Category: Leadership Incubation

The Promise We Break Most Often


The strongest form of accountability isn’t to your boss. It’s to yourself.

I still remember a conversation with a young manager many years ago. He had walked into my office carrying a notebook filled with plans.

“I don’t understand myself,” he confided, almost apologetically. “Every New Year I make a list. I promise myself I’ll exercise regularly, read more, spend time with my family, learn a new skill…” He then smiled sheepishly. “By March, I’ve broken most of those promises. Even though I had genuinely meant every word when I wrote those goals.”

I laughed at that. “So have millions of others. Including myself when I was your age.”

I leaned back in my chair. “Tell me,” I asked, “if your Managing Director asked you to submit a report by Monday, would you?  Or if your biggest customer expected you at a meeting at ten o’clock?” Or if your child was waiting for you at the school annual function?”

“Of Course! I would do all of those and on time.”

I smiled, “So you’re very good at keeping promises.”

He looked confused. “No,” he replied. “I just told you I’m terrible at it.”

I reassured him, ” I would say you’re excellent at keeping promises to other people. You just struggle to keep promises to your own self.”

He looked at me for a long moment before quietly admitting, “I’ve never thought about it that way.”

Well to be frank, neither had I, until years earlier when someone had challenged me with the same question. The truth is, most of us don’t lose confidence because we fail. We lose confidence because we repeatedly break our own word.

Every time we say to ourself, ‘I’ll start tomorrow,’ and tomorrow becomes next week… Every time we promise ourselves, we’ll make time for our health, our family, our learning or our dreams… and then quietly move them to the bottom of the list…

Something invisible starts happening. Our self-trust begins to erode. Others may still trust us. Our colleagues may admire our reliability. Our clients may praise our commitment. But somewhere inside, we begin to doubt ourselves. Not because we lack ability. But because we’ve stopped believing our own promises.

I came out of my reverie with a start; my colleague was looking at me thoughtfully. “So, accountability isn’t really about someone checking up on me?” he asked.

I shook my head. “That’s compliance. Accountability is much more personal. It is choosing to become someone whose word matters—even when no one else is listening.”

As he stood up to leave, he closed his notebook and smiled, “I think I’ve been writing goals. What I really needed was to start keeping promises.”

That conversation has stayed with me ever since. The older I grow, the more I realise that confidence is not built through motivational speeches or inspirational books. It is built quietly. One kept promise at a time. Perhaps that is why integrity is such a powerful word. It doesn’t begin with how faithfully we honour our commitments to others. It begins with how faithfully we honour the commitments we make to ourselves.

Because the person listening most carefully to every promise you make… is you.

In musing…..                                            Shakti Ghosal

#accountability, #Integrity, #selfpromise, #goalkeeping

The Most Important Person You’ll Ever Lead


‘Leadership doesn’t begin with managing people. It begins with understanding the person in the mirror.’

I recall a conversation of several years back.

It was late evening and I was preparing to go home. Hearing a knock, I looked up to see a colleague standing outside my glass door, smiling. He was one of the bright managers from our Supply Chains division. As I gestured him to a chair, I sensed something was on his mind. After the usual pleasantries and how things were going at work, I asked what I could do for him.

“Sir, while I seem to be doing okay at work based on the feedback of my Divisional Head, deep down I fear I’m failing as a leader,” he blurted out.

” Hmm! That’s a strong statement,” I replied. “What makes you say that?”

He sighed, “I am trying to be a better leader. I’ve read leadership books. I keep trying new leadership techniques…… but somehow I feel a sense of inadequacy and a lack of being authentic.”

Pondering over what I had just heard, I asked, “When was the last time you studied yourself?”

My colleague frowned. After a few moments he admitted, “I don’t think I ever have.”

“You know,” I said, “most of us believe awareness means noticing what’s happening around us. For instance, the market. Our competitors. Our customers. Our bosses. We become experts at observing everyone else’s behaviour. We know exactly what our colleagues need to improve. We notice the habits holding others back. We can often predict how someone else will react in a meeting. But ask us why we react defensively to criticism… why certain conversations drain our energy… why we repeat the same mistakes… and suddenly the answers become less clear.”

He looked at me for a few moments before replying, “So you’re saying I’ve been looking in the wrong direction?”

“Not the wrong direction. Just one direction.”

Looking out of the window, he said softly, almost to himself, “I’ve been trying to model myself on people I’ve admired.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with admiration,” I said. “The problem begins when admiration turns into imitation. We can borrow someone’s ideas. We can learn from someone’s experience.  But we can never build our leadership by becoming a copy of someone else’s story.”

There was a silence. Then the colleague asked quietly, “So what does awareness really look like?”

I realised that we were now entering the deep end of our conversation. I said, “It is knowing your strengths without becoming arrogant. Recognising your weaknesses without becoming discouraged. Understanding your patterns before they begin to define you.”

I concluded by saying, “It is having the courage to ask not, ‘How do I become like them?’ but ‘Who am I becoming?’“

As my colleague got up to leave, he paused at the door and said, “I’ve spent years trying to improve my leadership. Perhaps I should spend more time understanding the leader.”

The conversation stayed with me. The older I grow, the more I realise that personal growth rarely begins with learning something new. More often, it begins with seeing ourselves a little more clearly.

Self-awareness is perhaps the only mirror that becomes clearer the longer we are willing to look into it. Leadership is not the journey from ignorance to knowledge. It is the journey from unconsciousness to awareness. Because the greatest breakthroughs in life seldom come from changing who we are. They come from discovering who we have been all along. Perhaps the most important meeting you will ever have is not with your team, your boss, or your client. It is the quiet conversation you have with yourself.

Is that meeting long overdue?

Reflections…..                                 Shakti Ghosal

Age is just a number


As I have gone through life , I have found some folks proudly  wearing their age ( and the wisdom that flows from that) like a badge. And others, using a curious phrase  ( which incidentally became fashionable) : “Age is just a number.”

Perhaps. But I have often wondered why some people feel compelled to repeat it so often. The calendar is not the enemy. The years do not diminish us. They simply tell a story.

Yet many of us seem desperate to negotiate with time. We shave a few ( and sometimes a little more!) years off our age, boast of being sixty when we are actually seventy, or cling fiercely to an image of ourselves that belonged to another decade. As we try to convince ourselves and others.

Why?

Maybe because age reminds us of something we would rather not confront. That the world is passing us by and we fear missing out. That life is finite. That some doors have closed. That our bodies have their own timetable. That one day we will have to hand over the baton to others.

The strange thing is that wisdom was never meant to compete with youth. A banyan tree does not apologize for not being a sapling. A river does not pretend to be a mountain stream. Both possess a different kind of beauty.

Perhaps maturity begins when we stop treating age as an accusation and start treating it as an achievement. After all, growing old is not a failure. It is a privilege denied to many.

The question is not whether age is just a number. The question is whether we have learned to wear our years with grace.

In musing …..            Shakti Ghosal

The Forest We Never Fully See


About a year back, I happened to sit at the lunch table with one of the participants of a Leadership workshop I was conducting. Let us call him Arun.

As I tried to engage him in a polite conversation, I found him to be withdrawn and seemingly lost in some other thoughts. When I enquired about this, he blurted out, “Professor, I was trying to relate what you said in class to my interaction with a colleague. Every time we discuss a new project, she starts asking so many questions. By the time she’s finished, we’ve lost momentum.”

I asked, “What would you say makes her do that? Is it something she perceives about you?”

Arun smiled, “Probably that I move too fast.”

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“Could it be that both of you right?” So saying, I took out my pen and drew a rough sketch on a piece of paper.

“Imagine a large forest,” I said. “Now imagine two people standing at different windows overlooking that forest. One person sees a waterfall. The other sees a mountain trail. Both are describing the same forest. But neither is seeing the whole picture.”

Arun leaned forward, “So you’re saying that’s what happens at work?”

“Every day,” I said. “We often assume that because we share an office, a company, a language, or even a country, we share the same perspective. But we don’t.

Each of us arrives at work carrying years of our very own specific experiences, beliefs, successes, disappointments, cultures, family influences and personal values. We may be looking at the same challenge. But we are never looking from the same window.

Arun was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “So when I think she’s slowing things down, she may think she’s reducing risk.”

“Exactly.”

Arun nodded slowly, understanding dawning on his face, “And when she thinks I’m rushing, I may simply be focused on opportunity.”

The conversation shifted. We stopped talking about who was right and started talking about what each person could see that the other could not. That’s when something interesting happened. The earlier uncertainty seemed to disappear, curiosity taking its place.

I have noticed that many workplace conflicts begin with a simple assumption: “If I see it this way, everyone else should see it this way too.”

But diversity is not simply about nationality, gender, age, language or background. It is about perspective. It is about recognising that another person’s life has given them a view of the world that is different from ours. And that can be valuable precisely because it is different. The irony is that organisations spend enormous amounts of money searching for innovation, yet innovation is often hiding inside the perspectives we dismiss too quickly. If everyone in a meeting thinks the same way, the discussion may be comfortable. But it is unlikely to be transformative.

Before we left, Arun said something that stayed with me. “You know Professor, I spent the entire time of our interaction trying to convince her to look through my window. Maybe I should spend more time looking through hers.”

That, perhaps, is the real gift of diversity. Not that it makes agreement easier. But that it makes understanding deeper. The world does not need more people defending their windows. It needs more people willing to explore the forest. And every time we replace judgment with curiosity, comparison with appreciation, and certainty with learning, the forest becomes a little larger than we imagined.

What if the next breakthrough in your life is waiting in a perspective you have not yet taken the time to understand?

In musing……                                                     Shakti Ghosal

What If…….?


I recall a conversation from many years back. During an overseas visit, I was having coffee with a colleague and I found him looking frustrated and confused.

He pushed aside his tray and said, “I don’t get it. We’ve analysed the issue of increasing our business share from this market from every angle. We’ve got the data, the reports, the projections. Yet we seem to be still stuck.”

“Maybe that’s the problem,” I replied.

He looked at me, uncertainty writ on his face, “How can having more data be the problem?”

“Because sometimes,” I said, “we can become so busy looking for the right answer that we stop looking for other possibilities.”

He smiled politely—the kind of smile people give when they think you have said something impractical, “So what’s the alternative? Ignore the facts?”

“Not at all. Facts matter. But facts tell us what is. Creativity asks what could be.” That seemed to catch his attention. I related a story.

“In the 1970s, a scientist at 3M was trying to create a super-strong adhesive. The adhesive was weak. By conventional standards, the experiment was a disappointment. It seemed a failure. That’s exactly how most people saw it. But years later, someone else looked at the same ‘failed’ adhesive and saw a different possibility. The result was the Post-it Note.”

My colleague laughed, “So one of the world’s most successful office products began as a mistake?”

“Or perhaps,” I said, “it began as a possibility that nobody had noticed yet.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then he said something interesting.

“You know, in our meetings we’re always asking, ‘Will this work?’ Maybe we should first ask, ‘What else could this become?'”

Now we were getting somewhere. The truth is that most organisations reward certainty. We admire people who have answers. We celebrate expertise. We fill spreadsheets, analyse trends and minimise risks. All these are important. But the future is rarely created by these certain aspects alone. It is often created by someone willing to explore a possibility that doesn’t yet fit neatly into a presentation slide.

The more we talked, the more I realised that creativity is not about being artistic. It is not about painting, music or design. Possibilities which flow out of a creative mindset is the courage to see beyond the obvious. It is the willingness to ask a different question. It is the ability to sit with uncertainty long enough for a new idea to emerge.

Before we left, my colleague said, “Maybe we’ve been trying too hard to find the right path.”

“Perhaps,” I replied. “Sometimes the breakthrough comes when you stop looking for the path and start exploring the landscape.”

A few days later he called, “We’ve found a completely different solution. We stopped trying to prove what was possible and started imagining it. Imagining the end goal, without getting enmeshed with how to make that happen, allowed new possibilities to show up.”

That conversation stayed with me. Because in a world overflowing with information, knowledge is no longer the rarest resource. Possibility is. And every great innovation, every breakthrough and every new beginning starts with a simple question:

“What if……..?”

In Musing…….                                                                       Shakti Ghosal

The Day Strength chose Silence


I paused when I saw this photograph.

A tiger—nature’s embodiment of power—lying quietly on the face of the Buddha. What struck me was not the contrast, but the harmony.

As we grow older, many of us spend years trying to get rid of our inner tiger. Our anger. Our ambition. Our ego. Our restlessness needs to prove ourselves. But perhaps wisdom is not about killing the tiger.Perhaps it is about teaching it to rest.

The tiger is still there. The strength is still there. The fire is still there. But it no longer needs to bare its teeth at every passing challenge.

I have met people who were gentle because they were weak. And I have met a few who were gentle because they were strong enough to choose peace.The second kind are rare.

Looking at this image, I was reminded that the real journey is not from power to powerlessness. It is from power to self-mastery.

When the tiger learns to rest, the Buddha smiles.

In musing……         Shakti Ghosal

Releasing Judgment- a conversation from the past


Over coffee during an office one to one meeting, a colleague—let’s call him Arvind—looked visibly irritated.

“Honestly,” he said, stirring his coffee with unnecessary force, “I don’t understand how some people get promoted. That guy in Operations is always late, misses details, and somehow everyone thinks he’s brilliant.”

I smiled. “That sounds less like an observation and more like a verdict.”

He laughed. “Come on. I’m just being realistic.”

“Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe you’re being human.”

He looked at me curiously.

I asked, “Have you noticed what happens when we judge someone?”

“What?”

“We stop being curious.”

I could immediately see that my words had landed and Arvind had a thoughtful expression. I continued.

“When we label someone—lazy, incompetent, arrogant, unprofessional—we close the case in our minds. We allow no appeal, no fresh evidence and no deeper inquiry.”

Arvind leaned back slowly, “So you’re saying judgment is wrong?”

“N, I would not say that. I think discernment is necessary as Leaders must make decisions. But judgment—the kind that quietly declares I understand this person completely, and I know why they are wrong—that’s something else.”

I could sense that Arvind was listening now. I probed, “Think about the last time someone judged you. You probably didn’t feel inspired. You felt defensive. That’s because judgment rarely creates dialogue. It creates distance.”

After a pause, he said, “But what if I’m right?”

I laughed and said, “Even if you are right, judgment often makes the other person stop listening. The issue is not factual accuracy. It’s emotional impact.”

He went quiet.

Then I asked, “Suppose his lateness isn’t carelessness. Suppose he’s caring for an ill parent. Suppose he works differently. Suppose the brilliance others see is something you haven’t yet noticed.”

“You’re asking me to assume the best?”

“No. I’m asking you to remain open.”

Another silence. Then he said softly, “So where does judgment come from?”

That was the real question. “Sometimes,” I said, “from our own insecurity. Comparison is judgment in formal clothes. When we are fully at peace with ourselves, we spend less energy measuring others.”

“That’s uncomfortable.”

“Growth usually is.”

As we got up to leave, he said, “You know, I was actually upset because I thought I deserved that recognition.”

There it was. It was Hurt masquerading as Anger. It was not superiority, it was vulnerability.

And that’s the thing about judgment. It often enters wearing the mask of certainty, when what’s really underneath is something unresolved within us.

Since that conversation, I’ve been asking myself a different question—not ‘What’s wrong with that person?’ but ‘What story am I telling myself about them—and why?’

Judgment may be instinctive. But awareness is a choice. And perhaps leadership begins there.

In musing……                                                                                                                Shakti Ghosal

Four Seconds That Changed a Leader


More than a decade after my coaching certification, certain ideas still return to me with surprising clarity. One of them is deceptively simple:

The difference between reacting and responding.

Most leaders intellectually understand this distinction. Few recognise how profoundly it shapes their daily impact.

I was reminded of this during a coaching conversation with a senior executive — let me call him Raghav. Raghav was known for his brilliance and intensity. Quick thinker. Decisive. Deeply committed. But his team described him using another word, offered cautiously and repeatedly: “Intimidating.”

When he came into coaching, his concern was framed differently. “My team has become strangely silent,” he told me. “Meetings lack energy. No one challenges anything. It’s frustrating.”

Frustration, I have learned, is often an interesting doorway.

“What usually happens when someone disagrees with you?” I asked. He looked puzzled. “Nothing unusual. We discuss.”

But leaders rarely observe their own behavioural patterns with accuracy. Our reactions are invisible to us precisely because they are so familiar. So, I asked him to walk me through a recent meeting.

He described a discussion where a junior manager questioned a proposal. As he narrated the incident, something subtle appeared — not in his words, but in his tone. “I explained why the idea wouldn’t work,” he said.

Then after a pause: “Perhaps a bit sharply.” “What do you think the manager experienced in that moment?” I asked. He shrugged. “Direct feedback.” “And if we asked them?” Silence.

The human mind is wonderfully efficient at justifying its own reactions.

**

In coaching, reactions are rarely the real story. Triggers are.

“What specifically triggered your response?” I asked. “The suggestion didn’t make sense.” “Was it the quality of the idea,” I continued, “or the fact that it challenged yours?”

That question lingered longer. Eventually he smiled — the kind that signals reluctant insight. “I don’t like being questioned in areas I know well.”

There it was. A deeply human pattern. Trigger → irritation → sharp dismissal.

Repeated often enough, reactions harden into leadership style. Unexamined long enough, they reshape culture.

We explored a small experiment. “Next time you feel that familiar irritation,” I said, “don’t change your opinion. Don’t soften your standards. Simply pause.”

“Pause?”

“Four seconds,” I suggested. “One breath. No words.” He laughed. “That sounds trivial.” “It is trivial,” I agreed. “And extremely difficult.”

Because reactions are automated. Responses are chosen.

**

Several weeks later, Raghav returned with an observation that genuinely surprised him. “The meetings feel different,” he said.

“What changed?”

“I haven’t changed my decisions,” he clarified. “But I’ve started noticing the moment before I speak.”

“And?”

“The irritation is still there,” he admitted. “But the pause stops me from firing.” That single gap — barely a few seconds — had altered the emotional climate of his interactions.

People spoke more. Defensiveness reduced. Energy returned. Nothing structural had changed. Only awareness.

**

Reacting is effortless because it is borrowed from the past — old patterns, old triggers, old conditioning.

Responding requires presence. Choice. Consciousness.

Who would imagine that leadership transformation might sometimes begin not with strategy, but with something far smaller? One breath. Four seconds.

Just enough space for wisdom to enter where habit once ruled.

In Musing……                                                                                           Shakti Ghosal

The Promise No One Else Enforces


A decade after my executive coaching certification, one idea continues to stay with me: Accountability is rarely about others. It is about the promises we make to ourselves.

Not the corporate version of deadlines, dashboards, and reviews. Something quieter. More personal.

A simple question: Who holds us accountable for the things that truly matter?

The uncomfortable answer: we do.

**

Some time ago, a senior leader — let’s call him Arvind — walked into my office. Highly capable. Well respected. Clearly exhausted.

“I’m working harder than ever,” he said, “but everything feels stuck.”

Experience has taught me that “everything” usually has a centre of gravity.

“What feels most stuck?” I asked.

“My restructuring initiative,” he replied. “Everyone agrees it’s necessary. But it’s just not happening.”

“What’s stopping it?”

“The usual,” he sighed. Quarterly pressures. Reviews. Endless fires. Bad timing.

Logical. Reasonable. Entirely human.

But then I asked him three questions:

“If the Chairman had mandated this with a deadline — would it still be pending?”
“Of course not.”

“If your compensation depended on it?”
“Would have been done already.”

“If your team’s survival required it?”
“ Then, I would have done it yesterday.”

And there it was. The barrier wasn’t capability, clarity, or even time. It was consequence. Nothing happened if he delayed. No penalty. No discomfort. No urgency.

**

“Whose goal is this restructuring?” I asked.

“Mine.”

“Imposed?”

“No.”

“Do you believe in it?”

“Completely.”

“Then what agreement have you made with yourself about it?”

Silence. Then a smile of recognition. “None.”

**

Many of us confuse intention with commitment.

We say:

• I should do this
• I need to get to that
• I’ve been meaning to…

But progress rarely responds to “should.”

“What if,” I suggested, “you treated this not as a project — but as a promise?” Something you either honour or break. Not endlessly postpone.

**

“What’s the next visible action?” I asked.

“Announcing it to my leadership team.”

“When?”

“…Friday.”

“And how would you like me to support your accountability?” That question matters. Accountability imposed feels like control. Accountability invited becomes partnership.

“Ask me next week,” he said. “And challenge me if I haven’t done it.”

**

The following Tuesday he returned, noticeably lighter. “It’s done.”

“What changed?”

“I stopped treating it as something I should do,” he said, “and started treating it as something I had said I would do.”

A small shift. A profound one.

**

The most important commitments in our lives rarely come with external enforcement. No one penalises postponed courage. No dashboard tracks delayed growth. And yet, these commitments shape everything.

Accountability is not a management technique. It is a quiet act of integrity —an agreement between who we are today and who we intend to become.

**

Curious to hear your thoughts: 👉 Where have you seen self-accountability make the biggest difference in leadership or life?

In Musing……… Shakti Ghosal

Inside the Box & getting out of it


“I don’t understand why I have to deal with him,” Arjun snapped, pacing the room. “He’s impossible. Defensive. Disrespectful. Always pushing back.”

Across the table, Kavya watched quietly. “You seem tired,” she said.

“Tired? I’m exhausted. I try to be fair. Professional. But with people like him, you have to be firm.”

“People like him?” she asked gently.

“You know exactly what I mean.”

“Maybe,” she said. “Or maybe you’re in the box.”

Arjun stopped pacing. “In the what?”

“The box,” she repeated. “It’s what happens when someone stops being a person and becomes a problem.”

He frowned. “He is a problem.”

Kavya didn’t argue. “Tell me about your last conversation with him.”

“I was clear. Direct. I told him his work wasn’t up to standard. He got defensive immediately.”

“How was your tone?”

“Professional.”

“How did you feel?”

Arjun hesitated. “…Annoyed. Honestly, I was already fed up before the meeting even began.”

Kavya nodded. “That’s the box.”

He looked at her, irritated now. “So this is my fault?”

“No,” she said softly. “That’s the tricky part. When we’re in the box, we’re not trying to be wrong. We feel justified. Righteous, even. But we stop seeing the other person’s humanity.”

“He still behaved badly.”

“Maybe. But inside the box, something subtle changes in us. Our voice hardens. Curiosity disappears. We listen to reply, not to understand. The other person feels it — even if we say all the ‘right’ words.”

Arjun looked away.

“And then,” she continued, “they react to our coldness. They defend. They resist. They shut down. And we walk away saying, See? I knew he was difficult.”

The room fell silent.

“So it’s a loop,” Arjun said quietly.

“Yes. A self-fulfilling one.”

He sank into a chair. “I didn’t even consider what he might be dealing with. I just saw poor performance.”

“That’s the box,” Kavya said again. “He became an obstacle to your goals. Not a person with pressures, fears, or a story you don’t know.”

Arjun’s voice was softer now. “So getting out means… what? Being nice?”

“No. It means seeing clearly. You can still disagree. Still hold standards. But you do it while remembering — this is a human being, not a hurdle in my way.”

He exhaled slowly. “And if he’s in the box about me too?”

She smiled faintly. “Then someone has to step out first.”

Arjun sat with that. The anger that had filled the room felt smaller now — replaced by something heavier, but cleaner.

“Maybe,” he said at last, “I’ve been fighting a problem… instead of talking to a person.”

Kavya nodded. “That realization is the door out.”

In musing……. Shakti Ghosal

**

Acknowledgement: ‘Leadership & Self Deception: Getting out of the box’ – The Arbinger Institute