Children in the boardroom : Why Observing Children Might Make You Better at Business

The adult-child relationship begins on an unequal footing—blame it on the size. Adults tower over children, both physically and metaphorically. The default mode, even in the most well-meaning of grown-ups, is to look down—sometimes literally, but more often figuratively. Add to that a generous dose of cultural conditioning, and you have a cocktail of assumptions: that adults know better, that some truths are only grasped with age, that children should listen, not speak.

To be fair, these arguments aren’t entirely without merit. Age does bring perspective. But what I’ve learned through countless observations and conversations, particularly in the course of my research with everyday people, is that the world is rarely ever black or white. It's layered, complex, and textured with nuance. The same applies to the adult-child dynamic. Over time, this relationship, if unchecked, can become overly skewed, polarising to a point where children feel invisible, their voices muffled under the weight of adult authority. And that height gap can obscure something magical: the clarity, creativity, and wisdom children carry in their hearts.

Which is why Vobble’s initiative to create a 'Kid Board of Directors' caught my attention. A brand that targets kids actively invites them into the decision-making process. Intriguing, to say the least.

The first session took place yesterday. The co-founders, Neha Sharma and Sowmya Jagannath, introduced a group of children to the idea of a startup and what it means to solve a real-world problem. And what followed was a reminder of just how perceptive, imaginative, and emotionally intelligent children can be.

One child envisioned a car that could expand or retract—a dream solution to Bangalore’s legendary traffic snarls. Another pitched the idea of a kid’s credit card, with parents able to monitor expenses via an app—cleverly addressing the tiring negotiation ritual that precedes every small purchase. A third spoke passionately about the rising screen time in babies, proposing a ‘co-working-baby-explore zone’ that would let parents work while their toddlers explored a screen-free world.

From frustrations with piano lessons to dreams of a turbo-charged version of Minecraft, each idea reflected not only a unique problem but also a slice of the child’s lived reality. These weren’t whimsical, disconnected fantasies. These were practical, emotionally grounded solutions stemming from observation, empathy, and lived experience. And like all good ideas, the feeling one is left with is, “Now why didn’t we think of that earlier?”

The experience was equally revealing for the adults in the room. Watching children walk confidently into the boardroom, take their seats, and engage with the startup lingo was both heartening and humbling. The children quickly realised that adults, too, are just playing roles—sometimes pretending to be more serious and responsible than they actually are. Toys on desks and candies in drawers told their own story.

Neha and Sowmya guided the children through the basics of building a startup, thinking not just about the problem and solution but also about monetisation, information dissemination, and target audiences. All of this was done in a spirit of fun, with no pressure, and plenty of encouragement.

These moments at the cross-section of childhood and adulthood are deeply meaningful. They offer children a chance to step into the adult world—not as imitators but as equal stakeholders. At the same time, they allow adults to reconnect with the playfulness and clarity of their own inner child. The benefits, in my opinion, are mutual and healing.

Over the next few weeks, these young board members will test Vobble’s product, interact with it, and share their thoughts—likely with more candour than any adult focus group could ever offer. When I saw them at the office, even the six-year-olds moved about with a quiet confidence. Ironically, it was the adults who seemed just a little anxious, bracing themselves for a flood of probing questions.

And why not? Deep down, I think children know their own strength. It’s what helps them survive and even thrive in a world built by and for adults.

Stay tuned for more updates, including conversations with the kid board members and the founders themselves.

This experience offers a powerful reminder to all of us, especially those building products, programs, or policies for children: include them at the table. Not as a formality, but as insightful collaborators with lived experiences that matter. If your work touches young lives, let their voices lead, not as an afterthought, but from the start.

The Silent Crisis in Schools: A Qualitative Insight into How Adults Shape Childhood




Schools are meant to be spaces of learning, growth, and care. Yet, far too often, they become places where authority overshadows empathy, and discipline takes precedence over respect for children's dignity. Through my research, I have encountered numerous instances that reveal the stark contrast between how educators present their role and how they actually interact with students.

Story 1: The Principal’s Projection Versus Reality

During a visit to a school where we were testing an educational product, I interacted with the principal and teachers, who spoke passionately about nurturing students. The principal was so soft-spoken that I had to ask her multiple times to speak louder since I could barely hear her sitting literally one-foot away from me. 

Later that afternoon, when I met with the students, I asked one of them to guide me to the washroom. Knowing that the guest washroom was accessible through the staffroom, he led me in that direction. As soon as we entered, the principal and teachers yelled at the child for stepping into the staffroom without permission—without even noticing I was right behind him. The very same people who had spoken about nurturing children had, in an instant, reduced this student to a rule-breaker, unworthy of even a moment of inquiry.

Story 2: What you see is not what you get

Typically, when conducting research in schools, we are given isolated spaces to conduct interviews, far removed from the daily workings of the institution. However, on one occasion, I was seated in a room surrounded by classrooms, allowing me to observe the school environment firsthand.

As I walked in, the scent of incense and an oil lamp at the entrance suggested an effort to create a positive atmosphere. But over the next four hours, this initial impression crumbled. I heard teachers yelling at students. I saw them patrolling the corridors with sticks, treating them as essential tools rather than disciplinary exceptions.

The most heartbreaking moment came when I saw a child sitting quietly in his classroom, eating his tiffin while completing his work. He was not disturbing anyone, yet a teacher stormed in and scolded him for simply being there. In a space where joy should have been fostered, it was being tested at every turn. And yet, children continued to laugh and play—not because of their environment, but despite it.

Story 3: A Mother’s Fight for Dignity

Amidst these unsettling observations, I found hope in a story shared by a mother whose child suffered from epilepsy. His medication made him groggy, and on one occasion, he was slow to take out his book when instructed by a new teacher. Frustrated, she flung his notebook away.

When he shared this with his mother, she went to school the next day to speak with the teacher. The teacher, defensive and dismissive, retorted, Who are you to question me in my classroom? The mother stood her ground: I am the ultimate authority on my child. He is a child with a medical condition—you are a fully functioning adult - what is your excuse for your behaviour?

She escalated the issue to the principal, who, to their credit, investigated the complaint and found that the teacher had been routinely harsh with students. The school took action and asked her to step down. But how many principals would have the objectivity and courage to take such a stance?

Story 4: The Child Who Asked Too Many Questions

I happened to talk to a girl, around 8 or 9 years old, who was walking in a corridor when a teacher yelled at her out of the blue. "I have been hearing that you have not been behaving yourself in class—getting impatient and troubling all the teachers with too many questions."

I asked the child what her response was. She said, "I just shyly smiled at the teacher and kept quiet since I did not want to enrage her even more. I really wanted to ask her how her pet was doing, since on another occasion, she had mentioned it was ill. Maybe I'll ask her tomorrow."

Children are that forgiving. But should we take their forgiving and loving nature for granted?

The Larger Issue: A Culture of Fear and Compliance

These stories reflect a systemic issue. Parents, even when aware of mistreatment, hesitate to speak up, fearing that their child will face retaliation. Discussions in parenting groups are filled with concerns about school authorities, and for many, the only recourse is to change schools. Unlike earlier times, when children would spend a decade in one institution, it is now common for them to switch schools multiple times due to an unsupportive environment. Though they leave the comfort zone of familiar friendships, I would still consider these children lucky as opposed to those who do not find neither their family nor school adults understanding what they go through. Student suicide rates, children running away from schools and homes are on the rise. Every time an email about a missing student circulates on WhatsApp groups - it sends shivers down the spine of parents who fear, ‘what if this child could be my own’. In a few days or weeks the incident is overshadowed by some other. 

While much is being discussed about educational reforms, emotional well-being remains a blind spot. Schools, institutions created for children's welfare, often fail them the most. Principals defend teachers, citing a shortage of good educators, and refrain from addressing emotionally unregulated behaviour among staff. Adults who work as teachers sometimes do not even realise the numerous ways they violate the dignity of a child with just their words. When a parent yells at a child, he / she often feels guilt and remorse since the loss of connection with their own children is palpable. This leads some parents to reflect and question their own behaviour and make amends. But what incentive do teachers have to even feel this guilt or remorse with the numerous children they encounter everyday. Once the connection is lost, the system is quick to label the child. Distracted, Disengaged, Disrespectful - we have fancier labels today ADHD, Hyperactive, lacking intent to learn. All the last 12 years of talking to children - I have yet to come across a child who did not have the ‘intent to learn’ and yet adults label them so casually and almost justifying their diagnosis of the child.  

SEL: A Buzzword Without Practice

Social-emotional learning (SEL) has become a trendy concept in education. Schools proudly include it in their vision statements, but the reality is often the opposite of what they claim. Instead of being actively practiced by adults, SEL is merely preached to children. The very educators responsible for fostering emotional intelligence often struggle to exhibit it themselves. 

A Call for Reflection

Every interaction between an adult and a child holds the potential to uplift or diminish. Are children being heard, or merely controlled? When authority is exercised, is it done with care, or simply out of habit? Do adults recognise the impact of their words and actions, or do they wield their power without reflection? Perhaps the real test of a school's culture is not in what it claims but in how children feel about their teachers while they are within its walls. Do they feel safe, respected, and valued? Or are they simply learning to navigate a world where authority must never be questioned?

For every adult who feels justified in violating the spirit of a child in an attempt to ‘correct’ their behaviour, I want to ask - what’s your excuse? 


#ChildRights #EducationReform #SilentCrisis #RespectChildren #MentalHealthInSchools #LearningAndDevelopment #EdLeadership #SocialImpact #EducationalEquity #qualitativeresearch #qualitativeresearchindia

Slow Decisions in a Fast World: What Qualitative Research Reveals About Consumer Delay




One child proudly showed another a sticker journal she had been working on for weeks. The other child, feeling uneasy, rushed home and asked her mom to order 2000 stickers at the click of a button. She ran back to Child A and said, “Hah! Now I will make a better sticker journal than you.”

Feeling dejected, Child A turned to her mom, tearful. “She got 2000 stickers from Amazon for just 200 Rs. I’ve been working on my journal for so long—can we please order them too?” The mother hesitated. The amount wasn’t significant, and her child had been dedicated to her journal. But was feeding into instant gratification the right move? Would it set a precedent for wanting more, faster?

It was difficult to explain delayed gratification to a 10-year-old, but something had to be done. Instead, she fed the need for instant gratification in a different way. She took her daughter to a garden and asked, “Can we grow a beautiful tree overnight?” Her child shook her head. “Some things take time,” the mother said, handing her a packet of seeds. “Why don’t we plant these together and watch them grow?” The act of planting created excitement, and as they watered the soil, the urgency over stickers faded.

The Rise of Quick Commerce

Quick commerce has reshaped consumer expectations. Initially focused on groceries and medicines, it has expanded to lifestyle products, fueled by changing habits and hyperlocal logistics. Search trends like “15-minute delivery” and “fastest online shopping” surged post-pandemic, reflecting a growing expectation for speed across all categories. Companies like Zepto, Blinkit, and Swiggy Instamart capitalized on this shift, making near-instant shopping a norm. Businesses thrive on fulfilling this instant demand, yet the long-term effects on consumer psychology remain largely unexplored.

Quick Commerce and the Brain: Rewiring for Instant Gratification

Instant gratification triggers dopamine, reinforcing a craving for speed. As everything—from food to fashion—is delivered in minutes, patience erodes. The constant cycle of rapid rewards can alter how we perceive time, making even brief waits feel frustrating. This racing mindset can heighten stress and anxiety, making inevitable delays—like airport security, job hunts, or college admissions—feel unbearable.

The Link Between a Racing Lifestyle and Mental Health

The shift toward hyper-efficiency mirrors a broader societal trend—one where speed is equated with success. But this acceleration has consequences. Studies suggest that the inability to tolerate waiting correlates with higher stress levels and a reduced ability to handle setbacks. If everything arrives instantly, what happens when life demands patience?

The Inescapable Wait: Airports, Jobs, and College Admissions

Some processes cannot be rushed. Air travel, job applications, and college admissions all demand time and uncertainty. Yet, as quick commerce fosters an expectation of immediacy, frustration with these unavoidable waits intensifies. Can we sustain a mindset that tolerates delayed rewards when much of our daily life now revolves around instant delivery?

The Impact on Deep Work and Focus

Tasks requiring long periods of concentration—writing, scientific research, skill-building—are at odds with an environment built for speed. If a generation grows up expecting instant outcomes, will they struggle with deep work and perseverance? The ability to focus for extended periods is already waning, with constant digital interruptions reshaping attention spans.

Will We Lose the Ability to Wait?

Patience is a muscle that needs to be exercised. Without it, frustration replaces resilience. While quick commerce enhances convenience, it also risks weakening our ability to tolerate delays, setbacks, and the natural rhythms of life.

Before You Click on the Next 10-Minute Delivery, Ask Yourself:

In a race, speed is rewarded—but is life truly a race? And to which finishing line is this speed taking us?


#QuickCommerce #InstantGratification #PatienceVsSpeed #RewiringOurBrains #ConsumerBehavior #FastButAtWhatCost #DigitalAgeDilemma #HyperEfficiency #AttentionSpanCrisis #DelayedGratification #RacingMindset #DeepWork #FutureOfWaiting

First-Time Buyers & Middle-Class Dreams: A Qualitative Glimpse into Aspirational India




In early 2021, Sneha Sharma from Delhi decided to finally take the leap and buy her first electric car. She had carefully compared options online, read reviews, and visited showrooms. But when she got the vehicle home, uncertainty hit like a thunderbolt.


“Where do I charge this thing if I run out of battery on the highway? What if the app stops working mid-journey?” she fretted. She opened her phone and Googled “nearest EV charging station in Delhi NCR.” The results were anything but reassuring—half the stations listed were either under maintenance or located in sketchy, inaccessible areas.

Despite its futuristic promise, the electric vehicle brand she trusted had left a glaring gap: no clear or reliable infrastructure to support her new lifestyle. What was supposed to be a bold step toward the future became a stressful experiment fraught with uncertainty.

But Sneha wasn't alone in her encounter with ambiguity. Around the same time, Ramesh Patel, a father from Ahmedabad, found himself in a similar bind—but with his son's education. When schools went virtual during the pandemic, Ramesh received conflicting instructions on login times, assessment protocols, and learning schedules. One day, the school announced that final exams might be canceled—but then hinted at a last-minute reversal. "We were on edge for months," Ramesh said. "I had no clarity on how my son's academic year would be evaluated."

Whether it’s electric cars or education, Sneha’s and Ramesh’s experiences reflect a lesson many institutions overlook—uncertainty is a psychological stressor that drives people away.

Uncertainty as a Psychological Stress Factor

Psychology 101 teaches us that uncertainty triggers anxiety. The human brain craves predictability, even in the smallest interactions. When brands and schools introduce ambiguity—whether in pricing, scheduling, or evaluation methods—they inadvertently create a negative experience.

The COVID-19 pandemic made this lesson painfully real. As lockdowns swept across the globe, search queries spiked for “is online school effective,” “how will CBSE exams be conducted,” and “is it safe to send kids back to school?” These searches highlight a simple truth: in moments of crisis, people seek clarity and reassurance above all else.

Smart schools recognised this and adapted. Some issued transparent guidelines for virtual classes and communicated exam policies early on. But many institutions missed the memo, leaving parents and students grappling with confusion.

What exacerbates this situation is that uncertainty which was earlier episodic is now woven into everyday life. From economic volatility and fluctuating interest rates to health concerns and unpredictable school schedules, people are constantly grappling with ambiguity. This socio-economic turbulence has raised the stakes for brands and service providers—people seek clarity as a refuge from chaos. People can’t afford to navigate services that add complexity to already uncertain lives.

The Brands That Understood the Assignment—and Those That Didn't

One game-changing factor was the rise of "certainty-first" product and service features.
Some brands responded wisely to this growing demand for certainty. Paytm, for instance, won over users by offering instant payment confirmations, transparent refund processes, and reliable error messages. Banking apps followed suit with real-time transaction updates and grocery delivery services added live order tracking. These seemingly minor adjustments tapped into a profound psychological need and earned loyalty.

On the other hand, airlines missed the mark spectacularly. During the pandemic, vague refund policies and shifting flight schedules left passengers helpless. Search queries for “how to get airline refund India” spiked by over 400%. This lack of transparency cost carriers customer trust that still hasn't fully recovered. 

The rise of uncertainty-driven searches during and after the pandemic underscores a universal truth: people gravitate toward organisations that provide clarity and reassurance.

The Illusion of Agility

However, not all brands learned the right lesson. Some repackaged uncertainty as agility and flexibility. Terms like "dynamic pricing," "real-time scheduling," and "adaptive assessment models" were euphemisms for erratic service.

Sneha Sharma wasn't interested in "dynamic charging solutions"—she simply wanted to know where to power her car. Ramesh Patel didn’t want "adaptive assessment models"—he wanted clarity on his son's academic future.

Consumers today don’t need agility; they need assurance. Product and service brands that recognise this truth and deliver certainty-first experiences will thrive in an unpredictable world. Certainty isn’t just a competitive advantage—it’s a fundamental human need.

And just like a rose by any other name would still smell as sweet, uncertainty by any other name still creates turbulence in people’s lives.

#UncertaintyKills #AgilityOrChaos #ConsumerClarity #CertaintyFirst #BrandTrust #TransparencyMatters #StressFreeSolutions #ClearCommunication #TheCostOfUncertainty

AI & Childhood Thinking: What Qualitative Research Tells Us About Learning in the Age of Machines



“Mama, can we get an Alexa?” Yes, it’s 2025, and we’re still living without Alexa—or any of its competing devices.
“Why do you need Alexa?” I asked.
“So that when I’m reading, I can ask Alexa for words I don’t know.”
“What do you do now when you don’t know the meanings of words?”
“I try to figure out the meaning through the context.”
“That’s called 'inferring'.”
“Can you imagine what would happen when we get Alexa at home? I’d stop inferring.”
“How does inferring help you?”
“I can guess the meanings of so many new words, even when I first encounter them.”
“Yes, and if you start asking Alexa, your brain won’t be doing that anymore. Alexa is just 'searching' and dispensing information.”

Can you imagine what AI could do with its generative capacity when children as young as six or seven are exposed to it? ChatGPT is everyone's favorite new tool these days—whether it’s the 40-something homemaker looking for a quick parenting tip, the busy executive too rushed to write their own emails, or the student typing, “Give me 5 real-world examples of Newton’s 1st Law of Motion.”
Last week, I was introduced to two new concepts: "cognitive offloading" and "cognitive hygiene." If we continue to offload more and more of our thinking to ChatGPT or similar platforms, we must start considering how we will balance the cognitive depletion that comes with it.

Before we rush to expose children to these tools in the name of responsible digital access, let’s not forget the story of the young man who couldn’t finish his sentences in a job interview. When asked what was wrong, he sheepishly admitted that he was used to ChatGPT doing it for him.

While AI has great potential, it's important to use it thoughtfully. I’ve seen AI tools effectively bridge learning gaps, like language apps that map sounds to letters. It’s the purposeful use of AI that holds promise, rather than unfettered, access that could inadvertently diminish the very cognitive skills we seek to enhance. 

AI, Authority, and Acceptance: Mapping Societal Codes Through Qualitative Research


The other day, while chatting with my daughter about the difference between authoritarian and totalitarian regimes, we decided to ask ChatGPT for its take on North Korea. It initially called North Korea an authoritarian regime, but my 10-year-old quickly pointed out, "No, it’s totalitarian!"


We asked ChatGPT again, and it corrected itself. My daughter, always quick to notice things, said, “See, mama, it’s covering up for its mistake.” 

I explained that AI doesn’t have an ego like humans—it’s not trying to defend itself. It just learns and updates based on the feedback it gets. No pride to hurt, just a chance to get it right.

This little moment was a reminder that it's okay to make mistakes and adjust—whether you're an AI or a person. We don’t have to be perfect, but we can be open to learning and improving. In the real or the virtual world what often saves the day is not - being right all the time but being willing to learn and adapt.

It is no surprise how children learn that 'mistakes need to be covered up'. It is hard to raise children in a society that penalises mistakes. Even if they are in a family or a school, which does not penalise all mistakes, inadvertently, in some situation - this thought seeps through to them - from other children, well-meaning neighbours and random strangers. It is difficult to reverse this thought once it takes root in one's mind. But certainly possible to replace it with a more accepting one. 

In one set of the research observations we conducted in a few government schools in Bangalore, with an intervention that was meant to plug in learning gaps - the volunteers who went about this program told the children each time they made a mistake - "don't worry, mistakes can be rectified" - and showed them how to rectify the errors. In 'all' our conversations with the children, we heard them repeat this like a chant. 

Teaching kids that “mistakes can be rectified” is a simple yet powerful way to build resilience. It flips the narrative. Instead of fearing failure, it becomes a natural part of the learning process.

#AI #Leadership #Mistakes #growthmindset