Because the most future-ready brands know one truth: Yesterday isn’t baggage It’s capital

 

The formula is criminally simple: Take something old. Add “limited edition.” Watch grown adults weep into their wallets.

 

What’s the scent of your childhood? For millions, it’s not monsoon soil. It’s the plastic-and-promise aroma of a new G.I. Joe, the saccharine haze of a melting Kwality Wall’s, or the electric fizz of a Campa Cola. They aren’t selling you a product. They’re selling you a time machine. And the fare is your wallet.

 

Why does a 40-year-old with arthritic knees and a cynical heart get misty-eyed over a cheesy jingle? Because nostalgia isn’t memory. It’s pain-free memory. Brands aren’t archaeologists; they’re editors. They curate our past, airbrush the crappy parts, and sell back the highlight reel. The genius? We pay a premium to feel poor again. Ironic, no?

 

Hollywood’s a broken record. Star Wars isn’t a saga; it’s a heritage asset. Netflix resurrects Stranger Things like a cultural necromancer. And Nintendo? They’ve repackaged the same 8-bit Mario for four decades. We don’t just buy it; we thank them for the privilege of our own déjà vu.

 

The Science of Sentiment Selling

 

Nike re-released the Air Jordan 1s fifty-three times. Not because they ran out of ideas—because they ran the numbers. Levi’s “501 Original” campaign doesn’t sell jeans; it sells your dad’s rebellion. Apple’s retro rainbow logo appears on limited merch, reminding you when computers were magical, not just necessary.

 

Even Cadbury brought back their 1990s “Kuch Meetha Ho Jaaye” positioning, knowing that Indians don’t just buy chocolate—we buy moments we want back.

 

Truth be told: Brands aren’t preserving your memories. They’re strip-mining them for profit.

 

The Paradox

 

The greatest irony? We’re using tomorrow’s technology to consume yesterday’s dreams. Streaming services filled with shows about the past. Instagram filters that make 2024 look like 1974. Spotify playlists titled “Old Songs Only.”

 

We’re not moving forward. We’re moonwalking into the future.

 

Nostalgia isn’t memory; it’s a mortgage on your feels, paying for tomorrow’s R&D.

 

The Emotional ATM for Brands

 

Ever wonder why Fevicol’s “Dum Laga Ke Haisha” ad glues you? It’s yesterday’s bhangra buying quantum computing tomorrow. Irreverent truth: Nostalgia’s the ultimate grift—free tears, premium ROI.

 

The Replay Button Hack

 

Why do reboots outsell originals? Because your brain is a lazy DJ, spinning ’80s synths to fund Marvel’s multiverse. Stranger Things revives Eggo waffles—sales spike 200%. Indian twist: Mirzapur Season 3 drops, and suddenly every chai stall’s hawking “Munna Bhaiya” banarasi paan. Hook: What if your childhood crush funded Elon’s Mars shot?

 

The Yesterday Industrial Complex

 

Nintendo’s selling you the same Mario you played in 1985—now on a Switch. Stranger Things made us nostalgic for a decade most of us hated living through.

 

In India, Amul’s mastered this dark art for decades. Same girl. Same polka dots. Same font since 1966. They’re not selling butter—they’re selling your childhood breakfast table. Britannia brings back “Good Day” memories with the same jingle that made your grandmother smile. Bajaj recently resurrected the Chetak scooter as an electric vehicle, banking on the tears of every middle-class family’s Sunday drives.

 

Why does this work?

 

Because nostalgia is the only time machine that comes with a Buy Now button.

 

Nostalgia’s Alchemy: Global Heists

 

Coca-Cola dusts off Santa Claus—holiday sales: $10B. Levi’s 501s whisper “rebel youth” to Gen Z wallets.

 

The Wake Up Call

 

Nostalgia is comfort food for the anxious soul. But here’s the thing about comfort food—consume too much, and you stop growing.

 

Smart brands know this. They don’t just mine the past; they remix it. They ask: What if we took what worked yesterday and rebuilt it for who we’re becoming tomorrow?

 

Because the real magic isn’t in selling yesterday.

 

It’s in reminding people that the feelings they’re chasing—joy, simplicity, connection—don’t require a time machine.

 

They require presence.

 

 

Why 10X Goals Are Easier Than 10%

 

Because playing small is far more exhausting than dreaming outrageously.

 

A confession please.

 

For years, I believed 10% growth was responsible. Adult. Boardroom-approved. The kind of number that doesn’t make the corner office leaders look up from their perennial ledger of lack( or choke on their cold brew).

 

10% felt safe. Sensible. Sensationally…uninspiring.

 

Then recently I stumbled upon a slim, dangerous little book by Price Pritchett called You². And it quietly punched a hole through everything I thought I knew about ambition, effort, and scale.

His provocation was simple—and explosive:

 

10X goals are often easier than 10% goals.

 

At first glance, this sounds like motivational speaker madness.

 

At second glance, it’s operational genius.

 

At third glance, it’s deeply uncomfortable—because it exposes how addicted we are to incremental thinking.

 

Why Your Brain Hates 10% (But Loves 10X)

 

Neuroscience time, but I’ll keep it short.

 

When you set a 10% goal, your brain rummages through its existing toolkit. “Okay, work harder, optimize this, tweak that.” You’re in incremental mode. You’re competing with everyone else who has the same toolkit, fighting for the same scraps. Remember, the brain is the laziest organ in the body.

 

It’s a Red Ocean strategy in Blue Ocean clothing.

 

When you set a 10X goal, your brain short-circuits. It cannot use existing methods. The math doesn’t work. So it starts asking different questions:

 

  • “What if we didn’t do it this way at all?”
  • “Who’s already solved a version of this in another industry?”
  • “What are we assuming that might not be true?”

 

This is why Elon Musk didn’t say “let’s make rocket launches 10% cheaper.” He said “let’s make them 90% cheaper by landing and reusing them.” Absurd? Yes. Impossible? Well, watch a Falcon 9 land on a drone ship in the middle of the ocean and then let us talk about impossible.

 

The Tyranny of the Reasonable

 

The truth about incremental goals that does not get airtime is this: They’re soul-crushingly boring.

 

And when something bores you, you sabotage it. Not consciously. But your brain—that magnificent pattern-recognition machine—knows the difference between “slightly better” and “holy-shit-this-changes-everything.”

 

Price Pritchett nailed this in his cult classic booklet You² (pronounced “You Squared”- pl see book cover above). In barely 40 pages, he demolishes the myth that bigger goals require proportionally bigger effort. Instead, he argues that quantum leaps require different thinking, not just more thinking.

 

But let’s get dirty( unreasonable) with some examples, shall we?

 

The Curiosity Loop: What Happens When You Go Big?

 

Now you’re wondering: What about regular businesses? Regular people?”

 

Fair question. Let’s talk about Lijjat Papad.

 

Seven Gujarati housewives in 1959. Starting capital: ₹80 borrowed. Goal: Financial independence in a society that didn’t want them working.

 

Did they say, “Let’s increase our household income by 10%”?

 

Hell no.

 

They said, “Let’s build an organization owned entirely by women workers.” Today, Lijjat is a ₹1,600 crore enterprise employing 43,000 women across India. Those seven women didn’t incrementally improve their situation. They invented a new category.

 

The Japanese Salaryman Who Quit Climbing Ladders for Skydiving

 

Japan’s karoshi culture—death by overwork—is infamous. Enter Hiroshi Mikitani, Rakuten’s founder. In 1997, he didn’t aim for 10% more sales at his job. He quit, bet his life savings on an internet startup when dial-up was for nerds, targeting a $100 billion empire. Today? Rakuten’s a beast. 10% increments? He’d still be filing TPS reports in a cubicle, keeling over at 55. Hiroshi didn’t tweak; he torched the ladder. Think about this: What if your next “increment” is actually a trapdoor?

 

ISRO vs NASA Budgets

 

ISRO’s Mars Orbiter Mission cost less than a Hollywood sci-fi movie. It is common knowledge now.

 

That wasn’t jugaad. That was 10X clarity.

 

Instead of asking: “How do we match NASA?”

 

They asked:

 

“How do we achieve the mission with radically fewer resources?”

 

10X goals force focus, not excess.

 

Netflix Didn’t Beat Blockbuster by Being 10% Better

 

Blockbuster tried:

 

  • Better stores
  • More titles
  • Lower late fees (eventually)

 

Netflix asked a 10X question: What if movies never required a store at all?

 

That question made stores irrelevant.

 

10X thinking doesn’t compete.

 

It changes the game so competition looks silly.

 

The Tyranny of 10% Thinking

 

A 10% goal asks a deceptively hard question:

 

“How do we do what we’re already doing… but slightly better?”

 

Which usually translates to:

  • More meetings
  • Longer decks
  • Extra pressure on already exhausted teams
  • Marginal tweaks dressed up as transformation

 

It keeps the same people,
the same processes,
the same mental models
—and expects a different outcome.

 

That’s not growth. That’s cardio.

 

10% goals trap us inside the prison of existing constraints.

 

They force optimisation, not imagination.

 

Why 10X Blows the Doors Open

 

So what happens when you ask a 10X question:

 

“What would this look like if we had to grow ten times?”

 

Suddenly:

  • Old assumptions collapse
  • Sacred cows panic
  • PowerPoint hides in the corner

 

Because 10X cannot be achieved by working harder.
It demands working differently.

 

10X goals don’t ask for more effort.
They ask for reinvention.

 

And paradoxically, that’s why they’re easier.

 

The Psychological Truth(in Hiding)

 

Here’s the part where most leadership miss the wood for the trees:

 

10% goals are emotionally heavy.

  • You feel the grind
  • You feel the pressure
  • You feel the incrementalism sucking your soul dry

 

10X goals are emotionally liberating.

 

  • You give yourself permission to break rules
  • You stop defending the past
  • You start designing the future

 

As Price Pritchett says in You²:

 

“Quantum leaps aren’t about more effort. They’re about different thinking.”

 

And different thinking is lighter than constant pushing.

 

But What About Failure?

 

I know you’re thinking, “this is all very inspiring, but what about risk? What about failure?”

 

That is an excellent question. And sorry to disappoint you: You’re already failing.

 

Staying in the 10% lane means you’re competing with everyone else in the 10% lane. Your odds of success aren’t actually higher—they’re lower, because you’re in a crowded field fighting for scraps.

 

Plus, here’s the mind numb: When you aim for 10% and hit 8%, you’ve failed. When you aim for 10X and hit 3X, you’re a hero.

 

The risk isn’t in going big. The risk is in thinking small in a world that rewards big thinking.

 

Why Leaders Fear 10X (But Secretly Crave It)

 

10X exposes:

  • Legacy mindsets
  • Power structures
  • Comfort disguised as caution

 

Which is why organisations say they want transformation but fund incrementalism.

 

10X doesn’t fail because it’s unrealistic. It fails because it’s honest.

 

In Closing, The Takeaway

 

10X goals are easier than 10% goals because they force you out of competitive markets and into creative ones.

 

They give you energy, attract better talent, and paradoxically reduce risk by reducing competition.

 

You’re not competing against everyone anymore.

 

You’re competing against what’s possible.

 

And what’s possible is always bigger than what’s reasonable.

 

Now go do something unreasonable.

 

Further Reading

 

You² (You Squared) by Price Pritchett – A 40-page manifesto on quantum leaps in performance. Read it in an hour. Think about it for years. Available on Amazon and worth every dollar | rupee.

The One Thing That Beats Motivation Every Time…

 

Two words that have been propagated since early childhood into our mental operating system: Try Harder. That’s a cruel little myth we’ve been force-fed. As if effort alone can out-muscle the gravitational pull of everything around us.

 

Because we’ve been sold a lie. A beautifully packaged, multi-billion dollar lie that success, health, and productivity are born from a single, Herculean muscle: Willpower. You’ve been told to swim upstream. To fight the current. To be the salmon. I’m here to tell you that the salmon, for all its effort, usually ends up dead and eaten by a bear. Charming, I know.The truth is, your willpower is a finite, flimsy little shield. Your environment, however, is a relentless, 24/7 army. Guess who wins?

The Lisbon ‘Mojito Trigger’: Why Your Cues Are Smarter Than You

 

Lisbon, mid-2000s. The city had a problem. A litter problem. The authorities had tried everything—fines, campaigns, you name it. They were swimming upstream. Then, a behavioural insights team did something absurdly simple.They placed small, quirky, brightly designed bins around the city that made a funny sound—a comical “thwump” or a silly jingle—when you tossed trash in. They didn’t appeal to willpower (“Citizens, you should keep the city clean!”). They redesigned the environment.Littering dropped dramatically. The act of throwing trash became a tiny, delightful game. The environment was no longer passive; it was an active participant, making the right behavior easy and fun.

 

This is what I call a Positive Trigger.” Your environment is full of them. The problem is, most are sabotaging you.

 

The cookie jar on the counter is a trigger.

The Netflix button on your remote is a trigger.

The phone notification is a screaming, neon-lit trigger.

You, relying on willpower, are a medieval soldier facing a drone strike. It’s not a fair fight.

 

The Surat ‘Silent Saboteur’: How India’s Diamond Capital Cut Distraction

 

Now, let’s bring it closer home. To the relentless, chaotic, and glorious energy of an Indian city, Surat. Imagine trying to get deep work done here. Your willpower stands no chance against the “chai-wallah!”call, the blaring horns, and the gravitational pull of family demands.

 

But in the diamond polishing units of Surat, they cracked this code centuries ago. In these workshops, artisans perform work that demands microscopic focus for hours on end. A single lapse could mean a fortune lost.Their secret? It wasn’t superior discipline. It was a perfectly crafted environment.The workshops are designed as sound-proofed, climate-controlled cocoons. The lighting is perfect, the seating ergonomic.

 

But the masterstroke?

 

The “No-Voice Zone.” They developed a complex, silent hand-signal language to communicate everything from “pass me that tool” to “lunch is here.”They didn’t tell their artisans to “focus harder.” They surgically removed the environmental distractions that required focus to overcome. They stopped the current, so they didn’t have to swim.Are you building a ‘No-Voice Zone‘ for your most important work? Or are you trying to perform brain surgery in a crowded bazaar and then blaming your shaky hands?

 

Stop Swimming Upstream. Start Redirecting the River

 

So, what’s the play? Do we just surrender to our surroundings? No. We become environmental architects.This isn’t about white-knuckling your way through the day. It’s about making the right behavior the path of least resistance, and the wrong one a pain in the you-know-what.

 

The Architecture of Behavior

 

We’ve been sold the biggest lie in self-help literature: that success is a function of grit, determination, and iron-clad willpower. That if only we tried harder, wanted it more, and resisted temptation better, we’d crack the code.

 

Nonsense.

 

Behavior is not a battle between good and evil happening inside your skull. Behavior is a transaction between you and your surroundings. And in that transaction, the environment always has the upper hand.

 

Consider this: A study tracking foraging human populations across 300+ locations worldwide found that humans behave remarkably similar to the birds and mammals living in the exact same environment. Whether it’s how we find food, organize socially, or even reproduce—the local environment dictates behavior far more than individual determination or cultural background. If you’re in the African rainforest, you store less food (just like 96% of mammal species around you). If you’re in colder climates, you hoard for winter. The environment writes the script; we just follow stage directions.

 

Now, if environment can override millions of years of human evolution, what chance does your Monday morning motivation stand?

 

The Japanese Know Something We Don’t

 

Walk into any convenience store in Tokyo—a konbini, as locals call it—and you’ll witness environmental design at its most ruthless efficiency.

 

Fresh onigiri at eye level. Hot coffee for ¥100 at the entrance. Fried chicken packaged in bags specifically engineered so you can eat while walking without grease on your hands. The average konbini rotates 100-200 products every single week based on what sells. If something doesn’t move, it vanishes. No second chances.

 

But here’s the kicker: They restock food multiple times a day. Why? Because freshness drives behavior. You’re not buying “a sandwich.” You’re buying “a sandwich made 3 hours ago that tastes better than what you’d make at home.” The environment has removed every friction point between desire and action.

 

Result? Over 55,000 convenience stores across Japan generating ¥11.8 trillion in annual sales. That’s not convenience. That’s environmental manipulation disguised as service.

 

Meanwhile, we’re still telling ourselves we’ll wake up at 5 AM tomorrow because “this time it’s different.”

 

The Supermarket Isn’t Selling You Groceries. It’s Selling You Impulses

 

Dutch researchers created a virtual supermarket to test how “nudges” affect purchasing behavior. They placed healthy foods at eye level, added subtle visual cues, and used strategic lighting.

 

Sales of promoted healthy items increased. Not because people suddenly developed nutritional consciousness. But because the environment made the healthy choice easier than the unhealthy one.

 

Now flip that. When was the last time you went to buy milk and came back without chips, biscuits, or that “on sale” chocolate bar at the checkout counter? The store layout isn’t random. Those chips aren’t at the billing counter by accident. They’re positioned where your willpower is at its lowest—after you’ve already made 27 other decisions about what to buy.

 

Your brain is tired. Your resistance is depleted. And there’s Kurkure, whispering sweet nothings at you. The environment wins. Every single time.

 

The Bengaluru Footpath Paradox

 

In India, we love to talk about behavioral change. “People just don’t follow rules.” “Nobody wants to walk.” “Indians prefer cars.”

 

No. What Indians prefer is not breaking their ankles on broken footpaths that vendors have occupied because urban planning treated pedestrians as an afterthought.

 

Bengaluru, Delhi, Mumbai—our cities are designed for vehicles, not humans. Wide roads, narrow sidewalks, no safe crossings, no continuous walking paths. Then we’re shocked that people prefer Ola over walking.

 

Compare this to Ahmedabad’s BRTS or the heritage streetscape revival on Mumbai’s Dadabhai Naoroji Road. When you design streets with pedestrians in mind—proper signage, lighting, accessible pathways—people walk. Not because they suddenly became virtuous. Because the environment supported the behavior.

 

Change the stage, and the actors will follow the new script.

 

Don’t Swim Upstream

 

There’s a Zen saying: You should sit in meditation for 20 minutes a day. Unless you’re too busy. Then you should sit for an hour.

 

Inspiring? Sure. Practical? Absolutely not.

 

If your environment demands chaos, no amount of willpower will deliver calm. If your desk faces the TV, your “focus time” will remain fiction. If your phone buzzes 146 times a day, your deep work won’t materialize through sheer determination.

 

The smarter move? Don’t fight the current. Change the river.

 

Want to read more? Don’t put books on your wishlist. Put them on your pillow.

Want to eat healthier? Don’t stock junk food “for guests.” Guests will survive.

Want to exercise daily? Don’t rely on motivation. Place your running shoes next to your bed.

 

Stop trying to be a better person in a broken environment. Start building a better environment for the person you already are.

 

The Reality Check( I Know It Is Unsolicited)

 

Your gym membership isn’t the problem. The 45-minute commute to get there is.

Your lack of focus isn’t a character flaw. Your open office plan is.

Your inability to save money isn’t about discipline. It’s about Swiggy notifications and one-click checkouts.

 

We overestimate willpower and underestimate the silent, relentless influence of our surroundings. Neuroscience backs this up: The basal ganglia—the part of your brain forming habits—responds automatically to environmental cues. You don’t “decide” to brush your teeth every morning. You just do it because the toothbrush is there, the bathroom is there, and the routine is embedded in your environment.

 

The same mechanism works for everything else. The only question is: Are you designing your environment for the behavior you want, or are you swimming upstream against environmental currents pulling you in the opposite direction?

 

So, What Could We Takeaway? Stuff That You Could Use?

 

1. Audit Your Environment Like a Forensic Investigator Walk through your home, workspace, phone. What’s begging for your attention? What’s creating friction? What’s making bad choices easy and good choices hard? Write it down.

 

2. The 2-Minute Rule (Backwards) Instead of asking “What can I do in 2 minutes?”, ask: “What can I remove in 2 minutes that will save me hours of resisting temptation?” Delete apps. Hide remote controls. Unsubscribe from retail emails.

 

3. Make the Right Thing the Lazy Thing Humans are efficiency machines. We take the path of least resistance. Design your environment so that the easiest choice is the right choice. Meal prep on Sunday so grabbing healthy food is easier than ordering in. Pre-pack your gym bag the night before.

 

4. Change One Thing This Week Not ten. One. Move your phone charger out of the bedroom. Rearrange your desk so distractions are behind you. Place a water bottle where you sit most often. Small environmental tweaks compound into massive behavioral shifts.

 

5. Stop Heroic. Start Strategic. Discipline is overrated. Systems are underrated. You don’t need to be superhuman. You just need to be smart about your surroundings. Olympians don’t train in chaotic environments. Bestselling authors don’t write in noisy cafes (unless that’s their system). Figure out your system, then engineer the environment to support it.

 

Before I sign off, a Final Word

 

Your willpower is finite. Your environment is infinite.

Stop fighting a battle you’ll never win. Change the battlefield instead.

Don’t swim upstream. Reroute the river.

Deep inside, we’re wired not for victory, but for velocity

” An object in possession seldom retains the same charm that it had in pursuit.” — Pliny the Younger

 

The Problem Isn’t What You Want. It’s What Happens After You Get It.

 

There’s a strange, almost comical moment in every human life:

 

You chase something with the hunger of a pilgrim. You pray for it, plan around it, pitch it to yourself repeatedly. You finally get it.

 

And then— something inside you quietly whispers… “This? Really?”

 

Welcome to what is defined as hedonic adaptation.

 

It happens in boardrooms, in relationships, in branding campaigns, in entrepreneurship, in careers, in consumption, in spirituality.

 

It’s a universal glitch.

 

Pliny the Younger spotted it 1,900 years ago. We still haven’t updated the firmware.

 

The Pursuit High: A Pleasant Addiction We Don’t Admit To

 

Psychologists call it “reward prediction error.”

Brands call it “the next launch.”

Entrepreneurs call it “once this milestone comes…”

Couples call it “we need a vacation.”

Politicians call it “my next term.”

 

But everywhere, the script is the same: Anticipation > Acquisition.

 

And the world is full of beautifully bizarre stories that prove it.

 

The Twisted Math Of Wanting

 

Here’s what your brain does, and it’s diabolical:

 

During pursuit: Dopamine floods your system. Every product video, every saved link, every mental calculation of “I could afford this if I skip lunch for three months”—it’s all rocket fuel for your pleasure centers.

 

Upon acquisition: Dopamine hits pause. “Cool. Next?”

 

Thirty days later: What sound system?

 

Hedonic adaptation describes how people naturally return to stable happiness levels after positive or negative life events, making initial excitement fade as newness wears off.

 

The scientists have a term for it: the Hedonic Treadmill. You run faster, you stay in the same place, and somehow you’re also paying for premium gym membership.

 

The corporate world figured this out decades ago. Why do you think there will be an iPhone 47? Because the iPhone 46 stopped sparking joy approximately eleven minutes after unboxing.

 

The Rolling Stones’ Lost Guitar

 

Keith Richards of the fabled Rolling Stones once lost his cherished guitar in a hotel. The hunt? Frenzied, desperate. The music, the magic imagined with that guitar? Boundless. When it was finally recovered, Richards said he barely noticed. The pursuit had sculpted a myth, while possession was mundane.

 

The Psychology Behind The Elusive Charm

 

Science backs this phenomenon: The “reward prediction error” theory says we thrive on anticipation. The joy spikes as we get closer to a goal, then crashes upon achievement as the mind recalibrates.

 

Our minds are wired less to possess and more to pursue.

 

The Dopamine Deception: Our Brain On The Hunt

 

Neuroscience has a name for our Roman friend Pliny’s observation: the Dopamine Loop. Contrary to popular belief, dopamine isn’t the pleasure chemical; it’s the anticipation chemical. It’s the biological kick you get from the hunt, the search, the potential of a reward.

The moment you click “buy,” your brain has already celebrated. The possession is just the administrative cleanup. The charm wasn’t in the object; it was in the movie your mind directed, scored, and produced about the object. The reality, no matter how shiny, can never compete with the blockbuster playing in your head.

This isn’t just about consumerism. This is the operating system of our desires—for careers, relationships, status.

 

The Tulip That Bankrupted A Nation( Netherlands, 1637)

 

Imagine a flower bulb so coveted, it was worth a grand Amsterdam canal house. During Tulip Mania, a single Semper Augustus tulip bulb could fetch that price. People sold their businesses, land, and life savings for a piece of paper—a futures contract—for a bulb still in the ground. The pursuit was a national bloodsport. Then, the bubble burst. The bulbs, now physically possessed, were just… bulbs. The charm wasn’t in the flower; it was in the delirious, collective pursuit of unimaginable wealth.

 

The Wake-Up Call: You Are Addicted to Your Own Movie

So, what’s the reality check? Your life is likely a series of completed pursuits, leaving a trail of mildly disappointing possessions and achievements. The promotion came with bureaucracy. The dream car with EMI stress. The perfect partner with… well, reality.

The modern world is a factory designed to exploit this very loop. Swipe, refresh, buy, upgrade. It’s a hamster wheel of desire, and you’re the hamster, thinking you’re on a cosmic journey.

The charm dissipates not because the object is flawed, but because the pursuit—the state of wanting—is where you are most creatively, passionately, and vibrantly engaged.

 

The $40,000 Omelette Nobody Wanted – New York, USA

 

A Manhattan restaurant once introduced a $40,000 omelette (yes, 4-zero-thousand) featuring lobster and rare caviar.

 

People lined up to see it, photograph it, post about it.

 

The restaurant became a sensation.

 

But the sales? A few units a year.

 

It turned out people wanted the idea of experiencing luxury far more than the ownership of eating it. Charm in pursuit.Disinterest in possession.

 

The Case of the Japanese “Rent-a-Family” Industry

 

Japan’s booming “rent-a-family” business (you can literally hire an actor to play a parent, partner or friend for a day) is built entirely on Pliny’s insight:

 

People often find fantasy companionship more emotionally satisfying than real-life relationships, which come with expectations, unpredictability, and complexity. Pursuit is emotionally safe. Possession is emotionally costly.

 

Why the Mind Loves the Chase More Than the Catch

 

1. Possession introduces responsibility.

Desire has no maintenance cost. Ownership does.

 

2. Pursuit is identity-enhancing.

We are what we strive for—not always what we own.

 

3. The brain releases dopamine during anticipation, not arrival.

This is why apps ping you during the waiting phase.
This is why sales funnels are engineered around suspense.
This is why every trailer is more exciting than the movie.

 

4. The novelty arc collapses instantly upon possession.

This is why toddlers toss new toys aside. And why adults chase new phones with toddler-level enthusiasm.

 

A Reality Check for Brands, Leaders & Humans

 

If Pliny’s law is true (and it clearly is),
then the question isn’t:

“How do we help people want our product?”

But:

“How do we help them continue wanting it after they own it?”

 

Most brands, leaders, institutions, couples, creators, and careers fail right here.

 

Retention dies not because value drops—
but because charm drops.

 

Charm is the ultimate renewable resource.
But only if you design for it.

 

Some potential thought sparks

 

Design for the ‘Second Seduction.’

The first purchase wins a customer.
The second desire keeps them.
Create rituals, surprises, personal wins after ownership.

 

Keep a bit of mystery alive.

The worst thing a brand or leader can do:
become predictable.

 

Shift from “What we offer” to “What they continue to experience.”

Charm is experiential, not transactional.

 

Celebrate progress, not possession.

Make the journey feel like the reward.
Gamify growth, not ownership.

 

Build “pursuit loops” into the product or relationship.

Micro-chases.
Mini milestones.
Unfolding chapters.

Humans crave movement more than medals.

 

We chase.
We catch.
We yawn.

 

Then we chase again— because deep inside, we’re wired not for victory,
but for velocity.

 

Pliny merely held up the mirror. We’re the ones who keep looking away.

 

So maybe the trick is simple:
Don’t fall in love with what you want.
Fall in love with what you do with it after you get it.

 

That’s where charm lives.
And where most of the world never looks.

Is Rahul Gandhi the Worst Brand Saboteur that India Inc Never Appointed?

 

Caveat Before We Begin

 

Before anyone leaps to conclusions, let me state this with crystalline clarity:
I, Suresh Dinakaran, am not espousing a political ideology, aligning with any party, or building a partisan narrative.

This is a branding lens.

A lens trained to detect patterns of perception, signals of credibility, and the long-term impact leaders have on the brand called Bharat—irrespective of which party they belong to.

 

This is about leadership as brand stewardship, not Left or Right.
It’s about a country’s image, its voice, and its future.

 

If India Inc. Had a Hiring Policy, Would Rahul Even Get an Interview?

 

Some leaders build nations. Others accidentally( I am beginning to see this as strategically) export doubt wholesale. This is a story about unearned privilege meeting unforced errors on the world stage.

 

So here’s the question:

 

Is Rahul Gandhi genuinely concerned for India yet chronically incapable of articulating that concern without damaging India’s reputation?

Or

Does he not fully understand the weight of representing a civilizational state on a global stage?

 

Let’s examine this — with balance, with nuance, but without flinching.

 

The Curious Case of the Accidental( or Deliberate?) Anti-Ambassador

 

Here’s a question that might set the cat amongst the pigeons in the personal branding fraternity. What happens when someone with immense inherited credibility systematically dismantles it, podium by podium, speech by speech, continent by continent?

 

Meet Rahul Gandhi, India’s Leader of Opposition, a title that carries constitutional gravitas but seems to sit as comfortably on his shoulders as a borrowed suit two sizes too large. And before you accuse me of partisan warfare, as I outlined right at the outset, let me be clear: this isn’t about left versus right, Congress versus BJP, or dynasty versus democracy. This is about something far more fundamental—the catastrophic collision between personal branding and national pride.

 

Because the truth to learn from is that Rahul Gandhi has become what we might call a Brand Saboteur—someone whose actions, intentional or otherwise, consistently undermine the very entity they’re meant to represent.

 

The Dynasty Discount: When Inheritance Replaces Investment

Let’s start where every honest conversation must: at the beginning.

 

Rahul Gandhi didn’t climb the greasy pole of Indian politics. He was born at the top of it. His great-grandfather was Jawaharlal Nehru. His grandmother was Indira Gandhi. His father was Rajiv Gandhi. In any other profession, this would be called nepotism. In Indian politics, it’s called “natural succession.”

 

He gained admission to St. Stephen’s College through the sports quota, later moved to Harvard after his father’s assassination, and eventually worked at Monitor Group in London before returning to India to establish a technology consultancy. A respectable enough trajectory—except that none of it explains the leap from businessman to vice president of India’s oldest political party in 2013, and eventual party president in 2017.

 

The problem isn’t that he inherited privilege. Privilege exists. The problem is what he’s done—or rather, hasn’t done—with it.

 

When you haven’t earned something through blood, sweat, and the brutal meritocracy of the marketplace, you don’t develop the survival instinct that comes from fighting for every inch. You don’t learn to read rooms, navigate complex negotiations, or understand that every word you speak on foreign or home soil echoes back amplified a thousandfold.

 

And boy, do those echoes carry.

 

The International Credibility Crisis: A Passport to Pessimism

Here’s where our story takes its most painful turn—the moment a Leader of Opposition becomes, inadvertently, a one-man tourism board for India’s critics.

 

The Cambridge Conundrum

At Cambridge University in February 2023, Gandhi declared that “Indian democracy is under attack” from the BJP government, claimed the Opposition was under “constant pressure,” and alleged that Pegasus spyware was being used to snoop on him and other politicians.

 

Now, let’s pause here. Criticism of governments is not just acceptable—it’s essential. Opposition leaders must hold power accountable. But there’s a Grand Canyon-sized difference between domestic accountability and international theater.

 

When you stand on foreign soil and declare your nation’s democracy “under attack,” you’re not just criticizing a government—you’re handing ammunition to every critic, competitor, and adversary your country has. You’re telling investors to think twice. You’re giving diplomatic rivals talking points. You’re essentially saying, “Don’t trust the institutions of my country.”

 

The Harvard Hiccup

At Harvard, Gandhi questioned whether India was “a fair and free democracy,” suggesting the “big fight in India is based on caste.” Again, caste is a legitimate issue deserving serious discussion. But reducing India’s complex democratic experiment—the world’s largest—to a single fault line while addressing foreign students isn’t illuminating. It’s reductive.

 

London (2023): “Indian democracy needs a little help from the outside”

 

His statement that Indian democracy needs “intervention” from abroad sparked the strongest diplomatic rebuke the UK had issued on Indian political discourse.

 

Never clarified. Never corrected.

 

Singapore (2018): “Politics of anger” & “India is divided”

Anecdotal oversimplification became an international soundbite.

 

Hamburg, Germany (2018): ISIS & Unemployment

He suggested unemployed youth in India could turn to ISIS-like radicalisation — drawing a sharp backlash for false equivalence.

 

Turkey & Bahrain: “India is a country of violence”

Statements made with no counterbalancing nuance or solutions — only sweeping generalisations.

 

Colombia (2024): “Wholesale attack on democracy… China is better organized than India”

Nothing damages a nation’s brand more than suggesting an authoritarian state is administratively superior to one’s own.

 

I am not even going into “Aloo se sona banane ki machine”, “Mahilaon ki izzat nahi hoti, isliye main Bharat Jodo Yatra kar raha hoon.”, “Bimari ke sath bimari milti hai”…

 

The issue isn’t vocabulary. The issue is narrative discipline — or the absence of it.

 

The Pattern Problem

These aren’t isolated. At Chatham House in London, Gandhi expressed surprise that “Western European countries don’t seem to notice that large chunks of democracy were falling away” in India.

 

Notice the pattern? The venue changes, but the script remains the same: India’s institutions are crumbling, democracy is dying, and the current government is to blame for everything.

 

The Arnab Moment: When Unpreparedness Met Prime Time

 

If there’s a “before” and “after” moment in Rahul Gandhi’s political brand journey, it’s the 2014 interview with Arnab Goswami on Times Now.

 

After ten years in elected office, Gandhi sat down for his first formal prime-time interview—a grueling hour and twenty minutes that exposed worrying vagueness, with the Congress scion at turns “confident and worryingly vague,” repeating himself, looking distracted, and appearing generally unprepared.

 

When asked if he was avoiding a face-off with Narendra Modi, Gandhi responded: “To understand that question you have to understand who Rahul Gandhi is and what Rahul Gandhi’s circumstances have been.” He referred to himself in the third person—never a good sign when you’re trying to project leadership.

 

The interview was such a disaster that Arnab Goswami later revealed Gandhi’s team thought “his level was very much below the mark and requested Arnab to give him a second chance, whereas by then, the tapes were already on the way to Mumbai.”

 

This wasn’t just a bad interview. It was a masterclass in how not to do personal branding. The lack of preparation. The circular arguments. The inability to deliver crisp, quotable responses. The third-person references. It all pointed to one uncomfortable reality: the emperor’s new clothes were invisible because there were no clothes to begin with.

 

Talk about “Privilege without Performance—A Masterclass in Brand Devaluation”.

 

The Foot-in-Mouth Disease: A Chronic Condition

 

Every politician misspeaks occasionally. It’s human. But with Gandhi, the gaffes have achieved a peculiar consistency that suggests something deeper than occasional slips.

 

There’s the infamous “escape velocity” metaphor for poverty that left economists scratching their heads. There’s “poverty is a state of mind.” There’s referring to himself repeatedly in the third person. There’s “terrorism is impossible to be stopped at all time. We will stop 99% of the attacks; 1% of the attacks will get through”—a statement that offers cold comfort to victims of terror.

 

And most recently, during debates on Operation Sindoor, Gandhi misquoted External Affairs Minister S. Jaishankar, claiming that “informing Pakistan at the start of our attack was a crime,” implying India warned Pakistan before strikes began—a gross distortion that the Ministry of External Affairs had to officially refute.

 

Pakistani media immediately picked up Gandhi’s statements, with channels running news asking “how many Indian jets were lost,” essentially using his words as propaganda validation.

 

This isn’t just a domestic political own goal. It’s an international credibility catastrophe.

 

“The ‘Yes Men’ Orchestra: Playing to an Empty Gallery

 

Every Bharat Inc. CEO knows: your brand’s fate depends on the voices you heed. But Rahul, forever encircled by anodyne cheerleaders, seems to play in an echo chamber cranked up to 11.

 

Fresh ideas and constructive dissent? Not on this menu. Instead, every misstep meets a round of applause, every gaffe becomes the next campaign anthem. It’s like a focus group where everyone’s paid in family brownies—and skepticism is a sacking offence. Welcome to the Republic called ” The Cacophony of Consensus: Where No ‘No Men’ Are Allowed.

 

The pattern continues. Who advises Gandhi to make these international speeches? Who reviews the talking points? Who debriefs after each appearance and says, “Perhaps framing our entire democracy as collapsing while standing in Cambridge isn’t the strategic win we’re looking for”?

 

The silence is deafening because it doesn’t exist. Or if it does, it’s the kind of silence that comes from courtiers afraid to speak truth to inherited power.

 

This is the curse of dynastic politics—you’re surrounded by people who owe their positions to your surname, not to your competence. They won’t tell you the speech was terrible. They’ll say it was “brave” and “necessary.” They won’t mention that you referred to yourself in the third person. They’ll praise your “authenticity.”

 

To me, he is the Czar of Counter-Positioning!

 

When Your Quotes Become Their Weapons

 

Perhaps the most damning indictment of Gandhi’s brand sabotage is how adversaries weaponize his statements.

 

In 2019, Pakistan’s letter to the UN quoted Rahul Gandhi, noting that he had mentioned “people dying” in Jammu and Kashmir following the abrogation of Article 370.

 

In 2024, designated terrorist Gurpatwant Singh Pannun used Gandhi’s statements about Sikhs facing “existential threat” in Modi’s India to justify Khalistan referendum calls, declaring Gandhi “the new face of India” and suggesting Congress has accepted Punjab’s independence.

 

When terrorists, hostile nations, and separatist movements quote you more often than your own supporters, your personal branding has achieved something quite remarkable: it has become radioactive.

 

The Vision Vacuum: Criticism Without Construction

 

Here’s the question that haunts( or must) Gandhi’s political brand: What does he actually stand for?

 

Strip away the anti-Modi rhetoric. Remove the dynasty legacy. Subtract the attacks on institutions. What’s left?

 

Opposition is essential in democracy. But opposition without a compelling alternative isn’t governance—it’s just noise. Gandhi himself acknowledged: “the real challenge that people like me and other leaders in the opposition have is, what does that thing look like?”

 

That admission—honest as it may be—is the problem. You can’t inspire a nation by admitting you haven’t figured out the alternative yet. You can’t ask people to follow you into the unknown when you confess you’re not sure where you’re going.

 

Personal branding 101: Be for something, not just against everything.

 

The Personal Branding Imperatives for Leaders of State (and Opposition)

 

This brings us to the heart of the matter: What does effective personal branding look like for a Leader of Opposition in the world’s largest democracy?

 

1. Earn Your Stripes Visibly

If you inherited your position, work triple-hard to prove you deserve it. Show up. Do the groundwork. Master policy details. Become indispensable through competence, not just through surname

 

2. Master the Art of Constructive Criticism

Hold power accountable—domestically. Save your most scathing critiques for Parliament, state assemblies, and Indian media. On foreign soil, be statesmanlike. Represent the nation first, your party second.

 

3. Develop a Positive Vision

“Not them” isn’t a platform. “Here’s what we’ll build” is. Voters need to see what you’re for, not just what you’re against.

 

4. Prepare Like Your Legacy Depends on It (Because It Does)

Gandhi’s team should have limited the Arnab interview to 30 minutes, prepared exhaustive FAQs, and anticipated difficult questions. Preparation isn’t optional at this level—it’s existential.

 

5. Choose Your Counselors Wisely

Surround yourself with people who will tell you uncomfortable truths, not comfortable lies. If everyone agrees with you all the time, you’re in an echo chamber, not a war room.

 

6. Understand That Every Word is Permanent

In the digital age, there are no throwaway comments. Everything is recorded, transcribed, translated, and potentially weaponized. Speak with the awareness that your words will outlive the moment.

 

7. National Pride Transcends Party Politics

There’s a line—admittedly blurry—between legitimate criticism and national self-harm. Learn where it is. Respect it.

 

Coining the Condition: From Brand Ambassador to Brand Saboteur

We need a new language for this phenomenon. Because this rare specie merited it. I was thinking of “UnBrand Ambassador” first but it doesn’t quite capture it—too passive, too neutral. What we’re witnessing is more active, more consequential.

 

Brand Saboteur works better—someone whose actions, whether intentional or through sheer incompetence(or both), actively undermine the entity they are meant to represent.

 

But perhaps we need something more specific to the political realm:

 

National Credit Eroder (NCE): A political leader whose statements systematically diminish their nation’s credibility, particularly on international platforms.

 

Reputation Liability (RL): A public figure whose presence in discourse creates more reputational risk than value.

 

Legacy Borrower Without Returns: Someone trading on inherited credibility while generating negative equity for the very institutions that gave them standing.

 

Dynasty Vs Destiny: The Narrative That Never Grows Up

 

Rahul Gandhi’s biggest inheritance is not wealth — but political oxygen.
He has never had to fight for airtime, platform, or access. That isn’t an accusation; it’s a fact.

 

But leadership, unlike legacy, must be earned, not entitled.

 

In his well-known Arnab Goswami interview (Jan 2014), he had said:

 

“I didn’t choose to be born in this family… I can walk away or I can improve things.”

 

A fair point.

 

But almost 12 years later, the question remains: Has he improved anything — or repeatedly walked away from accountability, responsibility, and coherence?

 

A brand that refuses to mature becomes a caricature. A leader that refuses to evolve becomes a liability.

 

Closing Note: For Bharat, Not for Politics

 

India’s political class must rise above electoral combat and embrace brand stewardship.

Every speech abroad is a billboard for Bharat.
Every interview is a micro-moment of perception management.
Every quote is a line item in India’s global brand equity.

 

Rahul Gandhi must choose his moment:
Will he be the heir to a dynasty?
Or the architect of a new leadership ethos?

 

At this stage, the world is not judging his ideology.
It is judging his capacity.

 

And that is the real story.

Meet street dogs: the original work-from-home pioneers…

 

Lessons in life, leadership, letting go, letting loose from the masters of strategic indifference: our own street dogs.

 

Ever seen a street dog negotiate highway traffic like it’s a Formula 1 track? Sorry to disappoint you: They aren’t just chasing cars—they’re auditioning for the next Fast & Furry-ous!

 

They are the undisputed Guardians of the Gully: Every patch of pavement is a throne, every trash bin a treasure chest. Take a pause to understand this: From yoga stretches to daredevil sprints—street dogs live the drama on four paws.

 

While we have been obsessing over our LinkedIn | Instagram profiles, quarterly targets and the next big start-up idea, an entire shadow government has been operating right under our nose—literally at knee level. They don’t file taxes, they ignore traffic rules, and they’ve mastered the art of doing absolutely nothing while looking extremely busy.

 

So what can we possibly learn from creatures who sleep 16 hours, own nothing, and spend their waking hours barking at vehicles? Turns out, everything.

 

Every dog has its day, but street dogs have EVERY day.

 

They don’t wait for permission, perfect timing, or ideal conditions. Every day is their day because they’ve decided it is. Their joy, sleep, and existence don’t require your validation. Freedom 101.

 

Every dog has its day, and they’re not documenting it for the ‘gram’.

 

That nap? Unposted. That victory over the motorcycle? No story update. That perfect spot in the sun? No check-in. They’re just… living it.

 

Don’t mistake their going solo for loneliness: It’s high-stakes self-reliance. Watching a solo street dog navigate traffic is watching poetry and danger unfold in tandem.

 

The subtle nods, shared snacks, protective barks are more than survival tactics—they’re an emotional ecosystem that mirrors, dare we say, office politics with way less paperwork. Clan life runs deep.

 

A complex vocabulary of growls, yaps, and silent howls that forms the street’s social contract. You begin to understand that bark code is a language.

 

The mix is about going solo or clanning. Behold the Solo Sentinel. This isn’t a dog; it’s a franchise owner. That 200-meter stretch of pavement outside Sharma Ji’s clinic? His sole proprietorship. He defends it not with legal paperwork, but with a glare that could freeze a running engine and a proprietary bark that translates to, “My EBITDA, my rules.” His heroism isn’t in epic battles, but in the daily, stoic ownership of his domain.

 

Contrast this with The Clan. The Magnificent Seven. Fantastic Four. The Dirty Dozen. Three’s Company. They’re the conglomerate. They control the entire park, with a complex hierarchy visible only to the initiated. The alpha doesn’t always lead the charge; he’s the strategist from the rear, deploying lieutenants to handle scooter incursions while he conserves energy for critical disputes with the rival clan from the next block.

 

Ever noticed how the laziest dog on the block becomes an Olympian sprinter the moment a car backfires? What ancient betrayal by the wheel do they collectively remember?” “The next time you see two clans in a tense, barking standoff, ask yourself: Is this about a female, a forgotten bone, or a deeply held ideological difference over garbage heap sovereignty?

 

There’s no better MBA in leadership, community building, risk-taking, and time-pass management than observing street dogs for 15 minutes. Forget Harvard — try HSR Layout, Bangalore.

 

Watch a pack when one among them barks. It’s never a lonely bark. It’s a WhatsApp broadcast in audio format. Within 0.8 seconds, five other dogs join the group call.

 

Suddenly, a dog who was sleeping in Shavasana for six straight hours leaps up like he’s heard the stock market crash.

 

Because community matters. And the street dog community is strong enough to make HR departments cry.

 

If Marvel ever wants stunt doubles, our street dogs are ready.

 

Crossing a six-lane highway at 6 pm? Easy.

 

They don’t run. They saunter, glancing casually at speeding cars like:

 

“Bro, you slow down. I was here first.” Street dogs are the stunt daredevils we never paid for.

 

This is not bravery. This is divine-level risk appetite.

 

Most of them can start their Yoga Studios and people would be flocking to them. The same dogs who do death-defying highway sprints also practice:

 

  • Downward Dog (naturally)-Performed approximately 47 times a day, usually after a nap, with the kind of satisfaction that suggests they’ve just solved world hunger.

 

  • The Twist:That full-body contortion while scratching an itch? That’s advanced spinal flexibility right there. We’re out here cracking our backs just getting out of bed.

 

  • The Sun Salutation( Surya Namaskar, if you may): Except they do it ironically, by finding the ONE patch of sunlight streaming through a gap and occupying it with the dedication of a sunbather in Sao Polo.

 

  • The Corpse Pose (Shavasana): Executed with such commitment that you’ll genuinely wonder if they’re still breathing. Bonus points when performed in the middle of a busy marketplace, completely oblivious to the chaos around them.

 

Their stretching routine alone puts our gym warmups to shame. Every limb extended to its maximum capacity, that satisfying shake that travels from nose to tail, followed by a yawn that seems to dislocate their entire jaw. They’ve mastered the art of being simultaneously completely relaxed and utterly present.

 

They are enlightened beings. Buddha had a Bodhi tree; street dogs have dust and sunshine.

 

If yawn were to be an Olympic sport, street dogs would be raking in the gold by the dozen.

 

Have you ever seen a street dog yawn? It is opera-level drama.

 

A grand saga of lungs, tongue, teeth, and pure “I-own-this-street” confidence.

 

Human yawns are out of biological necessity. Dog yawns are a statement.

 

They are at their natural best when attending to nature’s call.

 

They will walk. And walk. And walk. Sniff. Reject location. Walk more.
Reject again. Find the exact spiritual GPS coordinate where the universe aligns.

 

Only then does nature get permission to call.

 

Humans should learn selectiveness from them.

 

Marketing Psychology often uses terms like thrill of the chaseandafterglow ‘. Let me explain for all those unaware. The thrill of the chase refers to the excitement and dopamine-driven anticipation consumers experience during the pursuit of a purchase or goal, while the afterglow is the subsequent, but often transient, feeling of satisfaction or happiness after the purchase is completed.

 

Watch them sprint after a two wheeler and put the rider under maximum stress test. The Triumph( they are brand agnostic, so it can even be a Yamaha or a Pulsar or a Harley or a Hero) on their face is an eclectic mix of the thrill of the chase and the afterglow combined.

 

Let’s address the elephant in the room—or rather, the dog on the street corner. These canines have carved up our cities with the precision of a mafia don dividing turf. That stretch from the chai shop to the paan stall? That’s Bruno’s. The parking lot near the temple? Belongs to the one-eared veteran we call Colonel. Moti struts near the Municipal school. Tommy being the mass market brand is all over the place.And, if given a chance, I would like to have a streetcar…oops…street dog named desire.

 

While we’re stuck in society WhatsApp groups arguing about parking slots and whose car is blocking whose imaginary boundary, these dogs have perfected the art of territorial control without a single property deed, Aadhar card, or angry notice.

 

The solo operators are my favorites—the Clint Eastwoods of the street dog world. You know the type. Usually positioned at a strategic traffic signal, maintaining eye contact that says, “I’ve seen things you wouldn’t believe.” They don’t need a pack. They ARE the pack. Their vibe screams, “I have a particular set of skills,” except those skills involve strategic napping and intimidating Swiggy delivery guys.

 

Forget Duolingo. The real street smarts are communicating in frequencies we can’t even comprehend.

 

There’s a entire vocabulary( actually linguistic marvel) happening:

 

  • 3 AM Bark: “I exist, therefore I bark” (Philosophical)
  • Motorcycle Bark: “Unacceptable! This two-wheeled demon must be stopped!” (Righteous anger)
  • Inter-pack Bark: “Carl from the next street is on our turf again” (Gossip/Intel sharing)
  • Food Bark: “The wedding caterers are here” (Community alert system)
  • Random 2 PM Bark: No reason. Just felt like it. (Existential)

 

The coordination is the killer. One dog spots a suspicious character (read: any human walking confidently), sounds the alarm, and suddenly it’s a relay race of barking spreading across three streets. It’s like a WhatsApp forward, except with better reach and more urgency.

 

And they have this incredible ability to bark at absolutely nothing. You’ll look where they’re looking, see literally empty space, and they’re having a full-blown meltdown. Either they’re seeing ghosts, or they’re performance artists and we’re all part of their immersive theatre experience.

 

So the next time you’re stuck in traffic, stressed about deadlines, worried about what people think, anxious about the future, or convinced that you need to achieve-acquire-accomplish to matter—look at that street dog sprawled on the pavement without a care in the world.

 

He’s not worried about his social media profile.
He’s not anxious about “making it.”
He’s not comparing his life to some filtered version of someone else’s.
He’s not even slightly bothered that he has no plans for the weekend.

 

He’s just there. Fully, completely, unapologetically there.

 

And maybe—just maybe—that scruffy, flea-bitten philosopher sleeping in the shade of your judgment is the most enlightened being you’ll encounter today.

 

They’re not waiting for their day.
Every day is their day.
They made sure of it.

 

Street dogs teach us that sovereignty is situational—sometimes it means charging fearlessly forward, other times it’s stretching wide open to seize a moment of calm.

 

Every dog has its day’ isn’t just a saying; it’s a street dog manifesto—raw, irreverent, and unflinchingly real.

 

 

If the worst-case is a bruise and the best-case is a breakthrough, why are you still standing there?

 

I am sorry: this might be the slap that was not expected.

 

The Mathematics of Regret

 

Here’s a truth backed by actual research from Cornell University’s Gilovich study on regret:

 

People don’t regret the things they did and failed at. They regret the things they never tried.

 

The business not started. The trip not taken. The conversation not had. The love not declared. The dream deferred until it died of neglect.

 

Your deathbed self won’t think, “I’m so glad I played it safe.”

 

But they might think, “Why didn’t I just try?”

 

The Indian Paradox: Risk-Averse Yet Entrepreneurial

 

India produces more engineers than any country on Earth. We’re brilliant, hardworking, and educated.

 

Yet we’re also the nation where parents plan their children’s lives from conception to retirement. IIT-IIM-MBA-MNC-Marriage-House-Retirement. A conveyor belt existence where deviation is betrayal.

 

But something’s shifting.

 

Vineeta Singh was a topper at IIM Ahmedabad. She had offers from every consulting firm that mattered. Instead, she started SUGAR Cosmetics from her living room, faced rejection from 200+ investors, and kept going.

 

Today, SUGAR is valued at over ₹3,000+ crores.

 

Falguni Nayar left a cushy Managing Director position at Kotak Mahindra after 19 years—at age 50—to start Nykaa.

 

At fifty. When most people are thinking about retirement portfolios, not retail disruption.

 

Nykaa went public at a valuation exceeding $7 billion, making Falguni India’s wealthiest self-made female billionaire.

 

What did these people understand that you don’t?

 

They understood asymmetric risk. They played a game where the downside was bounded but the upside was limitless.

 

A Few Global Wake-Up Calls: When Courage Compounds

 

Sara Blakely cut the feet off her pantyhose, thought “this could be something,” and invested her $5,000 life savings into prototyping Spanx. No business experience. No fashion background. Just an idea and audacity.

 

She’s now worth over $1 billion.

 

Jan Koum was a Ukrainian immigrant living on food stamps in America. He taught himself computer programming, worked at Yahoo, then quit to pursue an idea: a messaging app with no ads. WhatsApp.

 

Investors laughed. Facebook offered him a job. He declined.

 

WhatsApp sold to Facebook for $19 billion.

 

The pattern? None of these people had a safety net made of gold. They had calculated risk tolerance and irrational conviction.

 

They asked themselves: “What’s the worst that could happen?” And the answer was never death. Just discomfort. Embarrassment. Starting over.

 

The Risks You’re Not Taking (And Why You Should Be)

 

Career Risks

  • Asking for the promotion you deserve
  • Leaving the soul-sucking job for the uncertain venture
  • Speaking up in meetings when you have the better idea
  • Starting the side project you keep postponing

Worst case? Temporary setback. Ego bruise. Resume gap.
Best case? Career transformation. Financial freedom. Purpose.

 

Relationship Risks

  • Telling someone you love them
  • Ending the relationship that’s draining your life force
  • Setting boundaries with toxic family members
  • Apologizing when you’re wrong

Worst case? Rejection. Loneliness for a season. Uncomfortable conversations.
Best case? Deep connection. Self-respect. Peace. Love that actually nourishes you.

 

Creative Risks

  • Publishing your writing
  • Sharing your art
  • Starting that YouTube channel
  • Launching that podcast everyone says “is saturated”

Worst case? Crickets. Criticism. “I told you so” from skeptics.
Best case? Impact. Income. A body of work you’re proud of. Legacy.

 

The Action Protocol: How to Take Intelligent Risks

 

Step 1: Define the Worst-Case Scenario
Write it down. Be brutally honest. What’s the actual worst that happens? Not your anxiety-brain version. The real version.

 

Step 2: Ask “Can I Handle This?”
If yes, continue. If no, adjust the risk.

 

Step 3: Define the Best-Case Scenario
Dream big here. What happens if this works?

 

Step 4: Calculate the Asymmetry
If the best case is 10x better than the worst case is bad, you’ve found your Goldilocks risk.

 

Step 5: Set a Deadline
Courage without timeline is just fantasy. Pick a date. Do the thing.

 

The Indian Classical Example: Arjuna’s Dilemma

 

The Bhagavad Gita—our own ancient text—is literally a conversation about taking the right risk at the right time. Most of you would be very aware of this already.

 

Arjuna stands on the battlefield, paralyzed by fear disguised as ethics. Krishna doesn’t tell him to be reckless. He tells him to act according to his dharma, to take the risk that aligns with his purpose.

 

“You have a right to perform your prescribed action, but you are not entitled to the fruits of action.”

 

Translation? Take the intelligent risk. Detach from the outcome. But take the risk.

 

The Question; The Introspection

 

Here it is. The question that will either haunt you or liberate you:

 

“Five years from now, will I regret not trying this?” –If the answer is yes, you already know what to do.

 

In Signing Off

 

You’ve read this far, which means part of you knows you’re playing too small.

 

You know there’s an ask you need to make. A leap you need to take. A conversation you need to have. A business you need to start. A relationship you need to end. A dream you need to chase.

 

You know it.

 

And you’re still here, reading, because some part of you is looking for permission.

 

Here it is: You’re allowed to want more. You’re allowed to try. You’re allowed to fail. You’re allowed to succeed.

 

The world doesn’t need more people playing defense with their one precious life.

 

It needs people who understand that the biggest risk is risking nothing at all.

 

The Risk That Doesn’t Kill You Might Just Make You a Legend

 

Somewhere between the coward who never leaps and the fool who jumps without looking, lives the sweet spot of risk. It’s that rare kind of risk where the worst case scenario is more like a bruise than a breakup, and the best case? A life-flip so dramatic it leaves you blinking in disbelief.

 

Look for risks where you won’t be crushed if it backfires, but you’d be blown away if it pays off.

 

Most people don’t take these manageable risks. Why? Because risk whispers 50/50 but fear shouts 100/0. So, they settle for “safe.” Safe is polite but painfully dull. Safe rarely breaks headlines or molds legends.

 

Go on, ask your crush. Pitch that experiment your gut swears will work. Write that book, start that venture. With a safety net beneath you, the falling isn’t fatal—just a chance to rise smarter, quicker, sharper.

 

The Parting Shot

 

If your heart doesn’t race a little when you consider your next move, you might be standing still on the sidelines of your own life. Don’t be that person.

 

Remember: The best bets are ones where losing doesn’t break you but winning redefines you.

 

Take the shot. Risk the small to win the large. Be the legend who dared where others paused.

KPI(Kindness Per Inch). Alas, Nobody’s Counting…

 

Put aside everything you are doing for a moment and picture this: The greatest revolutions in history began as whispers—sometimes inaudible, often in trace amounts, like stardust on the office carpet or meaning stitched silently between spreadsheets and sighs. If it moved the dial, no one noticed. Because meaningful work tiptoes behind the curtains: not on the PowerPoint, never in the Weekly Biz Metrics, and usually unfit for a KPI.

 

What if the world’s most soulful change agents, best teachers, and quiet healers had to log their purpose on an Excel sheet? The most meaningful work? Zero columns. Infinite impact.

 

The Unmeasurable Revolution: A Manifesto for Invisible Work

 

This is where the tyranny of the dashboard kicks in. We’ve built a civilization obsessed with counting things that don’t matter while ignoring everything that does.

 

Your step count. Your engagement rate. Your productivity score. Your impact metrics. Your OKRs. Your KPIs. Your bloody everything-measurable-under-the-sun Index.

 

Meanwhile, the work that actually changes lives? It happens in the gaps between Excel cells. In the unmapped territories where dashboards fear to tread.

 

The most meaningful work you’ll ever do probably won’t be measurable. And it might not even be visible.

 

Welcome To The Scoreboard Seduction

 

We’re addicted to metrics like junkies to their next fix. Show us a number, and we’ll move heaven and earth to make it go up. Doesn’t matter if the number means anything. Doesn’t matter if chasing it turns us into soulless automatons.

 

The number went up. We won. Right?

 

Wrong.

 

The greatest con of the modern workplace is this: If you can’t measure it, it doesn’t matter.

 

This is capitalism’s most elegant lie. Simple. Seductive. Completely backward.

 

The truth? The things that matter most are allergic to measurement.

 

The Invisible Architecture of Love

 

A palliative care nurse in Kerala spends twenty minutes holding the hand of a dying woman who has no family. No one’s tracking those minutes. They don’t contribute to “patient throughput.” They’re inefficient as hell.

 

Those twenty minutes are also the most human thing that will happen in that hospital that day.

 

A customer service rep in Bangalore breaks protocol to spend an extra hour on a call with an elderly man who’s not just confused about his bill—he’s lonely. Her manager will flag this call as “excessive handle time.” Her dashboard will show red.

 

But that man will sleep better that night. And the rep will remember why she took this job in the first place—before it became about Average Speed of Answer and First Call Resolution rates.

 

An IT guy in a Pune startup notices a junior developer struggling. Not with code—with confidence. He doesn’t schedule a “mentoring session” that goes into his quarterly goals. He doesn’t create a “development plan” that HR can track.

 

He just starts having chai with her twice a week. Listening. Sharing his own imposter syndrome stories. Laughing about the absurdity of their industry.

 

Six months later, she’s thriving. She’ll never fully articulate why. He’ll never put it on his self-assessment.

 

This is the invisible work. The unmeasurable magic.

 

A Stellar Example of Japan’s Wisdom

 

After the 2011 Tōhoku earthquake and tsunami, when Fukushima was melting down and chaos reigned, there was a group of retired engineers—all over sixty, most over seventy.

 

They called themselves the “Skilled Veterans Corps.” They volunteered to work in the nuclear plant’s most dangerous zones.

 

Why? Because they’d already lived their lives. The radiation would take decades to kill them—decades they likely wouldn’t have anyway. Meanwhile, young workers with families, with futures? They’d bear the cost for fifty years.

 

These old men weren’t heroes in the traditional sense. They weren’t soldiers charging into battle. They were showing up for shifts in protective gear, doing technical work, absorbing radiation into their aging bodies.

 

No glory. No celebration. Just the quiet mathematics of sacrifice.

 

How do you measure that? You can measure the radiation exposure. You can measure the hours worked. You can measure the prevented catastrophe in economic terms.

 

But the essence of what they did—choosing to be the buffer between disaster and the next generation? That’s unmeasurable. That’s the invisible architecture that holds civilization together.

 

The Performance Review Tightrope

 

Here’s what our annual performance review captures:

Projects completed |  Revenue generated |  Deadlines met

 

Here’s what it misses though:

  • The time you talked a colleague out of quitting during their mental health crisis
  • The moment you let someone else take credit because they needed it more
  • The meeting where you said the thing everyone was thinking but afraid to voice
  • The junior you protected from a toxic client while taking the heat yourself
  • The hour you spent understanding someone’s context before judging their work
  • The culture you quietly built by how you treated people when no one was watching

 

Your performance review is a beautifully crafted lie. It tells a story about your productivity while missing the entire story of your impact.

 

The system isn’t broken. It’s working exactly as designed: to measure the measurable and ignore the meaningful.

 

The Unspoken Economics of Care

 

Here’s a dataset that doesn’t exist: the economic value of mothers staying up until midnight helping kids with homework they don’t understand, in subjects they’ve forgotten, because the education system has outsourced learning to parents.

 

Here’s another missing metric: the hours of emotional labor women perform in workplaces—smoothing conflicts, remembering birthdays, asking “are you okay?” when everyone else is too busy optimising.

 

The GDP doesn’t count the grandfather who babysits so his daughter can work. The productivity reports don’t include the colleague who notices you’re drowning and redistributes work without being asked.

 

We’ve built an entire economic system that literally cannot see the work that makes the system possible.

 

The invisible subsidizes the visible. The unmeasured enables the measured. The uncounted makes everything countable work.

 

It Will Be A Shame To Dashboard This

 

So what do we do with this?

 

First: Stop apologizing for unmeasurable work.

When someone asks “but what’s the ROI?” on kindness, on patience, on presence—the answer isn’t to calculate some bullshit metric. The answer is: “Not everything that matters can be monetized, and that’s exactly why it matters.”

 

Second: Practice strategic invisibility.

 

Some of your best work should happen where the dashboards can’t see. In the gaps. In the margins. In the moments between meetings when you build trust, or share wisdom, or hold space.

Be excellent where it counts, not where it’s counted.

 

Third: Become a professional storyteller.

 

Since the systems won’t capture this work, you must. Not for credit. For memory. Tell the stories of invisible work. Celebrate it. Make it visible through narrative since data won’t do the job.

 

Fourth: Question the scoreboard.

 

Every time someone shows you a metric, ask: “What does this not measure?” Because what’s missing is usually what matters.

 

Fifth: Do the work anyway.

 

This is the hardest part. The system is rigged against invisible work. You won’t get promoted for it. You might not even get thanked for it.

 

Do it anyway.

 

Because the alternative is a world where nothing matters except what fits in a dashboard. And that world is a dystopia.

 

Where Do We Go From Here?

 

The teacher who stays late. The nurse who holds hands. The old man who lights lamps. The colleague who listens. The parent who shows up. The friend who remembers.

 

This is the work that holds the world together.

 

It won’t trend. It won’t scale. It won’t get you a TED talk.

 

It will make you human. It will change lives. It will echo in ways you’ll never fully know.

 

The most meaningful work you’ll ever do probably won’t be measurable. And it might not even be visible.

 

But it will be real.

 

And in a world drowning in fake metrics and performative productivity, real is the most radical thing you can be.

 

So go be unmeasurable. Go do invisible work. Go change lives in ways that will never show up on a spreadsheet.

 

The revolution won’t be quantified. But it will be worth it.

 

Brands don’t die of competition. They die of imagination deficiency…

 

We begin in the misty, cedar-filled mountains of Japan, far from the neon of Tokyo. Here, a collective of farmers, calling themselves the “Mushroom Monks of Kyushu,” did something that defies all agricultural logic.

They foresaw a future where the Japanese youth, increasingly urbanized, would feel a deep, aching disconnect from their ancestral land and its culinary heritage. The taste of the forest, the umami of specific wild mushrooms, was becoming a fading memory on the palate of a nation.

So, what did they do? They didn’t just optimize their mushroom yield or improve their supply chain.

They started a “Taste Archive.”

They began deliberately cultivating and preserving the exact taste profiles of mushrooms from specific forests, at specific altitudes, from a specific time. They created a library of flavours, a sensory time capsule. They partnered with high-end kaiseki chefs not to sell a product, but to sell a memory—a memory their customers hadn’t even lost yet.

The Insight:They weren’t selling mushrooms. They were selling a bridge back to a soulful, authentic Japan that was slipping away. They painted a future where taste is a time machine, and they made themselves the chief engineers. They created nostalgia in advance.

 

You see, transformative brands don’t win because they predict the future. They win because they refuse to be guests in it. They don’t wait for invitations. They show up with spray paint and start creating murals on tomorrow’s walls.

 

And the rest? They’re still probably arguing about the color of their logo.

 

Let’s look at some brands that painted their own tomorrow.

 

The Soap Company That Became a Social Movement

 

Dharavi Diary didn’t start as a brand. It started as an uncomfortable question: “What if we stopped talking about marginalized communities and started amplifying from them?”

 

While premium brands were busy with sustainability theater—you know, the kind where they plant one tree for every thousand products sold—this Mumbai-based social enterprise turned leather waste from Dharavi into luxury bags. But here’s the twist: they didn’t position themselves as charity. They positioned themselves as craftsmanship.

 

No pity marketing. No poverty porn. Just world-class design that happens to demolish every assumption about where innovation comes from.

 

The future they painted? One where “made in slums” becomes a badge of honor, not shame. A lot of the brands are probably still running “awareness campaigns.”

 

Dharavi Diary became the awareness.

 

The Funeral Home That Chose Joy Over Grief

Stay with me here. I assure you it is NOT morbid.

 

In Australia, a funeral home called Bare Cremation looked at an industry drowning in Victorian solemnity and asked: “What if death doesn’t have to be depressing?”

 

They stripped away the ornate caskets, the hushed tones, the unnecessary $15,000 price tags. They created affordable, transparent, even—dare I say it—cheerful end-of-life services. Their website doesn’t whisper. It converses. Like you’re planning a celebration, not attending a tragedy.

 

The industry called it disrespectful. Families called it liberating.

 

While legacy funeral homes were polishing mahogany, Bare Cremation was rewriting the emotional contract around mortality itself.

 

Here’s our reality check: If a funeral home can inject radical optimism into death, what’s our excuse for boring our customers to tears with “value propositions”?

 

The Speedbreaker: Where Most Brands Get Stuck

 

Let me tell you where you’re hemorrhaging potential right now.

 

You’re obsessed with adaptation. Reading trend reports. Attending webinars on “future-proofing.” Hiring consultants to tell you what millennials want (spoiler: they’re almost 40 now, and you’re still asking the wrong question). Adaptation is defense. It’s playing not-to-lose.

 

Transformative brands don’t adapt to the future. They implicate themselves in its creation.

 

There’s a difference between asking “How do we stay relevant?” and “What future are we brave enough to demand?”

 

One keeps you in the game. The other changes the game entirely.

 

What is NOT common: Uncommon Courage- The Bank That Became a Lifestyle Before “Fintech” Was Cool: Nubank

 

Brazil’s purple revolution, didn’t launch with better interest rates. They launched with a middle finger to bureaucracy.

 

Traditional banks in Brazil treated customers like supplicants. Nubank treated them like humans who were tired of being patronized. No physical branches. No fine print ambushes. No waiting 45 minutes to talk to someone who’d ultimately say “no.”

 

Just clean design, transparent pricing, and a tone of voice that actually sounded like it was written by humans, not compliance officers.

 

By 2024, they’d become Latin America’s most valuable bank. Not by perfecting banking. By reimagining what banking could feel like.

 

The wake-up call: They didn’t win by being the best bank. They won by being the least bank-like bank.

 

The Bookstore That You Fell For, Book, Line & Sinker

 

To them, books were just the begining. Atta Galatta in Bangalore could have been another independent bookstore losing to Amazon’s algorithms and discounts.

 

Instead, they became Bangalore’s living room.

 

Author events? Sure. But also standup comedy. Political debates. Startup pitch nights. Children’s theater. A café where ideas percolate as much as coffee. They didn’t sell books—they sold belonging to a community that still believes words matter.

 

When Crossword and Landmark shut their doors, Atta Galatta expanded.

 

The brutal truth you need to hear: Your customers don’t need what you sell. They need what you stand for.

 

The Anatomy of Painting Yourself Into Tomorrow: Let’s get tactical. Because inspiration without implementation is just expensive procrastination.

 

1. Stop Completing Sentences. Start Asking Different Questions.

 

LVMH didn’t ask “How do we make luxury more accessible?” They asked “How do we make inaccessibility even more desirable?”

 

Patagonia didn’t ask “How do we sell more jackets?” They asked “How do we create customers who buy less?”

 

Zomato didn’t ask “How do we improve food delivery?” They asked “What if we turned delivery agents into micro-entrepreneurs?”

 

The quality of your future is determined by the quality of your questions. Right now, you’re probably asking incremental questions and wondering why you’re getting incremental results.

 

2. Embrace Productive Discomfort

 

In 2019, Mahindra launched the Treo electric three-wheeler, targeting last-mile mobility in India. Conventional wisdom said go big or go home. They went small—and strategic.

 

While everyone was obsessing over electric cars for the elite, Mahindra was electrifying the backbone of Indian commerce: the auto-rickshaw. Unglamorous? Absolutely. Transformative? Ask the 25,000+ drivers who now save ₹60,000 annually on fuel.

 

Your uncomfortable question: Are you chasing the spotlight or changing the system?

 

3. Build Mythology, Not Marketing

 

OpenAI didn’t position ChatGPT as “advanced language technology.” They positioned it as the democratization of intelligence itself. They made you feel like you were witnessing history, not buying software.

 

Amul, for 50+ years, hasn’t just sold butter. They’ve sold cheeky commentary on Indian culture, one topical ad at a time. They’re not in your refrigerator; they’re in your national consciousness.

 

The guilt trip you’ve earned: When was the last time your brand made someone feel something other than a commercial transaction?

 

So, Where Do We Go From Here? Here’s what separates transformative brands from those destined for case studies titled “What Went Wrong“:

 

They stopped asking permission.

 

Not from investors. Not from focus groups. Not from industry conventions.

 

They looked at the world as it was, imagined it as it could be, and started painting.

 

While Kodak was perfecting film, Instagram was erasing the need for it.

 

While Blockbuster was negotiating late fees, Netflix was ending the concept of “late.”

 

While your competitors are benchmarking each other, someone is benchmarking a future where you’re all irrelevant.

 

The Takeaways: Mind You- They Are Non-Negotiable

 

1. Stop forecasting. Start authoring.

Trends are what happened. Vision is what could happen if you have the courage to make it so.

 

2. Your competition isn’t another company. It’s inertia.

The reluctance to make your own products obsolete. The comfort of incremental gains. The fear of being misunderstood.

 

3. The future doesn’t need more participants. It needs more protagonists.

 

You either shape the narrative or you become a footnote in someone else’s.

 

In Closing, Truth Be Told

 

Most brands are preparing to survive the future.

 

Transformative brands are too busy creating it to care about survival.

 

The question isn’t whether the future will arrive.

 

It’s whether you’ll be part of the scenery—or part of the story.

 

So pick up that brush.

 

The wall is waiting.

 

And tomorrow doesn’t care about your quarterly review.

 

These Are Not Just For The Journal, But For Action: Three things you can do before your next meeting:

 

The Mortality Test: If your brand disappeared tomorrow, what would your customers actually miss? If the answer is “convenience,” you’re not a brand. You’re a utility awaiting disruption.

 

The 10-Year Reversal: Imagine your industry in 2035. Now work backward. What needs to die today for that future to exist? Are you brave enough to kill it?

 

The Alien Perspective: If someone from another planet read your brand materials, could they tell you apart from your competitors? If not, you’re not painting the future. You’re photocopying the present.

 

Stop waiting for the future to tell you who to be.
Start telling the future who you’ve decided to become.

 

That’s State Of The Heart Branding.

 

Your Brand’s Biggest Threat Isn’t Your Competitor…Its Your Customers’ Muscle Memory

 

Introspection(terrifying?)time for every brand custodian:- what if the thing you’re most proud of—your decades of brand recognition—is precisely what’s going to kill you?

 

Let me come back to this. First, a story that reveals everything wrong with how we think about brand value.

 

The 168 year old giant that nobody noticed was dying

 

Indian Railways moves 23 million people daily. That’s the population of Australia. Daily.

 

For nearly two centuries, it WAS travel in India. Not “the best” option—the ONLY option for most of the country.

 

Brand familiarity? Through the stratosphere. Brand value? About to learn a brutal lesson.

 

Then something curious happened around 2015…

 

People stopped saying “I’ll take the train to the airport.”

 

They started saying “I’ll take an Ola.

 

No fanfare. No dramatic announcement. The switch happened so quietly, most people didn’t consciously realize they’d made it.

 

What changed?

 

Not the trains. Not the brand. Not the recognition.

 

The system changed.

 

And here’s the part that should keep you up at night: The Indian Railways brand is still familiar to 1.4 billion people. It just stopped being necessary for the last mile.

 

This pattern—this quiet assassination of familiar brands—is happening in every category. And most brands won’t see it coming until it’s too late.

 

But, sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me show you how deep this goes.

The Blackberry Believers (Or: How Keyboards Became Gravestones)

 

Steve Jobs demos the iPhone. Blackberry’s CEO watches and literally laughs.

 

“No physical keyboard? Good luck typing emails on that toy.”

 

He had every reason to be confident. Blackberry users were evangelical. “Crackberry addiction” was a medical term. Enterprise adoption was at 100%.

 

Every metric screamed safety:

  • Brand recognition
  • Customer loyalty
  • Market dominance

 

Familiarity was their moat. Or so they thought.

 

Fast forward 36 months.

 

Blackberry’s market share: cliff-diving.

 

Why? Not because iPhone built a better keyboard (it didn’t).

 

Because Apple built a better system:

 

  • An App Store that turned phones into infinite tools
  • Cloud integration that actually worked
  • A developer ecosystem that made every other platform look like a walled prison

 

Current Blackberry market share: 0.01%

 

That’s not a typo. That’s what happens when you defend familiarity instead of building necessity.

 

You’re probably thinking: “But we’re not Blackberry. We’re different.”

 

Are you though? Let me show you something closer to home.

The Purple Signs That Stopped Working (Café Coffee Days Silent Exit)

Remember when CCD was THE coffee brand in India?

 

A lot can happen over coffee” wasn’t just a tagline—it was embedded in urban India’s DNA.

 

Recognition scores? Off the charts. Locations? Everywhere. Mind share? Owned it.

 

Then what happened?

 

Nothing dramatic. No scandal. No overnight collapse.

 

People just… stopped going.

 

Not all at once. Not angrily. They just quietly found better systems:

 

Starbucks offered WiFi that actually worked (revolutionary!) and baristas who remembered your name

 

Third Wave & Blue Tokai gave them Instagram-worthy spaces (because your latte is now social currency)

 

Chaayos built loyalty programs that didn’t feel like relics from 1987

 

The death by inaction part?

 

Most ex-CCD customers don’t even remember switching. They just realized one day they hadn’t been in months.

 

That’s how familiarity dies. Not with a bang. With a shrug.

 

And here’s where it gets uncomfortable, because this isn’t ancient history. This is/could be happening RIGHT NOW in your category.

The Pattern You Can’t Unsee

 

Let me connect the dots you’ve probably suspected but haven’t voiced:

 

Kodak invented digital photography. Filed patents. Had the technology. Still died because they protected film sales instead of building new systems.

 

Nokia owned 40% of mobile phones globally. Still lost because they defended hardware while Apple built an ecosystem.

 

Blockbuster was Friday night incarnate. More familiar than your front door. Still disappeared because Netflix built a better delivery system.

 

Yahoo was THE internet homepage. Your parents’ first email. Still became irrelevant because Google built a system that got smarter with every search.

 

See the pattern?

 

Every single one of these brands had: Massive recognition | Decades of presence | Customer familiarity | Category dominance

 

What they didn’t have?

 

Systems that became MORE valuable as more people used them.

 

This is where most brand strategies fall apart. And why the next section might be the most important thing you read this month.

Why Network Effects are the New Brand Moat

 

Here’s a framework that changes everything:

 

OLD MOAT:Brand familiarity – Customer loyalty – Market share

 

NEW MOAT: Better system – Network effects – Competitive immunity

 

Let me show you what this looks like in practice:

 

WhatsApp wasn’t the first messenger. SMS was the most familiar communication tool on Earth.

 

But WhatsApp built something different: a system where YOUR value came from EVERYONE ELSE using it.

 

Your mom, your boss, your vegetable vendor, your school group, your society committee—all in one place.

 

By the time you thought about switching to another app, leaving WhatsApp meant leaving your entire social graph.

 

That’s not brand loyalty. That’s structural lock-in.

 

Same playbook, different category:

 

Swiggy/Zomato weren’t first in food delivery. Your local restaurant’s phone number was WAY more familiar.

 

But they built a network where:

  • More restaurants – More choice for users
  • More users – More orders for restaurants
  • More orders – Better logistics – Faster delivery
  • Faster delivery – More users

 

The flywheel spun until ordering any other way felt prehistoric.

 

PhonePe/Google Pay weren’t first in digital payments. CASH was the most familiar payment method in human history.

 

But UPI’s interoperability created network effects so powerful that even your street-side vendor now has a QR code.

 

The brands winning today aren’t the most familiar. They’re the ones that become more necessary with every new user.

 

Now here’s where brand custodians usually make a fatal mistake…

The User Experience Trap (Or: Why Good Enough Became Good Riddance)

 

Brands die when the gap between their UX and a competitor’s reaches escape velocity.

 

Test this yourself:

 

Open BookMyShow right now. Try to book a ticket.

 

Notice:

  • The loading times (have a coffee while you wait)
  • The mysterious “convenience fees” (that somehow cost more than the ticket)
  • The UI that feels designed in the Paleolithic era

 

Now try any modern ticketing app.

 

Smooth. Fast. Transparent pricing. Respects your time.

 

BookMyShow was synonymous with movie tickets. Recognition? Total. Relevance? Eroding with every frustrated user who discovers there’s a better way.

 

The Indian taxi wars proved this brutally:

 

Meru and EasyCabs were first movers. Everyone knew them.

 

But their phone-booking system couldn’t compete with:

  • Real-time cab tracking (game-changer for anxiety-prone audiences)
  • No meter haggling, no “machine broken” excuses
  • No explaining your location for 10 minutes

 

Better UX didn’t just win market share. It CREATED the market.

 

Meru became a verb nobody uses anymore.

 

Still thinking this doesn’t apply to you? Let me show you what’s probably happening in your own business right now.

The Uncomfortable Audit (Six Questions That Reveal Everything)

 

Pause here. Actually answer these:

  1. Are people using you because they prefer you or because they’re used to you? (If you can’t tell the difference, it’s the latter)
  2. If a funded competitor launched tomorrow with 10x better UX, how fast would you bleed? (Days? Weeks? Months? Be true)
  3. Is your brand equity built on nostalgia or necessity? (Heritage is lovely. Utility is survival)
  4. When was the last time you timed your critical user journeys? (Anything over 60 seconds is a ticking time bomb)
  5. Does your product become MORE valuable as more people use it? (If not, you have zero network effects. Zero moat)
  6. If you were founding a startup to kill your company, what would you build? (Someone’s asking this question. Better be you)

 

Here’s what these questions reveal:

 

If you’re uncomfortable with any answer, congratulations—you’re still saveable.

 

If you’re comfortable with all answers, you’re probably already dead; you just haven’t stopped moving yet.Sorry!

 

So what do you actually DO about this? Let me give you the playbook nobody talks about.

The Survival Playbook (Actual Actions, Not Platitudes)

Move 1: Build Systems, Not Just Products

 

Stop asking: “What do we sell?” Start asking: “What ecosystem are we creating?”

 

Example: Amazon didn’t build a better bookstore. They built Prime—a system where the membership itself became the moat. Once you’re paying for it, you default to Amazon for everything.

 

Your action: Map your value chain. Where can you integrate services that create lock-in through utility, not loyalty programs?

Move 2: Design Every Feature for Network Effects

 

Every product decision should answer: “Does this become more valuable as more people use it?”

 

Example: LinkedIn is sticky not because people love it (they don’t). But because your professional network lives there. Leaving means professional isolation.

 

Your action:

  • Build features that require other users (sharing, collaboration, marketplaces)
  • Make leaving costly through lost connections, not contracts
  • Create viral loops where existing users bring new users

Move 3: Treat UX Like Blood Pressure

 

Because one day it’ll kill you if you ignore it.

 

Action items for that dreaded Monday morning meeting:

  • Time every critical journey. Kill anything over 60 seconds
  • Delete three steps from your checkout process. Today
  • Implement one-click for everything possible
  • Obsess over load times like they’re existential threats (they are)

 

Reality: Users forgive unfamiliar brands with great UX. They’ll never forgive familiar brands with terrible UX.

Move 4: War-Game Your Own Disruption

 

Quarterly exercise:

  • Give a small team budget and permission to design your killer
  • Identify your actual vulnerabilities (never what you think)
  • Build those improvements before someone else builds them as weapons

 

Cautionary tale: Kodak invented digital photography. Then decided it would cannibalize film sales. So they shelved it.

 

We all know how that ended.

Move 5: Measure What Actually Matters

 

Stop tracking: Brand awareness, familiarity scores; Start tracking:

  • Daily active vs. total users (engagement beats awareness)
  • NPS with “Why?” (the answers reveal everything)
  • Churn rate and actual reasons (your early warning system)
  • Time to value (how fast do users get their “aha moment”?)

 

Truth be told: If you’re measuring “top-of-mind awareness” but not “would you defend us to a friend,” you’re measuring nostalgia, not value.

The Part That Nobody Wants to Hear

 

Your brand isn’t what you’ve built.

 

It’s what you’re building.

 

The moment you start trading on familiarity instead of investing in systems, UX, and network effects, you’re writing your obituary.

 

It might take five years. Maybe fifteen.

 

But it’s coming.

 

Think about this:

 

Every powerful brand you admire today disrupted a familiar brand yesterday.

  • Netflix killed Blockbuster
  • Spotify killed Tower Records
  • Ola/Uber killed Meru
  • WhatsApp killed SMS
  • Amazon killed… (the list is long)

 

The familiar always feel invincible.

 

Right until they become invisible.

So, What Choice Do We Have?

You can defend your familiarity.

 

Or you can build systems that compound, experiences that delight, and networks that strengthen with scale.

 

One makes you a case study. The other makes you a category.

 

Which are you building?

Letting You In On A Little Secret: P.S. — The Real Reason I Wrote This

 

We are all tired of attending funerals for brands that saw it coming.

 

They had the data. They had the warnings. They had time.

 

What they didn’t have was the courage to admit that familiarity without utility is just expensive nostalgia.

 

If this post made you uncomfortable, good.

 

Discomfort is the first signal that you’re still in the game.

 

Share this with someone who needs the wake-up call.

 

And if you’re already building for network effects and superior systems? You’re already ahead.

 

Now go make familiarity earn its keep.