RamGanapathy.com

Category: Musings

  • …and some dharma

    This is the part II of the blog that I started writing last week.

    A couple of weeks ago, I participated in a review session involving internal auditors who checked the sales contract document authored by my colleague – a sales lead who I collaborate with by providing a significant portion of the content. What started as an innocuous discussion, turned quickly to an intense scrutiny of many sections of the document, that gave rise to multiple follow up actions and meetings for the week. It also lead to the sticky question: who is responsible for the inadequate quality of content. Made me step back and ask a few hard questions to myself.

    The glorified title I have – Engagement Manager – hides a lot of trivial activities to be carried out. For instance, it takes a hell a lot of talking, emailing, negotiating,  waiting, worrying and sometimes escalating – to get people from various teams and geographies at short notice to agree on a business proposal. My mom once asked, “You seem to be talking all day, non stop. What do you actually do?”

    My role is not trivial however. Ever since I moved into this new job function, i have been super excited by the many facets that come part of it: beyond just being an expert of my line of business, I need to bridge the world of sales and delivery. I act like a diplomat sometimes, representing the huge remote delivery organisation that I was once part of, exhibiting adequate amounts of caution and risk management during the sales process. At the same time, I keep reminding myself that I’m part of the sales set up which requires me to be a catalyst and a collaborator. I feel like a amphibian.

    While the fun derived from working with great minds across the organisation (and our demanding customers) keeps me afloat, one is constantly challenged to come up with new ideas and business models that test the limits of our current processes and, the answer relies on innovation and speed.

    Alas, speed and accuracy are not the closest of cousins. I guess I got a bit carried away with the peripherals of my job and need to focus on the core part of it. The issue at hand was not just how to fix the quality issues being reported in the document, but also why I did not check the content in prior. Though it is not always feasible to compartmentalise responsibilities between us, my initial reaction was to shift the blame. Deep down however, the lurking sense of guilt hurt me badly.

    The mind looked for an easy and lazy way out of this problem. Maybe I’m over worked and burdened with the data deluge. Who am I kidding. I’m paid to pay attention. Isn’t that the most important aspect among others? I remember reading about the sense of duty illustrated by the thousands of inspection workers of Indian Railways. Every day they walk along the vast stretch of rail tracks looking for faults, hammering away any loose bolts. They are paid a pittance for the value they create.

    The lesson learnt is to keep focussing on the signal among the noise. Easier said than done. As I scrambled to figure out how to avoid such mishaps in future, my colleague went ahead and fixed the document.

    Later that week, a useful one-on-one conversation with my manager helped conclude this episode. I briefed him on the incident and asked how I could split responsibilities with my colleague. I explained the brain fade that occurred to me, and wondered out loud if the workload and the multi-dimensional aspect of my role were key contributors. He heard me out completely and shared some suggestions. He concluded the call saying, “But your role can be described much simpler than what you think: a gate-keeper.” I also felt the words he didn’t utter. Keep the good shit in and the bad shit out.

  • A bit of karma…

    After a nice lunch at our cousins’ place in Sydney, the mind wavered back to the events of the recent, intense weeks. Two episodes came to the surface that led me philosophising. One, involving a series of incidents at work that might refine the way I look at my role and, the other, a learning experience watching my daughter go through a bout of high school assignments and assessments.

    First, about the school assignment in this blog. (I will need more than a nice lunch to pen down the office stuff, which I will do in my next blog).

    Two weekends ago, it was quite easy for me to comfort my daughter grappling with her English assignment: to write a creative essay about a character from the book they were reading at class. Peer pressure and high levels of expectations set on her was telling, as she asked me for some advice. I gave her tips and tricks but encouraged to write it in her own style.

    She drafted it quickly and read it back to us. It sounded well as I heard her narrate, while munching on snacks, congratulating myself on how I let her do it by herself. A few days later she came home with a strange look on her face. While the teacher’s comments were positive on many aspects of the essay, he was critical on grammar and punctuation. He had gone on to state that a bit of proof reading at home could have made the result better.

    I felt guilty. I chided myself for just being observant and not getting involved in her homework. Instead of lecturing her while sitting on a couch, I should have sat down with her to work on sentences and structure. My wife politely reminded me of how I take blogging more seriously than helping with homework and wondered out loud, how one could be so casual about it.

    I then had a chance to redeem myself during the subsequent assignment about writing further on the character. This time, I spent a good couple of hours with my daughter (the wife looking over my shoulders). We researched about gothic style of fiction writing. It felt good about learning something new. After she finished her draft, I verified it, suggested corrections and ideas.

    I also expanded on how to not worry about what the teacher might think of her essay and only focus on her own effort and preparation. This was not me preaching her about do-your-karma-without-expectations (Bhagavad Gita) but more of trying to be a helpful dad, offering a logical explanation: we can only control what we do (effort) and can never be sure about the result.

    I got a pat on the back from wife once she read the final draft. It was our best effort.

    The teacher’s feedback arrived few days later. He praised her for the creative elements in the narrative. I noticed a comment in the end. “The essay would have turned out better if you had done a bit of proof reading.”

  • Gifting a surprise

    Gifting a surprise

    The kid is growing up. She just completed another year circling the sun and it was pertinent that a gift is chosen. The wife had plans drawn for months now, just that I didn’t know. In parallel, the kid wrote a wish list on the fridge – I never noticed it.

    Here I was – one week before the birthday without any ideas for the gift. I quickly turned towards the wife for some soothing words that did not include “I have been telling you…”. It was a quick and easy call that was made: we promptly purchased the ear rings that she had been planning to gift our kid. That was done. What about the wish list on the fridge?

    Shopping for a birthday gift – one that is not going to be a surprise anymore – wasn’t going to be that interesting. The only mystery that we managed to add was to dramatize the whole thing: we made fun of her asking for such childish things even at this age, which made her resign to the fact that she won’t receive them.

    Made me think about the concept behind gifts in general – the sense of expectation that surrounds us as we unwrap them – and the whole idea that we get something for free. (The word free derives from the Sanskrit word priya – which means “dear” or “love”. Yes, when we give out something to others without an ensuing transaction, it ought to be with some love.)

    Choosing vs being surprised:

    It seems obvious that most people love a pleasant surprise as opposed to fully knowing what they are going to receive. Not necessarily.

    My previous company had an annual ritual: useful things like water heaters and glass bowls were nicely packed, gift-wrapped and presented to each of the 400 odd employees every year around the festive season. But during one of the monthly forums with the MD, a section of the crowd pushed for a change of approach. Most of us were still single and had little excitement to receive a kitchen utensil at this phase of our lives. The suggestion was to either being able to order a gift (from a catalogue) or collect equivalent cash.

    The MD was struggling for words to describe the conflict between the original intent and how it ended up being perceived. But he was bang-on as he finished, “A gift is given and not chosen”.

    Eventually, we managed to buy the items in the list without her knowledge and she had an unknown gift box in front of her on the day. Surprise.

    Or was it ? Well, in her own words, the kid felt doubly happy about collecting the items in her wish list – especially after not expecting them.

    PS: Turns out, the wife had advised the kid to make the wish list all along. I learnt about it after writing this piece. Now, that was a surprise.

  • Take your seat

    Take your seat

    Prior to relocating as an employee of our Canberra office, I had made a few short business trips to meet the team and the customers here. I had a fair idea of what to expect in the new place. That was three years ago. The role was going to be different but I was mentally well prepared for everything. Almost.

    Ours is a small office and at any point of time there would be a max of 50 people around. Others would be either working from home or with customers, I would think. The office space is organized into named desks  (name printed on a steel name plate atop the mounted desk screen), hot desks (anyone – usually travellers – can occupy, temporarily) and meeting rooms.

    I used to randomly take a hot desk when I was a visitor. Now, moving in as an employee of this office, it felt strange when I learnt there wouldn’t be a permanent desk for me. Should that affect me ? After all, I had spent many years in this company working in different offices, travelling to various places, working from airport lounges, customer offices and from home too. And what is my work anyway: read mails, take calls, meet people and occasionally get to do some inspiring stuff. Should a permanent desk matter ?

    I found a spot. It was in a corner, facing the window with a nice view of the traffic-less street surrounded by other buildings and a bunch of eucalyptus and maple trees. The next day too, I managed to position myself there. The third day though, I was late. When I found another guy settled down nicely in my (?) desk, I felt like a child whose candy was snatched away.

    Berating myself for being silly, I quietly occupied the next available hot desk. It was a dull place far way from the window. No scenic view to provide any inspiration – unless you count the potted indoor plants. The desk was messy too. You are expected to clean the desk when you go, especially if it is not yours. Then it became clear to me. That was some clever guy who knew how to mark his territory. Fair enough. I moved away.

    In the meantime, work kept me engaged. I made quite a few acquaintances, new connections in the office and outside. The new role turned out to be fascinating. The family too, settled in nicely in a new country.

    While I worked on many business cases and helped secure deals, I also managed to secure a permanent desk, eventually. It did not matter that the steel name plates ran out of stock. I settled for a simple print out of my name on a piece of paper (bold font, though), perched on the mounted partition of the desk. My desk. Or my portion of that long desk that houses three others as well.

    I decided to sprawl the desk with things. I got my daughter to make a couple of crafts for display, and the usual stuff: coffee mug to keep pencils I never use, print outs that should have been fed to the shredder long ago and the many wires and chargers.

    Recently, I reflected on this behaviour and did some googling too. There are two opposing schools of thought regarding this question: Should employees have their own private space or be part of an open environment that encourages dynamism and collaboration. I think however, our primal instinct to secure a physical territory far outweighs the need to be socially connected.

    It is funny and silly. Only until you find your desk taken away by some stranger, leaving you to look for a spot near the window with a view.

  • Catching the Bus

    Yes I remember that very well. Every day from when I was 11 until joining college, I went through this routine which was painful but necessary part of the day.

    Catching the bus. Entering it; finding your spot; and more importantly, getting out unscathed.

    No, it was not simple.

    The first day to the high school – around 10 kms from home – was also my first ever bus trip by myself. Standing amidst a crowd of busy people at the bus stop – school kids big and small, families, and irritated, lonely office goers – I remember feeling anxious but proud of being on my own.

    Imagine the 80’s in India. A typical bus stop at a middle class neighbourhood. No mobile phones. You have to chat with strangers otherwise the wait for the bus would feel much longer. Usually I was with friends and occasionally my parents would decide to start early to office and give me company.  But mostly I found myself among a crowd of unfamiliar people.

    Suddenly there was a jostling. I look towards the end of the road.  Appears like a mirage, but it was indeed the bus emerging from nowhere. The red and white coloured metal box carrying a sea of humanity is going to stop near me anytime. And I need to figure out a way to get in and find some space to stand if not sit. Already, the sound and sight of that beast  had made me nervous, especially the ear piercing horn announcing to the world that no one dare stand in the way.

    Everyone gets ready; no queues, no courtesy. Bags are lifted from the ground; conversations pause; a sense of alertness kicks in. Families make strategies – who gets in first to look for seats for others and who should carry the heavy bags etc. As the bus stops, I realized one of the fundamental assumptions going wrong. You expect a bunch of people getting down to make space for ones getting in. That never happened. But no one seemed to care. Everybody barged in. Actually, my attempt to get in to the bus was effortless (alas, not painless) since, all I did was to stand in the way of this bulky guy who wanted to desperately get in. The raging bull that he was, he ensured I was shovelled right into it.

    There were days when the arriving bus wouldn’t stop near us. You see, the driver would want to keep his sanity (and his job) when he knows there is a physical limit. He might prefer to avoid a stampede and stop a lot farther from the bus stop, hoping to only offload people and not let anymore in. But he is unaware that we are also good sprinters and nothing would deter us from making a mad rush towards the bus.

    Most days we make it. Entering that way as an unwelcome passenger, you need to avoid making eye contact with the driver (or the ticket conductor). I look back at the scene now and it resembles the one from the movie Avatar where Jake Sully waits for his dragon on the top of the mountains. While everyone gets their carrier, he is left wondering if he would ever have a chance to be on top of his own dragon until when he is assured by his girlfriend of the tribe ,”You choose your Ikran, but you have to wait until it choses you”.

    Some days I get up late and I would already know that the only chance to get to school in time would mean that I run and run towards the bus stop. There are other factors too at play: the straight but uneven path from my home to the bus stop via a dumping ground; speed and position of the bus that has already commenced from the previous stop; probability that it would even stop close to bus station. I never had to struggle for real life examples when I learnt Pythagoras theorem, Trigonometry, Newton’s laws etc. at school.

    Catching a bus was not just an event. It now seems to me as a metaphor  for grabbing opportunities, taking risks and wriggling my way out of the crowd to find a spot. It has prepared me well for the real journeys later.

    To travel away from a familiar home to new places full of hope and unknowns.

  • A story a day

    Every night I’m asked by my daughter to narrate a story . It cannot repeat, should have no traces of any other similar storyline. Unique, and every night. I don’t remember exactly when it started, but it sure has become addictive for her to be able to listen to a new tale as she dozes off. Not quite the easier part of the day for me. Late night calls from work (and other excuses) kept me out of this daily ritual from time to time. But most nights I’m confronted by this intellectual challenge; one I had under-estimated.

    The easy and lazy options were over in quick time : crow tales, kings and battles, village situations, big ships and mountains and even dinosaurs. I remember once scratching my head midway into a narrative – when all I did was blabber – no logic, no twists, no ending in sight; the story never made any sense. She had slept by then. Waking up next day, she told me that was awful. I realized I had reached the low point.

    To make things easy for me, she sometimes relents and says I could repeat myself – which makes it even more stressful. I wonder how artists feel when they struggle some days – and realize they cannot create anything fresh and inspiring.

    I’m not an aspiring artist, but why is it so difficult to cook up a story? Perhaps it has to do with the effort and discipline in thinking at the end of a long day. Creativity is not easy. There is a whole body of knowledge on Story Telling which is leveraged in many domains like entertainment (of course!), marketing, education, politics,  etc. You will find the many benefits, techniques and tools about Story Telling which is also an oft-repeated phrase at work these days. But for me, the overt focus on the preparation, structure and the outcome  of a narration drains out the energy. How does one make it easier and smooth ?

    Perhaps I’m unsettled at the larger question too: what should the story be about? What should she know about the world at her age. In fact, I worry about what she should (need) not know at this time of her life – what with the blitzkrieg of unfiltered content exposure, 24×7. Going beyond the simple, direct and consumable stuff – how do you slowly take her to the depth and meaning of things. You have to be cautious though, by being less preachy.

    Until I figure that out, I have turned to another easy option: reality. I have begun taking trips to the memory lane, going to my childhood days, fishing out incidents that I still remember – to find something interesting and worthwhile to tell her.  After all, where else does one get plots like these: how I cried at primary school once, not being able to remove the shoe laces – until when the girl next to me used her hair pin to untangle the mess. How I never figured out a way of dealing with bullies at school. Or how I let the guy next to me copy from my answer sheet in the (false, as it turned out) hope of him being friendly during the soccer play that evening. And how I stressed out on exam nights. Real examples of mishaps, missed opportunities, major failures and yes, the big points and successes.

    It is working. She says she loves these more than fiction. She wouldn’t  know (yet) that’s because I might not have stuck to the truth all the time.

  • Sound situations at work

    The soundscape at my work is made up of talking and music. I have to communicate a lot – talking in particular. My job as a bridge person between sales and delivery, only accentuates that. Apart from meetings and discussions in the office, I dial into many conference calls with people I may not have met, holding animated and robust conversations.

    I also like listening to music, as I (used to) write code and (now) crunch numbers. In fact, I’m listening to Zen meditation music as I write this blog. Music (and random noise?) has also played a part in me getting in and out of certain tricky situations at work.

    My team member once forgot to switch his personal phone into silent mode before a conference call with our stakeholder from another country. He was already stressed out, being in the spotlight with most number of defects found in his code. Exactly at the moment he was asked, “Can you please present the root cause analysis?”, his phone rattled with an unusual ring tone – of a film song prefixed with a dialogue: “Start music!”. This became a case of lost-in-translation since the guy at the other end had no clue about the interrupting phone call and had assumed he was being yelled at!

    I’m sure you have had to request – during conference calls – someone to go on mute when they inadvertently add an echo or an irritating background noise. I sometimes wonder if people dial into calls while binge-watching Netflix :). I too was a culprit on an occasion. No, I wasn’t enjoying a movie. Working from home that day, I forgot to mute myself as I got into an important call hosted by our vice president. I was standing on my balcony facing my neighbour’s house being renovated. The clattering noise of metal agonized the leader on the other end. At one point, he gave up and said, “Someone please mute. I hope this is not the sound of our customers hammering us”.

    It’s not just my phone that I want to mute. Mostly, I struggle to listen during conversations, often interrupting with my own ideas and arguments. While I don’t want to offer any excuses, my role does require me to act as a catalyst and perform a certain level of moderation. I could do better for sure.

    I recently learnt about the communication tactic of using pauses in a business discussion, from this BBC article  the subtle power of uncomfortable silences. In a negotiation, such “a pause between someone speaking and your response can be a surprisingly power tool”. It talks about how silences are valued differently based on cultural contexts, for instance, how the “Chinese negotiators are very, very aware that Americans like to fill silences” with something and “possibly make concessions without the Chinese having to do anything”. And how it can help us “get beyond the emotional response and to start thinking cognitively”.

    I also liked a Business Insider article describing how Steve Jobs used an 8 second pause while he responded to an insulting question about his strategy, with a deep and empathetic response.

    I figured, calming music is all fine but it is still a distraction. Silence and stillness is what I yearn. I remember being introduced to meditation as a child but I failed to attain any level of focus or calmness. I should try again, more sincerely.

    Perhaps I should start with depriving myself of any sound. The other day, I was tempted to buy the noise-cancelling headphone offered at a good discount. It was still expensive, so I gave up that thought of buying. Not before trying it out though. And I realized, even the $499 Bose equipment would only come close to – without actually delivering what I was hoping to attain in those few seconds. Absolute silence.

    Maybe sleep would deliver it. As I finish writing this blog, I look forward to some sound sleep.

    Only to be woken by an alarm.

  • Hi, who are you ?

    Embarrassing.  It felt worse than what this word suggests. He was not a friend – merely an acquaintance,  but we used to travel to school together, waiting endlessly for the bus to arrive, jumping into it even before it came to a halt, rushing to grab the best seat. But at that time when he spotted me in the same bus, it had been three years after school and we were going to different colleges and never had a chance to catch up.

    His name ? I just couldn’t get it.

    He caught me blinking even as he excitedly shook my hands and enquired about the new phase of my life. I still managed to have a full thirty minute conversation without having to refer to his name. That was until when my new friend turned up and I had to introduce the strangers to each other. “Meet my school mate, ummmm…”.

    Oops.

    Eventually, I discovered my erstwhile fellow bus traveller as Gopi – the name I struggled to fetch and the one he had to announce it himself. It was awkward. Yeah, that’s the word.

    I have good memory. Anyone who has passed their exams from an Indian University during the 90’s would be never found wanting on that aspect. But I have always struggled to remember names of people. I have tried various techniques – to picture film stars of similar names, or to understand its meaning and co-relate to their personality etc. It all went for a toss, when I began networking at the work place, meeting so many people from different cultures and countries. Add to that, the challenges in pronouncing them correctly.

    Turns out, that are some good reasons why this happens. An article from the Daily Mail explains why the brain struggles to retain a name – a random information with little connection or correlation to the person. One of the reasons it says is that we may not be so interested in the person and hence the brain would hardly make an attempt. I wonder if it is also due to the enormous amount of data feed that goes into us every day.

    I saw an old interview of the veteran Tamil film actor, late Poornam Viswanathan who was once a news reader with All India Radio. He recalled his broadcasting days – he had the great privilege in announcing India’s independence in his Tamil bulletin. At 5:30 am on the morning of August 15, 1947, swelling with pride, he had begun, “All India Radio…seithigal vaasippathu (news read by) ……….”. He forgot his name! After a few excruciating seconds, he recovered from the brain fade and went on to declare his name followed by the most important news that he ever presented.

    These days, I employ this trick which works well in some occasions: I ask for their last name, appearing to store their contact details in my phone book. Most of them go on to say their full name. Even when they don’t, its OK since that’s more than half of the information.

    Recently, when I spotted an ex-colleague at the far-end table of a restaurant, I used linkedin profile search to confirm my guess, before walking up to greet him by his name. It worked.

    But he was still struggling to recognize me at all.

  • Grand lessons from a simple life

    Grand lessons from a simple life

    When the lady from the neighbourhood came to our home to formally invite us for her son’s wedding, my grandmother was very gracious as a host. At her late sixties then, she had been quite popular in the housing unit – of close to five hundred houses – by being a friendly, helpful, wise old being. On that occasion though, she surprised the lady who believed my grandma was her best friend, by declining to attend the event citing a reason that was too difficult for her to digest. “At this age, I have decided to attend only important events. The other issue is, you see, the weekly water supply occurs at the time of the wedding”.  It was embarrassing for me since the lady’s second son was my play mate.

    I never had to read any other book to learn the art of saying No.

    My grandma always chose to speak her mind even at the risk of appearing rude. Once, being tired of listening to a young mother lamenting about the fact that her child wouldn’t eat properly, she quipped “Don’t worry. The child will start eating more as you start preparing tasty food everyday”.

    She did have a peculiar sense of humour. For instance, when I proudly announced to her about my first car, her sarcasm left me stumped.

    But she had a tough life. She was the last child in a rich family of jewellers in Ernakulam and when she married my grandfather – who ran a restaurant – she was just a teenager. She faced one of her first challenges when the restaurant had to be closed down and they had to migrate to Coimbatore, in the adjacent state of Tamil Nadu. Reduced to a lower-middle-class life and faced with new language, culture and people, she dealt with life very well. She raised her four children instilling values of discipline, hard work and mental toughness. My grandfather gave her good company, until he passed away due to heart ailment and she was still in her fifties. And we the thirteen grandchildren filled up the space.

    And, about my car, she had this to say: “I’m happy for you. But even if you tell me you bought an aeroplane, I won’t be excited. I have seen it all”.

    Cricket and Cinema

    My primary school was situated just a few yards from the local cinema. There have been many days when my sister and I would return home to see her getting ready for the evening show. The next thing we knew, we were ushered into the movie hall, left to watch a boring family feud unfold for three hours. She was clever to attract us with a bait of the triangle-shaped vegetable samosa, served before and during the film interval.

    And boy, did she love cricket! She would happily collude with me in bunking school to watch a game of cricket in our black-and-white TV. Whenever the commentary was in Hindi – a language she wouldn’t understand – she would quickly mute the TV, switch on the local radio to match the visuals with the narration in Tamil. Together we have watched Sunil Gavaskar retire, Sachin get his first hundred and Dhoni lift the world cup. And every single India-Pakistan match.

    I always picture her when I reel under uncertainty or the fear of the unknown. When she was close to seventy, she suddenly decided to visit her niece in Bombay – 1200 Kms away and did not wait for my father who offered to apply leave and take her on the two day long train journey. She was happy to join my cousin who happened to travel around the same time. She then made a 2000 km train trip across the country to the east, to meet her cousin in Calcutta – all by herself and with no clue of the lingua franca. When she eventually returned home she had completed a big triangle, but she was unfazed.

    She travelled a lot more. And while I could not join her in those trips, I feel blessed to have been a part of her journey.

    Couple of weeks ago, my grandmother aged 91, passed away peacefully in her bed, having lived a complete life. All through, she kept it simple: spoke her mind, never skipped a meal, washed her clothes by hand, walked to the temple in the mornings, watched a movie/TV for a few hours and befriended tons of people.

    She was born rich, lost it all, got most of it back, maybe more – but never felt poor.

  • None of the above

    None of the above

    The two hours around dinner time during the weekend are easily the most agonizing times for me, as we sit in front of the TV to find a good movie to watch as a family. The labor of sifting through the films across many genres, considering the preferences of the three of us – me, the missus and the pre-teen – is daunting in itself. And then to choose the movie of the week is a responsibility I don’t get excited about.

    Choice. The act of choosing between two or more possibilities. Sold to us as the boon of the civilized world. The word cleverly used to disguise as a gift before one realizes the burden accompanying it. When we exercise a choice, we invariably make a statement about ourselves.

    You think I’m complicating things here. Fair enough. I even dread at the prospect of having to choose a “good” curry off the dinner menu for my colleagues.

    This happened many years ago and I am giggling as I write this: When food was served at our dinner table, a colleague who arrived late spotted a dish with an unusual aroma and wondered out loud, “who the hell ordered this dish!?”. The awkward silence that ensued was broken by our new manager’s reply, “I did. Is there a problem?”. He was obviously worried about the popularity of his choice. Four more awkward seconds. “Great choice! Looks exciting”, was my colleague’s attempt to avoid the embarrassment. He thought he salvaged the situation until when our manager asked, “Cool, shall I order one more?”.

    A similar incident occurred at work but it was not funny. My team toiled for months, working closely with the client team, going through multiple iterations of the visual screen design. The client team was tasked by their project sponsor to replace their legacy system with a state-of-the-art IT system. However during the final presentation, the sponsor was seen grappling with the dilemma: while the prototype looked exactly like what he asked for, he simply did not like it. The whole exercise had to be repeated. The team was disappointed but we took solace in these words from the book Are your lights on ?, “In spite of appearances, people seldom know what they want until you give what they ask for.”

    Is it easier when you have to choose something for yourself ?

    Not necessarily. Since a lot of mental energy and resources are required to make a choice, you have to be very clear about the context, even if it is as straightforward as deciding to donate your organ. This is due to the Default Effect as they refer it in psychology. For instance, “in countries such as Austria, laws make organ donation the default option at the time of death, and so people must explicitly “opt out” of organ donation. In these so-called opt-out countries, more than 90% of people donate their organs. Yet in countries such as U.S. and Germany, people must explicitly “opt in” if they want to donate their organs when they die. In these opt-in countries, fewer than 15% of people donate their organs at death.”, as described in this Stanford University paper.

    This is leveraged in many domains especially in user interface design of apps. You will always find a default choice say, “Save” or a “Pay” button instead of “Cancel”. The other obvious example is the social media. You are constantly fed information tailored to you, to effectively keep you in your bubble.

    Then how can we be really free to make the right choices in our lives ? A couple of mind hacks could help. One of them is based on the Via negativa approach, extended further in his book Anti-fragile, by the maverick thinker Nassim Nicholas Taleb. He advises us to figure out what to subtract from our life. Debt, tobacco, bad company are obvious examples. It gets interesting when he quotes Steve Jobs of being “proud of the things we haven’t done as the things I have done. Innovation is saying no to 1,000 things”. He then illustrates the “less is more” approach for dealing with life’s more important but difficult decisions (diet, investments, career choices etc.).

    The other technique is to stay still and resist exercising any of the options presented to us. I’m not advocating any form of Zen thinking here. What if status-quo is a better option? For instance, during penalty shootouts, soccer goalkeepers usually either jump to their left or the right but never stand still. However, a 2007 study of “286 penalty kicks in top leagues and championships worldwide” indicates “the optimal strategy for goalkeepers is to stay in the goal’s centre”! This is called the Action Bias which explains why people prefer to do something even if it is counter-productive, as opposed to doing nothing. They do not want to be ridiculed for failing to act.

    The movie was awesome. My wife liked the drama, the kid liked the sports bit and I got the necessary inspiration for the upcoming week. Rudy turned out to be a perfect choice in the end!