggage every time we travel, and my blood pressure surely rises – she wins in the end – wives always do. We invariably end up carrying coal to Newcastle and I have never understood why. Once the luggage is weighed for the nth time, I lock it, in fear of more articles being slipped in – invariably that ruse fails, and I am forced to open it to add in a towel, a tissue box, more shoes or whatever else the wife feels we will find nowhere else on this planet. And I won’t even start to mention those miniscule locks and even tinier keys that mysteriously disappear after every trip. 

Ordering a taxi ride to the airport is a gamble. Will the app work “Will the taxi show up on time? Will we show up on time? What about traffic? What if we arrive late and the gate closes just as we are walking up to the counter? By the time we are in the taxi and on the way to the airport I am on edge. I look at my watch often and open my bag to ensure the passports have not gone for a stroll. 

Then come the queues at the ticket counters that snake around endlessly. Here is the fear of getting someone push their trolley on to the back of my heel and maim me before the trip commences – it has happened, so I am always looking over my shoulder and glaring at anyone attempting to crowd me in. 

 At check-in, the airline’s scale inevitably adds an extra kilo, leaving me suspicious of their accuracy—or my math skills. Immigration is always so stressful - will my passport photo match my face? What if it doesn’t. The way the immigration officer looks at me is enough to send me into a panic. Do I resemble a wanted criminal!

In fact, airport staff rarely help my nerves. Even the pettiest among them exude an air of authority, determined to remind me of who’s boss. The questions—"Where are you going? Why? Where do you work?” are delivered by bored individuals at grimy counters, and their monotony makes the entire process feel like an interrogation from a disinterested cop.

Then comes security- the dreaded security! Shoes off, belt off, laptop out, charger out, purse, & watch put into another bag, liquids separated. Inevitably, my bag gets flagged for inspection for the number of keys we carry. Watching a stranger rummage through my knick - knacks socks and snacks never gets less awkward. I have been guilty of leaving my watch and phone at the checking post and having had to return for it, rather sheepishly.  

Flying business class, the first time was a revelation—clean lounge, lovely toilets, sumptuous food, drinks, comfy sofas, legroom in the plane, soft blankets, champagne, proper cutlery and above all no wrestling for armrests! But in economy, it’s a battle for survival. It’s almost a jungle out there! Between cramped seats and over-shared armrests, I’m reminded why I prefer solid ground. Travel broadens the mind, but it also tests my sanity.

 And I always pray that we have a good pilot who won’t drop off to sleep at the controls or lock himself out of the cockpit.  

Once we reach our destination- it’s not over – what about the luggage. I rush to the carousel- are we at the right one – I scan the crowd to try and see a familiar face from the plane – no such luck. I stand there, eyes scanning the endless stream of luggage, my heart skipping a beat with each new bag that goes by. There’s my suitcase—or is it? The bags blur into a chaotic sea of size and colour, all adorned with colourful ribbons, tape, and those little “fragile” stickers. Like everyone else, I lean in closer, hoping for a sign—anything to help me distinguish mine from the rest—but it’s all so confusing. To top it all, I am colour blind. I rush forward, grab a bag, scan the tag, only to realize it’s not mine. Oh, the awkward dance of pretending I didn’t just almost steal someone’s suitcase! And then, the thought creeps in: What if my luggage is lost? That’s happened before, and now the waiting is a jittery, suspense-filled ordeal, each round of the carousel feeling like an eternity.

Finally, I breathe a sigh of relief as I haul our luggage off the carousel and onto a trolley.

 I often get trolleys with a mind of their own- I am pushing in one direction, and the trolley seems to want to go elsewhere. Then comes the exit gate with uniformed, burly men with beady eyes looking for suspicious passengers. At times I have been signaled out to get my luggage scanned. After seeing umpteen “Airport programmes” I worry, – “what if someone has slipped something into my luggage!  My wife says I look guilty for no reason – now that thought plays in my head every time we are at an airport.

And then we are home or in a hotel at last. My mind then starts thinking about the return journey!

 I can’t help it – that’s me!

Are we becoming lazier

 5 am reflections 

Are We Becoming Lazier?

By the looks of it, I am inclined to say, "Yes!" Modern life, wrapped in its metaphorical plush sofas, cushions, comforters, and quilts, has turned existence into a buffet of convenience—and we’re piling our plates high. Between growing waistlines and shrinking step counts, it’s hard to ignore the fact that as a race, we are lazier than ever, and things are getting worse. 

I was born and brought up in Allahabad, a small town, where life was simple, even idyllic. Walking or cycling wasn’t just transportation, it was life itself. Whether it was school, church,  errands, or visiting a friend, my trusty cycle was my trusted companion, and it served me well . 

When I visited Amsterdam some years ago, it was indeed a refreshing eye-opener to see how many people used bicycles as a means of transport. 

 Moving to The Bishop's School in Pune, brought more structure but no gadgets or apps to make life easier. We didn’t Google; we flipped through Encyclopedia Britannica, carefully searching for answers. Learning took effort. I spent hours in the library at weekends preparing for lessons and taking handwritten notes as a means of reference. 

Today, technology does so much of the work for us. Mobile phones are our lifelines—connecting us, helping us navigate, and reminding us of everything from appointments to groceries. Forget your phone at home when you go out and one feels strangely nervous. 

Personal grooming is being  done effortlessly too: hair stylists and beauticians visit us at home, and vans equipped to groom cats and dogs pull up at our doorsteps. Fuel, food, groceries, even laundry—it all arrives at home with a few taps. Robot vacuum cleaners silently keep our homes spotless. You don't even have to walk your dog any longer - there is always someone who will do it for a fee. 

Natural exercise—like walking to the market, seeing to the garden or washing the car—has been replaced by gym memberships. Tasks that once kept us moving are now outsourced. 

Convenience is undeniable, but so is the cost to our health and independence. High blood pressure, cholesterol, obesity, heart diseases and even mental health issues were hardly heard of. 

It makes me wonder: what will life be like 20 years from now?

 Holograms for meetings, drones for deliveries, AI to think for us, will we lose the joy of doing things ourselves?

 Perhaps it’s time to step back, reflect, and find balance before the art of living actively fades entirely.

The Selfie craze

 "No malice toward anyone, past or present." 

In pure jest. 

This is certainly not a tirade against Selfie takers – I have taken a few selfies myself and quite enjoyed doing so – do it now and then and you are fine  However, there should  be a self imposed  limit for every craze-  let it not become an obsession .

Do   you find yourself taking a selfie for every occasion—whether it's a casual day at home, a night out, or even a random moment of relaxation. Maybe your phone is bursting with dozens of selfie variations, each one with different angles, filters, and expressions. You might even travel just for the perfect selfie spot, seeking out picturesque locations for your next photo op. Perhaps, more tellingly, you spend a great deal of time adjusting your hair, lighting, and posing to perfect your selfie than enjoying the moment.

 If you can relate to any of these signs, then there’s no denying it—you surely are a selfie addict- or in the process of  becoming one  beware! 

What is it with this enduring craze called selfies?

 Are we so lonely that we can’t find a neighbor, spouse, friend, or a passerby to click for us? Must we plaster social media with photos of us devouring a samosa, awkwardly perched in a car, or standing solo with the sea behind us? Honestly, who is clamoring to see these moments?

Then, there are the daredevils who risk life and limb for that epic selfie atop cliffs, skyscrapers, or while dangling precariously over crocodile pits. Social media is full of them .  Is fame worth the paramedics shaking their heads at your folly?

Like it or lump it - the selfie has become an inescapable part of modern life, as unavoidable as Wi-Fi signals or the jingles of an ice cream truck on a summer day. Whether you’re in the middle of a bustling city square, praying in a cathedral, or trekking up a remote mountain trail, someone is bound to be striking a pose with a camera aimed at their own face. It’s as if the world itself has become one giant photo booth, with every moment treated as an opportunity to curate an online persona and become an influencer.

And let’s face it—some of these selfie antics are downright absurd. Who decided that squatting by a roadside trash can or posing next to a half-eaten burger was photo-worthy? Is capturing yourself mid-yawn, pretending to hold up the Leaning Tower of Pisa or holding the moon in the palm of your hand, the pinnacle of human achievement?  

It gets better (or worse): some even add dramatic captions like “Living my best life!” under a photo of themselves sitting on a hospital bed or “Unstoppable” while holding a soggy umbrella and getting soaked in the rain 

 What about "Can’t stop, won’t stop” while pretending to jump off a cliff!  

Give the world a break – please! 

And let’s remember: If you’re happy and you know it, enjoy the moment—not every joy needs to be immortalized.

 Instead of obsessing over perfect angles, filters, or hashtags, why not just live in the moment? 

Savor the laughter, the breeze, and the fleeting beauty of the present. Some of life’s best memories aren’t filtered or captioned—they're simply felt, lived, and cherished in the now. 

No camera needed.

Kallu kabari

 Some of you Allahabadis may remember a ' kabari walla' named Kallu way back in the day.

I was a young school boy and Kallu was a regular in a number of houses( in the railway quarters and Christian - Anglo Indian houses ) all over Allahabad. 

Every Sunday he would do his rounds on his rusty weatherbeaten bicycle. 

He was friendly , talked loud and had a louder laugh. 

He was a nice chap, around 40 years old, and because he had been around for years, no one minded him coming and squatting in the first room. 

It didn't matter whether you had papers, bottles or anything else to sell. He was the opposite of a good salesman ! A great purchaser.

His eyes would dart around the room and he would offer some silly sum of money for any item that caught his fancy- whether you were selling it or not!

This irritated me for obvious reasons.

He once offered to buy my cycle for 25 rupees! Then kept increasing it till his top offer was 50. We were not even intending to sell it.

As if by miracle he would land up at houses when people were doing spring cleaning or white washing.

That's when everything would be put into the front compound and he would be there trying to pick up a bargain.

To give the devil his due, he often bought stuff which would otherwise be thrown in the bin. However that was a ruse to get the buying going. 

Once he got you in the selling frame of mind he almost hypnotised people into selling more stuff.

He was persuasive, determined and cunning and patient . He would spend hours bargaining and after hours in one house he would go and bring a cycle rickshaw and load up his loot!.

I would often tell him in the best Hindi that I could muster that he must be happy for crooking us. He would reply in his broken English ' Michael baba I go loss, this all rubbish useless stuff'

Then with a crooked smile he would tell the rickshaw man to start moving.

With a big Salam he would cycle off - another day of profit.

Allahabad had its strange yet well known hawkers and buyers!

Am sure other cities had similar characters as well.

Those schoolboy days

 As a primary student  at St. Joseph's High school in Allahabad, I always dreaded the return to school after any vacation, especially Christmas. 

The joy of the winter holidays would vanish, replaced by the rigors of early mornings, shivering baths, and the daunting task of completing holiday homework. Packing bags, donning the school uniform, and climbing into a cycle rickshaw for the ride to school became the routine.

Allahabad was insanely cold and I believe it still is , especially on the days when there is a 'nahan'. It was usually cloudy and depressing . 

I vividly recall those cold January mornings when the mist and fog blurred the tree-lined streets and the sun struggled to shine through. Civil Lines shops remained shuttered in the biting chill, and the drizzle during nahan days only deepened my gloom. As i would pass by , I’d watch people gather around small roadside fires, sipping steaming tea, a scene that always seemed oddly comforting in contrast to the demands of school life.

Back in the classroom, teachers brimming with energy inspected our holiday homework, and new pupils timidly found their place. The bold and the clever always occupied the front benches- the rest of us slunk as far back as possible .  

The arrival of new teachers often struck fear into young hearts- I remember a few of that tribe .

Subjects like Math and Hindi felt oppressive, and Sanskrit, introduced later, seemed even worse. I was poor in Hindi to say the very least .  It’s curious how disliking a subject often goes hand-in-hand with disliking its teacher, though I’m still unsure which comes first.

The lunch recess offered some respite. We played on jungle gyms and swings, brushing off minor injuries without fuss. Boys who owned footballs or cricket bats became instant favorites. if you possessed a yellow tennis ball you were well known !  

 Water breaks meant crowding around a round tank fitted with several taps, some inevitably broken, adding to the charm of our shared school struggles. Not sure if it was ever cleaned but the water was fine- cool and refreshing .  

During the break we also attempted to break tamarind and when all else failed we ate tamarind leaves for their sourness . 

The end of the break was signaled by a long bell ringing, and everyone rushed back to class. The horrible stench of perspiration often pervaded the air, and no one seemed in the mood to study in the afternoon.

 We all impatiently awaited the final bell, which unleashed loud shouting and hooting as students rushed out to go home. Teachers tried in vain to maintain order, but the chaos was inevitable.

Looking back, those days, though challenging, were formative. The rhythm of school life, however reluctant we were to return to it, instilled resilience, camaraderie, and unforgettable memories.

ALLAHABAD CIVIL LINES  NOSTALGIC MEMORIES

St Joseph's College, Allahabad

ALLAHABAD

The All India Anglo Indian Association - Allahabad branch

Jan 2023

 We decided to start the year 2023 by attending church, so planned to go for the 7. 30 am mass at the church in Jebel Ali. 

I set the alarm for 5.00 am but woke at 4.15 am and could not sleep thereafter, so was having tea by 4. 30 am.

It was the New year - I felt happy - I felt fresh and life was good.

It's a 15-minute drive to church and keeping in mind the fact that it was new year's day, and there would be hordes of people rushing to church, or so I surmised, I thought it wise to leave by 6.30am.

Being the impatient sort, I was sitting in the car by 6.20am. I honked at 6.25am to alert the wife that I was ready, and then again at 6. 30am while trying to stay calm and collected but there was no sign of her. She then sauntered out at 6.40 am and without even looking in my direction, she began feeding a stray cat that has adopted us. 

Mind you , I had the window glass down and was kind of glaring!

" Keep calm Michael," I said to myself. " It's new years day, and you must not  get upset  at trivial matters  " 

 I was not hyperventilating or anything just then,but was a trifle annoyed, as I am quite a stickler for time and hate to be late. However, after 37 years of marriage, one learns when to say something and when to hold one's peace. Peace won that morning, and we drove to church. The conversation was amicable.  

On the approach road, there were no cars to be seen, and I was surprised! The parking lots near the church, where there is always a traffic jam, were empty as well- just a few cars had been parked. 

Had I blundered with the timing? I hoped not, as I didn't want to look stupid. 

Fortunately, that was not the case. We strolled into the church and though all the lights were not on as yet, there was tons of place with plenty of empty pews. That was a welcome sight. 

This was turning out to be our lucky day, as the church is usually packed and overflowing.

We sat down in the 8th row but had barely settled in when my wife decided that we should move forward, as that would enable us to get a better view. I won't blame her, because I agreed without hesitation. I usually make a fuss about shifting.  Probably it was the thrill of the new year or something to that effect. There were prayers being recited upfront so all was 'hunky dory'.

Then the church began to fill very fast. Before we could say: "Holy Moses" or anything for that matter, a couple walked in and sat down in the pew in front of us. The lady was of average height with extremely bushy hair but the man was a giant. He was probably about 6 feet 8 inches or more in height, and broad of stature. To add to that, he seemed to be wearing a black suit about 2 sizes too large for him. His size and her hair style made sure that the altar was obliterated from view. By then the pews all around us were filled. So here we were, with this giant in front of us, along  with his bushy haired wife and nowhere for us to shift to.  If he was a few inches taller it would have been fine, as I would have probably been able to view the altar from between his legs. Now that is a bit of an exaggeration but I guess you can imagine the scene.   

Just as mass was about to commence  I looked to the left of the giant and his wife. There was a man kneeling - or so I thought. He looked to be tall too. A closer look revealed that he was a dwarf and he was standing beside his wife who was kneeling. He must have been all of 3 feet and no inches.  That was a strange coincidence indeed, to have a dwarf and a giant on the same bench.

 I was quite amused and this was turning out to be a fun day.

There is just one more piece to add to this story. 

I am having pain in the right knee so kneeling is out of the question. Hence I was seated and the person - a lady behind me, was kneeling.

The opening hymn began, and if ever anyone had a voice of poor quality it was her. She was not just a mediocre or terrible singer - she was downright atrocious.  She was off-tone, offbeat, and didn't seem to know the words either. 

Now they were up on the screen, in plain sight, and in large font, and I don't have the faintest clue as to why she didn't just look up and follow them. 

Sorry, I am not being unduly critical, and with all due respect to her, but her voice was high-pitched and nasal, and she was pretty close to my ears as well. 

Not that she was singing softly either - that would have been acceptable. She was going full blast and her voice seemed to echo deep into my skull. She gave it to me in stereophonic sound for every hymn sung that morning. Let me give credit, where credit is due - for the last hymn - she was not too bad!

1st Jan 2023 was certainly a day I will remember.