Readintersections

After 35 years in disability inclusion, I believe AI offers us an extraordinary opportunity to rethink exclusion. But technology cannot change systems we are unwilling to question.

When I was in high school, I noticed something that bothered me. There were plenty of clubs and activities, but some of my friends, including friends with disabilities, weren’t being included.

So my brother, his best friend, and I started our own club.

We welcomed the artists, the creative thinkers, the students who saw the world differently, and people who hadn’t found a place in the other groups. What started as a small idea became one of the most popular clubs in the school.

That experience taught me something I’ve carried throughout my life. When we stop deciding who belongs and start creating opportunities for everyone to participate, extraordinary things can happen.

Now, after 35 years working in accessibility and disability inclusion, I find myself asking a much bigger version of that same question.

Why have we accepted so much exclusion in a world that has always been filled with human diversity?

Think about the systems we have created. Schools that cannot accommodate children with disabilities. Transportation that people cannot use. Housing that is inaccessible. Employment systems that routinely overlook talented people because their minds or bodies work differently.

Disability is part of being human. Some of us are born with disabilities. Others acquire them through illness, injury, or aging. Many of us experience disability within our families. Yet we continue designing society as though disability is an exception rather than an ordinary part of the human experience.

And now artificial intelligence is challenging what we once believed was possible.

The Shift: AI Is Expanding What Is Possible

I am genuinely excited about the potential of AI. Not because I believe technology will solve every problem. It won’t. But because AI gives us opportunities to remove barriers, connect people, share knowledge, and rethink how our systems work.

Imagine a child with complex communication needs having more ways to express their ideas. Imagine people accessing information in their own languages, regardless of where they live. Imagine a small disability-led organization in Africa, Asia, or Latin America being able to participate more effectively in global conversations without needing the resources of a large international institution.

These possibilities matter.

As someone who is neurodivergent, I also know personally that there is no single correct way to think, learn, communicate, or contribute. Technology should adapt to human diversity, rather than forcing human beings to adapt to systems designed around narrow assumptions.

Through Billion Strong, we have built relationships with disability leaders and advocates across a network engaged in 142 countries. The diversity of perspectives is extraordinary. But so are the differences in resources, infrastructure, access to technology, and opportunities to influence decisions.

AI can help organizations like ours connect, communicate, research, and work across borders in ways that once required much larger teams and budgets. That is an important shift. It creates opportunities for organizations and communities that have historically been excluded from global decision-making.

But opportunity is not the same thing as inclusion.

A technology is not truly inclusive if people cannot afford it, access the internet, understand its language, or influence how it is developed.

And we must recognize the real concerns surrounding AI, including bias, privacy, misinformation, employment disruption, and environmental costs. These concerns deserve serious attention. But I do not believe fear should prevent us from exploring technologies that could significantly improve people’s lives.

The question is not simply what AI can do.

The question is who gets to shape what AI does, who benefits, and who is left behind.

The Gap: We Cannot Keep Demanding Inclusion Without Examining Ourselves

This is where the conversation becomes uncomfortable.

For decades, the disability community has challenged governments, employers, technology companies, and other institutions to become more accessible and inclusive.

We have been right to do so.

But I believe we also need to ask difficult questions about our own organizations and networks. Are we practicing the inclusion we demand from everyone else?

Are persons with intellectual disabilities genuinely influencing decisions? Are Deaf people included in global conversations with the communication access they need? Are people with complex support needs welcomed into leadership and participation? Are grassroots advocates in low-resource communities helping shape priorities, or are they simply invited to support decisions others have already made?

Who controls the funding? Who sets the agenda? Who gets invited into the room? And who is still missing?

I see disability organizations sharing beautiful AI-generated graphics without alternative text. I see conferences about inclusion that fail to make participation accessible to all disability communities. I see passionate advocates discussing representation, even as the same voices continue to dominate international conversations.

I don’t raise these questions to criticize people who have spent their lives fighting for disability rights. I am part of this movement, and I believe deeply in it. I raise them because I believe we can do better.

That belief led us to create Disability Mirror™, an evidence-based reflection initiative that invites the disability ecosystem to look inward.

In its first year, Disability Mirror examines 50 influential organizations, including Billion Strong itself, across seven domains covering governance, funding transparency, participation, accessibility, safeguarding, learning, and emerging technology accountability.

It is not a ranking, certification, or competition. We are not giving organizations grades. We are creating a clearer picture of where we are today, what we can learn from one another, and where we need to improve.

Because if we want a more inclusive world, we must be willing to examine the systems and organizations we have built ourselves.

That includes my own. And it includes how our community approaches AI.

Technology can amplify existing power structures just as easily as it can challenge them. If we develop AI around the perspectives of those who already have resources, access, and influence, we risk reproducing the very exclusions we claim to oppose.

We cannot build a more inclusive future by simply making today’s unequal systems faster and more efficient.

The Next Step: Move From Participation to Shared Power

For business leaders, policymakers, technology developers, and disability organizations, I believe the next step requires more than another commitment to inclusion.

It requires changing how decisions are made.

First, persons with disabilities must help shape technology and policy from the beginning, rather than simply being invited to provide feedback after important decisions have already been made. Their expertise should be valued, compensated, and reflected in governance and funding decisions.

Second, we need to stop treating accessibility as an additional feature or expense. It should be part of how we design products, services, workplaces, education, and communities from the start.

And third, we must create opportunities for communities to identify their own priorities rather than assuming that the most visible or best-funded organizations speak for everyone.

This is especially important globally.

The priorities of a disability advocate in rural Kenya may differ markedly from those of a professional working in London or New York. Access to transportation, education, communication, assistive technology, or basic infrastructure may be far more urgent than the innovations dominating technology conferences.

We must listen before assuming we understand what people need.

That is why convening people matters so much to me. Through Billion Strong, we want disability communities around the world to have greater opportunities to connect, share knowledge, identify common challenges, and influence the decisions shaping their lives.

AI can help us support that work at a scale we could barely imagine a few years ago. But technology cannot decide that every human being deserves a place in society. That decision belongs to us.

The Future We Choose

I have spent much of my life advocating for people who have been overlooked, underestimated, or excluded. And after 35 years, I am still hopeful.

I am hopeful because I see more people questioning the systems we have inherited. I see disability leaders demanding greater accountability, and I see emerging technologies creating possibilities that were once unimaginable.

But hope without action changes very little.

We have talked about inclusion for decades. We have written policies, created programs, held conferences, and celebrated progress.

And yet billions of people still face barriers to full participation in society.

Now we have new tools, including AI, that could help us accelerate meaningful change.

AI can help us scale inclusion. But first, we must be willing to challenge the exclusion we have accepted for far too long.

I don’t want a future where technology becomes more sophisticated while humanity continues leaving people behind.

I want us to build a world where human diversity is expected, where people have genuine opportunities to contribute, and where everyone has a voice in shaping our shared future.

We have an extraordinary opportunity in front of us.

The question is whether we will have the courage to use it differently.

What Years Inside the Industry Taught Me About Leadership

There are lessons you cannot learn in a classroom. There are lessons no leadership seminar can teach you. And there are realities you will never fully understand from a boardroom, a spreadsheet, or an executive office.

You learn them in real time while standing beside a frightened resident or listening to a caregiver who has just finished another 12-hour shift or dealing with a family member who asks, "Why isn't my mother getting the care she deserves?" You realize that the people closest to the work often understand the problems long before the people making the decisions ever see them.

After years as a nurse working within assisted living communities, and later transitioning from nurse to business owner, I have learned that the greatest challenges facing assisted living are not simply staffing problems, financial problems, or regulatory problems. They are human problems. And when human problems are ignored long enough, they become organizational problems.

The Reality Behind the Doors

Assisted living was created to provide something many older adults need: safety, dignity, companionship, and support while preserving as much independence as possible.

But somewhere along the way, parts of the industry became increasingly focused on occupancy, budgets, productivity, documentation, and operational targets. Those things matter. But they cannot become more important than the people they are supposed to serve.

When financial pressure becomes the primary lens through which decisions are made, residents begin to feel like numbers. Families feel like revenue sources. Employees feel like replaceable labor. Staff members enter this profession because they care. Yet many eventually experience exhaustion, frustration, moral distress, and burnout. They may know exactly what a resident needs but lack the time, staffing, resources, or authority to provide it.

Imagine caring deeply about someone and repeatedly being placed where you cannot give them the care you know they deserve. That takes a psychological and emotional toll. And everyone downstream feels it, residents notice when caregivers are rushed, when staff turnover is constant, when their concerns seem to disappear into a chain of command. Families notice, too.

The damage is visible to everyone except, often, the people with the authority to address it.

What Happens When Leadership Cannot See What Frontline Staff See

One of the greatest leadership lessons assisted living taught me is this: distance changes perspective.

The farther leadership gets from the frontline, the easier it becomes to believe that reports tell the entire story. They do not. A report can tell you how many residents are in a building. It cannot tell you which resident cried today. A staffing report can tell you how many people were scheduled. A financial statement can tell you what was spent. It cannot tell you what happens when employees become so overwhelmed that they stop believing anyone is listening.

Frontline employees see the gaps between policy and reality. They know when a change will improve care and when it will create another burden. Yet the people closest to residents have the least influence over the decisions affecting them. That is a structural failure, and when it goes unaddressed long enough, it becomes something worse.

When Management Becomes Manipulation

There is a difference between leadership that cannot see the problems and a culture that does not want to. Healthy leadership creates trust. Unhealthy leadership creates fear. When employees believe speaking honestly could cost them their hours, position, reputation, or job, silence becomes a survival strategy.

When families are given carefully orchestrated information, trust begins to erode. When concerns are minimized, redirected, or buried under layers of management, families feel powerless. This is about recognizing what happens when organizational culture rewards protecting the organization instead of confronting the problem.

Good leaders should never be afraid of bad news. Bad news is information. Information gives us the opportunity to fix something before it becomes a crisis.

I saw both sides of this dynamic, first as a nurse navigating it, and later as a business owner responsible for creating something different.

What Becoming a Business Owner Taught Me

Moving from nursing into business ownership changed the way I understood leadership. As a nurse, I experienced the reality on the frontline. As a business owner, I began to understand the decisions happening behind the scenes: the financial pressures, operational responsibilities, staffing challenges, compliance requirements, and difficult choices that leaders carry.

The transition taught me that the frontline and the leadership office are not supposed to be opposing sides. They are supposed to be connected. Every leadership decision eventually reaches a resident and a caregiver.

I carry one moment with me. A resident once told me, "It's always the good ones that leave. No one listens like you do. No one takes the time to talk like you do. No one does the special details in a room like you do, leaving a small bag of chips or chocolate on a pillow after making the bed with fresh linen. You're always upbeat with a smile on your face, and I can tell you love your job or you would not be here."

That is why the work is worth it. Transforming a life, offering hope and purpose, as a nurse, that is more meaningful than money itself. And that understanding, earned on both sides of the divide, shaped how I see the industry's future.

The Industry Is Changing

Assisted living is entering a new era. Technology is changing how communities operate. Families expect greater transparency. Residents and their families are more informed. Workforce expectations are shifting. Financial pressures are increasing. At the same time, the population needing supportive care continues to grow.

The old model of simply filling beds and managing operations will not be enough. The future belongs to organizations willing to ask harder questions: Are our employees thriving? Are residents truly being heard? Do families trust us? Are our financial decisions sustainable without sacrificing human dignity? Do our leaders understand what happens on the floor?

These questions are not weakness. They are leadership.

What I Carry Forward

I believe the future of assisted living must be built around a stronger connection between people, purpose, and responsible business practices. We need leaders who regularly walk the floors, not for inspections, but for understanding. We need systems that allow frontline employees to speak without fear. We need families treated as partners rather than problems. We need residents treated as human beings rather than occupancy numbers.

You cannot build a financially healthy organization on an emotionally broken workforce. The answer is not simply hiring more people. It is building cultures where people want to stay. It is not simply creating more policies. It is creating accountability when policies are not working. It is not simply asking employees to care more. It is creating conditions that allow them to care well.

My journey from nurse to business owner gave me a different lens, but my commitment has remained the same: people matter. The assisted living industry does not need more silence. It needs courageous conversations, frontline voices at the table, and leaders willing to remember why these communities exist in the first place.

To care for people. That is the work. That is the responsibility. And that is the future worth building.

How a lifetime of compensating for what I could not hear became the blueprint for spatial intelligence

For most of my life, I thought constantly scanning my surroundings was simply something I had to do. I've been hard of hearing since childhood. I received my first hearing aids when I was four years old, and over time I learned to pay attention differently. I watched faces. I noticed movement. I checked what was happening to my left and to my right. In unfamiliar places, I became even more alert. I learned to piece together information I couldn't always hear. Eventually, it became automatic. Walk into a room. Scan it. Notice who's moving. Watch people's expressions. Look for anything that might indicate something happened that I didn't hear about. 

I became very good at compensating. But being good at compensating does not mean the compensation is effortless. There is a psychological strain that comes with constantly wondering, Did something happen behind me?  Did someone call my name? Was that important? Am I missing something? Do I need to react?

For years, I thought that was simply part of my life. I did not realize that so many other people were doing similar work every day, adapting to spaces and situations that were not built with them in mind. Then I began asking a different question: Why should that responsibility fall on us? That question changed the way I saw everything.

From Adapting Myself to Questioning the Design

Somar360 didn't begin because I sat down and searched for a startup idea. It began when I stopped seeing my experience as something I simply had to work around and started seeing it as a design problem. If you've ever watched a user struggle with a product and thought "they'll figure it out," you've seen the same instinct from the other side of the table. 

My path into technology began behind the wheel of a semi-truck. I was a Class A CDL driver while studying computer science and AI, and I kept thinking about how technology could better reflect the way people actually live and work. I did not start out knowing how to build a hardware company, lead an engineering team, or create an AI platform. What I did know was the problem I wanted to solve. From there, I learned what I needed to bring that idea to life.

I talked with engineers, advisors, researchers, accessibility experts, and the people we hoped would use what we were creating. I learned that product and technical decisions are closely connected, that turning an idea into something real takes many small choices, and that it is easy to lose focus without clear priorities.

Much of that early work happened from the passenger seat of my husband’s semi-truck. There was no polished founder story or moment when I suddenly felt ready. I just kept going, learning as I went.

Leadership Started Before I Felt Ready

One of the biggest lessons this journey has taught me is that leadership is not the same as knowing everything. For a long time, I think many of us have imagined leaders as people who walk into a room already certain of themselves, already experienced and already equipped with every answer. That has not been my experience.

Leadership, for me, has meant being able to say, “I don’t know yet, but I’ll find out.” It has meant inviting people with more experience to challenge my assumptions and help me see what I might be missing.

It has meant making decisions before I had all the answers, changing course when I learned something new, and taking responsibility for how things turned out. Above all, it has meant not doubting my place simply because my path has looked different from other people’s.

I didn't grow up imagining that I would become the founder and CEO of a technology company. But I've learned that you don't have to wait until you feel like the person capable of doing something before you begin. Sometimes you begin first. Then you become that person through work. I'm still becoming her. 

More Alerts Are Not the Same as More Awareness

Technology can notice more than ever before. AI can recognize patterns. Wearables can communicate through touch, sound, and visuals. Devices can interpret parts of the physical environment in ways that were much harder only a few years ago. But I keep returning to the same problem. We have become very good at generating alerts. We are not always as good at deciding which alerts matter.

A phone buzzes. A watch vibrates. A screen flashes. But you are still left figuring out what actually happened. Where did it happen? Does it matter? Should you do something? If you have ever stared at a dashboard packed with numbers and no clear priorities, you know the feeling. Or dealt with alerts that all demand your attention at once. Or use a smart assistant that throws every detail at you but does not help you choose what is truly important. The technology notices more, but people are still stuck sorting through the noise.

That's the gap I want to explore with Somar360. The goal is to make important information about the environment easier to understand. My experience is only one experience. I'd never claim the way I move through the world represents every Deaf or hard-of-hearing person. But living this taught me something no market report could: when people become extremely good at adapting to a problem, the rest of the world can stop noticing it. 

Building Before the Answers Are Perfect

Somar360 is still a pre-prototype. More than 100 people have joined our early beta waitlist before there is a functional product to test. That means a great deal to me, but I do not call it product validation. There is not a product to validate yet. To me, it is a signal that I may not be the only person asking these questions. Real validation will come when people can use what we build and tell us what works, what does not, and what we misunderstood.

That distinction matters to me because leadership means being honest about where you are. You can be ambitious about the future without acting as if you have already figured everything out.

Spatial Intelligence for People

We're starting with Deaf and hard-of-hearing users because that's where my own experience gives me a real place to begin. But this need goes far beyond one community. 

Someone wearing headphones, working near loud machinery, getting older, traveling somewhere unfamiliar, or responding to an emergency may all miss important cues around them for different reasons. The situations are different, but the need is the same: understanding what is happening nearby and what needs their attention right now.

That is why the larger vision for Somar360 is Spatial Intelligence for Humans. We are starting with a focused first product because Gen 1 does not need to prove every future possibility. It needs to prove the core experience. Over time, I believe spatial intelligence can extend across different devices, environments, and human needs. That is what I mean when I say: Born from lived experience. Built for everyone.

What I Know Now

For most of my life, I adapted, scanned, watched, and compensated. Building Somar360 began when I stopped assuming that was simply the way things had to be. Your starting point does not have to look like anyone else's. You do not have to know everything before you begin. You do have to be willing to learn, to get things wrong and to keep going.

I know this problem is real because I have experienced it myself. Over time, a question rooted in my own life grew into something bigger: What if technology could help more people make better sense of the world around them?

That's the future I want to help build. We're still at the beginning, and there's a lot more work ahead. 

What the Gita teaches us about why independent thought gets relabelled in the workplace

Somewhere between the boardroom and the shop floor, a strange transformation takes place. An employee who once asked sharp questions, pushed back gently but firmly on a flawed strategy, and offered feedback anchored in genuine observation,  is quietly recast. No longer "engaged." No longer a "team player." Instead: resistant to change. Difficult. Not aligned.

If you have ever watched someone get quietly relabelled after saying something true, you know exactly how this works.

I have spent two decades building sales and distribution strategy across India's most demanding markets.  I have watched this transformation happen to colleagues, to teams I led, and, more than once, to myself. Understanding why it happens requires looking somewhere most corporate playbooks never look: the Bhagavad Gita.

A Retail Expansion, and a Partner Called B

A few years ago at Apple, we were working on a retail expansion plan. Leadership had opened the floor for a genuine strategy discussion: which partner to go with, and how  explicitly positioned as work in progress. At the planning meeting, I presented my data-backed view on why Partner A made more sense than Partner B: market fit, execution capability, and long-term scalability.

Leadership eventually chose Partner B. That wasn’t the problem; leaders can see things a regional view may miss. What struck me was that my open support for Partner A, the kind of discussion leadership had asked for, began to be seen as resistance after the decision.

But that was never my intent. Once a call is made, my instinct has always been to get genuinely convinced of why it makes sensenot to perform an agreement, but to actually understand it  so I could carry that conviction to my team, the people who would execute on the ground. A leader who doesn't believe in a decision cannot communicate it credibly downstream. Seeking that conviction was the job. To someone watching only the optics, it looked like I hadn't let go.

The Moment the Shift Happens

Independent thinking doesn’t usually look like rebellion. It often starts with a simple question, honest feedback, or someone not agreeing with a plan that doesn’t make sense. In good organizations, this is what leaders say they want.

But there’s a clear moment when open discussion changes from being welcome to threatening, and it’s rarely about what was actually said. It’s really about what the feedback means to the person hearing it. As soon as independent thinking hints that leadership might be wrong, the conversation stops being about ideas and becomes about ego and control. At that point, feedback gets relabeled, not because it’s changed, but because hearing it now feels riskier.

This is where the Gita's teaching on the nature of the self becomes strikingly relevant, long before any modern leadership theory arrived at the same insight.

Arjuna's Dilemma, Reframed

At the opening of the Gita, Arjuna stands on the battlefield and refuses to fight. He questions the entire premise of the war before him: its purpose, its cost, its legitimacy. Krishna does not silence him. He engages with the question fully, because the dialogue itself is the path to clarity, a patient unfolding of why the plan makes sense, and where Arjuna's reasoning falls short.

Compare this to how most companies treat their own Arjunas. When challenged, leaders rarely respond as Krishna does. Instead, they try to manage, reframe, or isolate the person raising questions. That’s not real leadership; it’s just ego hiding behind the idea of alignment.

The Gita gives us a useful way to see this: it distinguishes between atman (your true self) and ahamkara (your ego, or who you think you are). We react badly when we confuse our ego with our real self, when being right or in control feels like part of who we are. A leader stuck in ego hears questions as attacks. A leader who’s grounded in their true self just sees information for what it is.

This is the real fault line. It is not independent thinking that threatens leadership. It is leadership's attachment to a particular version of itself.

The Employee Who Speaks Up

The Gita has a parallel teaching for the employee: Nishkama Karma, action without attachment to the fruits of that action. Speak the truth as you see it, with full commitment to speaking it well. Release your attachment to how it is received. That is exactly what carried me through the Partner A conversation: the reasoning was offered in full faith, and once the call was made, the energy moved toward understanding rather than resistance.

What Leaders Have to Do

Just because a question makes you uncomfortable doesn’t mean it’s a bad question. Before calling pushback resistance, a leader needs to separate the actual feedback from what it threatens in them, as Krishna did for Arjuna. That’s not weakness; that’s real strength.

The organizations that survive change and competition aren’t the ones where everyone always agrees. They’re the ones where disagreement is voiced early, while it can still make a difference.

Forty years in banking technology taught me that intelligence is only as good as the data it can trust.

Over the past year, I have met with financial institutions across multiple markets, and one conversation keeps returning. It is no longer primarily about AI budgets or which model to deploy. It is about the data underneath all of it.

The question in many boardrooms has shifted from, “How do we deploy AI?” to something more fundamental: “How do we redesign our enterprise data architecture so AI and autonomous agents can operate with trust, speed, and scale?”

That may sound like an incremental change. I do not believe it is.

In forty years of banking technology, it is one of the most consequential shifts I have seen. We are moving from systems that help people understand what is happening to systems that can interpret context, support decisions, and increasingly take action.

That changes the role of data architecture. It is no longer simply the foundation for reporting and analytics. It becomes part of the institution’s decision and execution infrastructure.

How We Got Here

I have watched this industry reinvent itself four times. Mobile-First brought banking to our fingertips. Digital-First reimagined customer journeys and operating models. AI-First enabled intelligence through personalization, automation, and predictive decision-making. Each wave solved a specific business problem and created significant value.

Now we are entering the era of Agentic Banking, where autonomous AI agents can reason, collaborate, make decisions, and carry out complex workflows across the banking value chain.  We are moving from systems that produce insights to systems that can act. If you are leading a bank amid this transition, that distinction changes everything about how you build.

The Problem Nobody Solved Along the Way

Here is what I have seen across almost every institution I have worked with. The pace of innovation has consistently outstripped the evolution of the underlying enterprise data architecture.

Data Warehouses gave way to Data Lakes, then Middleware, APIs, RPA, Hyperautomation, AI, and now Agentic AI. Each wave added capability. Yet, in many institutions, the underlying foundation did not evolve at the same pace.

 Many institutions today find themselves with segmented data estates, duplicated customer information, inconsistent governance, and AI models that cannot consistently access trusted, real-time enterprise data. You can build the most sophisticated agent in the world. If it cannot access a trusted and current view of the customer, it may make confident decisions based on incomplete information.  In high-stakes banking workflows, that can be more dangerous than keeping the decision under human control.

This is driving significant investment in cloud-native data platforms, real-time event-driven architectures, enterprise data products and data mesh principles, API-first integration, strong data governance and lineage, and unified customer and enterprise data models. In my view, this is becoming the most important technology investment of the decade.

From Systems of Record to Systems of Engagement

Another major shift is taking place in customer relationship management.

For nearly three decades, CRM platforms have served as the primary interface for sales, service, and customer management. In the Agentic AI era, that role is beginning to evolve. CRM is increasingly evolving into the system of record, while intelligent agents begin to take on a larger role as the system of engagement.

Instead of relationship managers manually identifying cross-sell opportunities, next-best actions, portfolio gaps, or customer service interventions, AI agents can continuously analyse customer behaviour, life events, risk, profitability, and intent, then recommend or orchestrate personalised actions in real time.

Customer Value Management is undergoing a similar transition. It is moving away from periodic, campaign-based analytics toward continuous optimisation, where intelligent agents can help balance customer experience, revenue growth, risk, pricing, and profitability.

But this shift depends on the quality of the underlying data. An agent cannot create a coherent customer experience if customer information is fragmented, definitions are inconsistent, or important signals are delayed. It also raises the bar for governance. Institutions will need clear accountability, decision boundaries, explainability, and appropriate human oversight as agents take on more consequential customer interactions.

The institutions that lead in the Agentic era will not necessarily be those with the largest AI budgets. They will be those that have built a trusted, cloud-native enterprise data foundation capable of supporting intelligent agents across the organisation.

In this environment, data architecture is no longer back-office infrastructure. It is becoming part of the enterprise’s decision and execution system.

The next competitive advantage will not come from AI alone. It will come from AI built on data that is trusted, connected, current, and governed.

Judgment is the New Infrastructure

I was going through the articles we have published on Read Intersections and noticed something. Six leaders, from six different corners of the working world, had arrived at the same conclusion.

Lindsay Jessup termed it Chaos Cartographers. Her argument was that technology produces beautiful, confident maps. What it cannot do is tell you which map is worth following. That call is still ours to make. And most organizations have not built the muscle for it.

Sandeep Naug used a different image. Everyone has a paintbrush. Not everyone is Picasso. Access to new tools is no longer what separates people. What separates them now is the craft knowledge they bring to the prompt. Without that, you get more work. You do not get better work.

Ashwini Suman said the same thing from inside an IT services company. His developers have not written a line of code in months. Their role did not shrink, but moved upstream to knowing what to build, which trade-offs are real, and what "done" actually means for the person paying the bill.

This issue wasn’t limited to IT. In manufacturing, Rajendra Abhange saw it on his factory floor. The sensors caught everything. The plant still broke down because there was no standardized human response at 2am when the right engineer was off shift.  The gap was judgment applied consistently.

Viiveck Verma watched as a global capability center tried to recreate its success in a new place. The manuals and dashboards arrived easily, but what truly mattered- the trust, the hard-won lessons, the quiet confidence between teammates- couldn’t make the journey on paper. He realized that while processes can be copied, true judgment is built face-to-face, over time, in the daily give-and-take of real relationships.

Joshua Konowe brought insights from the sports arena. He observed that machines can recognize patterns, but humans interpret context. The conversation happening in football, and everywhere else, is not really about the technology. It is about who still gets to call the shot.

Taken together, these accounts show that, beneath industry jargon and metaphors, the underlying challenge is the same. Judgment has become the scarce resource. Everything else is closer to a commodity than it has ever been.

It implies something about how organizations are built. Most were designed to scale processes and repeatable outputs. That worked when execution was the bottleneck, which is not the case now. Judgment cannot be bought, downloaded, or handed over with a playbook. It compounds slowly, through decisions people own and are held accountable for.

The question this leaves for anyone leading through the next three years is not whether to adopt AI. That question is settled. The question is where in your organisation judgment is actually being developed, who is exercising it, and whether you are treating it as the infrastructure it has quietly become.

Most organizations are still measuring the wrong thing.

Joy, Laughter, and Love: UX Design for the Next Generation of AI Products

Walk into any children's aisle, and you're looking at the toy industry's version of a cereal box: bright colors, a licensed character on the front, and a promise of fun that rarely survives the car ride home. The industry built itself on the same formula as junk food. It was engineered to be craved in the moment rather than something that nourishes. Parents are worn out from buying overpriced, low-quality, character-branded plastic junk. We have all had enough.

As physical AI moves from apps into talking machines in the home itself, we are about to find out whether we repeat that same recipe at a far more intimate scale.

I've spent almost thirty years building products, from broadcast animation to immersive experiences, games, and robotics. The last sixteen of them have been in AI. What I've watched happen, generation after generation, is abstract metrics stripping the soul out of craftsmanship and storytelling. Nobody sets out to build something that manipulates a child, but if your revenue depends on session length, return frequency, and time on device, those become your product's real goals, whether you name them that way or not.

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Boardroom Decisions Should Not Solely Drive AI in the Home

The metrics that built broadcast and social media include viewership, watch time, daily active use, and return rate. All of these were designed for one purpose: maximizing attention to sell around it. That playbook migrated cleanly from television to apps to social platforms, because the business model stayed the same throughout. What's shifting now is that this exact scorecard is migrating into AI products that sit inside the home itself: companions, assistants, wearables, and generative tools built for children and families.

What happens when a device already knows how you feel, doesn't wait for a prompt, and can actually do something to help? That's the new interface. A television could be turned off. A phone could be put down. An AI companion is increasingly ambient. It is present in the bedroom, the kitchen, the car, always aware of our surroundings, our moods, our routines, remembering who we are. A genuinely new interface deserves a genuinely new set of KPIs, not the same attention metrics wearing a smarter costume.

In Sweden, advertising directed at children under twelve has been restricted for more than three decades, forcing toy makers there to answer a different question: if you cannot chase a child's attention to sell them something, what do you optimize for instead? New regulations limiting social media and AI access for children are now emerging in multiple countries, including the US. The direction is the same everywhere: less tolerance for products engineered to hold a child's attention, more scrutiny of what that attention is actually being fed.

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What If the Device Measured a Life Well Lived?

Almost every metric the industry provides to investors, such as engagement, retention, and session length, is a proxy for how much of a person's time and attention a product can capture. None of it asks whether a child or a family is better off for the time spent. Those are not the same question, and the gap between them is where family tech keeps losing its way.

What would you actually pay for a product that measurably improved your child's life prospects? It's part of why Harvard, MIT, and Princeton are so sought after: attending them lowers the odds a child struggles later in life, and parents already pay enormous sums for that outcome. We should expect the same from the technology sitting in our homes.

Social media is the warning tale. It started from a genuinely good place and can still hit every engagement target on its dashboard while leaving a child lonelier, a parent more distracted, or a family less connected than before. Nobody built that outcome on purpose. It's simply what happens when a scoreboard rewards attention instead of wellbeing.

The playbook for capturing a child's attention is already optimized in retail and digital. What is missing is a playbook for measuring whether the attention was worth capturing.

If you are building a product that lives in someone's home, the question is not whether it holds attention. It is whether the family is better off for having it there.

When the computer walks, talks, has a voice and a face, the opportunity is far greater than what it can do by command. What if kindness along with empathy were core KPIs? Designing for empathy means building machines that focus on the human experience. These should calm a frantic environment, assist communication between parent and child, and foster confidence. The opportunity is moving from being "users" of a device to "partners" in our own home. We want the machine around because it makes our lives better, not because it captures our time.

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A New Scoreboard, Built Around Joy, Laughter, and Love

This is where the real opportunity sits, and it's bigger than children's products. As AI becomes an interface genuinely present in our daily lives, we have a rare chance to decide its KPIs before the old ones get copied over by default. Not session length, but joy. Not return frequency, but laughter. Not time on device, but love and connection strengthened rather than attention extracted.

These aren't soft, unmeasurable ideals. They're design principles. Did this family communicate better this week? Did this child grow a skill, a friendship, a piece of confidence? Did this home feel calmer instead of more fragmented? Outcomes such as these can be built for and measured the same way watch time and daily activities are today.

The next five years will decide whether family tech gets a different scoreboard or inherits the one that broke social media. Which one are you building?

The hidden costs of scaling decisions across borders.

I've sat in rooms in Kraków and Manila where this exact conversation was happening: a second site, built from the first site's playbook, somehow landed different numbers than anyone expected. The story below happened in India. But I've watched a version of it play out everywhere a capability center is asked to replicate itself in a hurry. The playbook is documented, the dashboard is shared, and leadership assumes that if the process travels, performance comes with it. It usually doesn't. And the reason it doesn't is something you won't find on that dashboard.

How GCCs Went From Running Tasks to Owning Decisions

A decade ago, a capability center's job was narrow. Take a defined process and run it more cheaply and cleanly than headquarters could. You could write that down. Hand it over. Audit it.

That's not what most GCCs do anymore. They own outcomes now, including product calls, customer escalations, and P&L for whole functions. Which means the thing being scaled has quietly changed from a task to a decision. A task can be handed over completely. A decision can't. Whoever makes it also needs the standing to have it stick, and standing is the part nobody thinks to package.

Why the Playbook Worked Once and Broke the Second Time

I watched a team hit every milestone on its roadmap nine months ahead of the global template. Leadership flew in to see it. The case study slides were half-written before the results had even settled.

Here's what nobody said out loud during the celebration. That speed wasn't really about process. It came from a hundred small, unglamorous calls the team had made over months, which escalation to override, which customer request to say no to, which metric to protect even when it made the weekly numbers look worse. Nobody wrote any of that down. Why would they? None of it looked like a step. It was a track record building quietly, one unremarkable decision at a time. You only notice it's missing once you try to hand it to someone who hasn't made a single one of those calls yet.

So the organization did what organizations do with things that work: they ran the same playbook in a new geography and expected the same speed. What actually got exported was a set of steps, minus the years of small trust that had made those steps cheap to take. The new team got the document. They didn't get the benefit of the doubt. Every close call had to be argued for now, because nobody upstream had any reason to take their word for it yet.

That's the real story behind the org-chart mess that followed. Nobody could answer the simplest question: What is this, organizationally? A new business unit? Does it fold into the existing one because the customers overlap? For a while, someone parked it under the CFO as an infrastructure project. As if the open question were square footage and server racks and not a team nobody had gotten around to trusting yet. A year in, that unit was answering to more than half a dozen reporting lines. Each applied its own scrutiny, because none had the standing to simply defer. Nothing got established. Nothing has been given clear ownership, and you cannot own a decision you don't yet have the authority to make stick.

Process is the kind of knowledge you can write down. It moves at the speed of a document. What that team had built was not written-down knowledge. It moves at the speed of a relationship, which is to say it doesn't move at all. Every site has to build its own, from nothing.

What GCC Leaders Who Scale Well Do Differently

The GCC leaders I've seen handle this well, don't treat a second site as a copy of the first. They treat earning that same standing as a separate job. Most organizations leave it to chance. These ones don't.

A few things they get right. Someone is named accountable for the new unit before it opens, not after the first unresolved call forces the question. Not a committee. One person, whose job explicitly includes soaking up the ambiguity the org chart hasn't caught up to yet. Often there's someone from the first site, or from global leadership, who spends the early months quietly vouching for the new team's calls. Lending them credibility before they've had time to build their own. Think of a co-signer for someone with no credit history. Same idea. And the new site gets judged on a different clock. Not whether it hits the same milestones at the same pace, but whether it's accumulating the kind of decision history that will let it move that fast on its own eighteen months from now.

None of that shows up in a steering-committee deck. It's not a process improvement. It's a choice. It means spending deliberate effort building something most organizations just assume will appear on its own. The presumption that a team's judgment is worth trusting before it has had the time to prove it.

The centers that scale well aren't the ones with the tightest playbook. They're the ones who understood, before the second site even opened, that they weren't exporting a process at all. They were asking a new team to spend authority that nobody had given them the chance to earn.

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Choose People. Every Time.

Few OTT shows bring the whole family together and spark conversation the next day. Last weekend, we watched Made in India: A Titan Story on Amazon Prime. My parents were interested from the start. Even my six-year-old told his friend about it: You know this guy is the boss. They make watches. That’s the best summary I’ve heard.

Their enthusiasm made me realize the show isn’t just about watches; it’s about something much bigger.

It’s about building something despite doubt. Xerxes Desai and his team weren’t sure it would work, but they believed in what they were doing. Certainty waits for proof; conviction acts before proof exists.

What really stuck with me was how the show talked about people. At one point, there’s a choice between focusing on people or on process. The answer was clear: always choose people. It’s not that the process isn’t important, but if you build a process on distrust, you end up causing the very failure you wanted to avoid.

Choosing people isn’t always easy. It means being willing to accept mistakes along the way. The show doesn’t sugarcoat this. It shows the real cost, a wrong decision, a missed target, a product that doesn’t work out. Desai accepted that. He didn’t see every mistake as proof he’d trusted the wrong person. Instead, he saw it as the cost of building a team that would eventually succeed. That’s a different kind of leadership. Most organizations claim to value learning from failure, but few make it possible.

The bond between Desai and J.R.D. Tata is inspiring too. It’s about one person trusting another’s instincts before the numbers made sense. That kind of belief is harder to find than any strategy. Most of us can remember one person who believed in us like that. Not many of us have had more than one.

And then there’s how people in the show talk about Tata. It’s more than just loyalty; it’s almost like love. That comes from years of putting people first, time and again. This kind of people-first culture stands out even more today, when…

With so much news about layoffs and talk of AI replacing people, it’s refreshing to see a show that still believes in what people can do.

I was still thinking about it at my desk on Monday, and that doesn’t happen often.

If you haven’t seen it yet, try to watch it this weekend.

My corporate career was going well. That was the problem. 

I had spent more than a decade in digital media across India, Singapore, and the APAC region. The career gave me stability, growth, and identity. But over time, while I was progressing externally, I was no longer connected to the direction I was heading.

It was not dissatisfaction. It was a misalignment.

The question that kept surfacing was not “should I leave?” It was quieter than that: if I wait until retirement to find out whether this work could become something real, will I be able to live with that answer? I could not.

If your career looks fine on paper but inside it doesn’t feel right, you know what I mean.

From Personal Practice to Purpose

Around the time my role in Singapore became redundant, I had started exploring different wellness practices, including running and yoga. What began as a way to use that transition period productively led me to complete my first yoga teacher training.

The more I practiced and taught, the more connected I felt to the work. I found meaning in the smaller moments: adults leaving calmer, children learning to notice their breath from a young age, and families using simple tools to bring more ease into daily life.

After a few months, I returned to a corporate role. The job gave me stability, but it no longer gave me the same meaning as teaching yoga and mindfulness.

From 2015 to 2023, I continued building this work alongside my full-time career and family life. Most weekends I was teaching, learning, creating programs, or working with adults and children. It never felt heavy because I enjoyed it.

Eventually, I specialized in children’s yoga and mindfulness. Working with children taught me that supporting them requires more than teaching movement. It requires understanding behavior, emotions, attention, creativity, and connection.

As interest grew among parents, schools, and communities, I saw this work was more than teaching yoga on the mat. It was about helping children build self-regulation, confidence, resilience, self-awareness, and meaningful connections.

Passion and Purpose Alone Are Not Enough

One of the biggest factors that helped me move from interest to impact was consistency.

For years, I kept building alongside my corporate career. I did not leave immediately because I had not yet created a viable model that could support both the mission and the practical realities of life.

I started turning my side project into a sustainable platform. Physical classes could only reach so many people, so I asked: if I wanted to have more impact, how could this work go beyond live sessions?

That shift led me to build digital resources, online programs, flagship products, teacher-training certifications, and a broader vision for children’s well-being. I developed a digital kids’ wellness platform, launched my flagship Kids Yoga Teacher Training certification, expanded my work with communities, parents, educators, and families, and deepened my focus on special-needs yoga and inclusive well-being.

What began as individual classes gradually evolved into an ecosystem.

This is where many passion-led ventures face their real test. Passion creates momentum, but sustainable growth needs structure, systems, adaptability, and a long-term vision. This was not only a career transition; it was turning a passion project into a purpose-led business with structure, patience, and consistency.

The Moment I Had to Choose

For years, I balanced two parallel careers: my corporate role and the wellness work I had been building alongside it.

A few questions kept resurfacing. Would I be financially secure without corporate income? Why leave when my career is progressing well? Would I regret not giving my wellness work a genuine opportunity?

The turning point came when changes in my role and team structure pulled my energy away from the work I had spent nearly a decade building. Rather than making an impulsive decision, I took a sabbatical.

That pause gave me space to reflect. Could I commit fully to the work I had built? Was waiting until retirement really better? Would I regret not exploring this path?

The answer became clear. There would never be a completely risk-free moment. The difference was that I had the energy, experience, and momentum to pursue it now.

By then, BlissYogaSG was no longer a passion project. It has evolved into children’s yoga programs, teacher training, school partnerships, inclusive wellness offerings and a digital learning platform.

Build With Courage, But Also With Grounding

Today, when people ask me how to leave a job and follow their passion, I do not tell them to be impulsive. I tell them to start small, while still working, and let consistency give them clarity. Build a structure around the passion. Plan practically, especially around finances and responsibilities. Keep learning and evolving. And take the leap only when your inner clarity and your outer foundation begin to meet.

That moment will not feel completely safe. But it will feel real.

Today, my professional background continues to support my business. BlissYogaSG has grown into a wider ecosystem, with 500+ students certified worldwide as kids yoga and mindfulness teachers, globally recognised Yoga Alliance-accredited teacher training certifications specialising in children’s well-being, a digital-first children’s wellness platform with 60+ pre-recorded programs, and an upcoming Special Needs Kids Yoga Teacher Training. 

My work in children’s and family well-being has taught me that real change often begins with adults. When we support parents, educators, and teachers, they are better able to support children.

That is the work I chose, or maybe the work chose me.

Looking back, it does not feel like I left one career for another. It feels like I slowly built the courage, structure, and clarity to come home to the work I was meant to do.

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The Question Behind the Headline

Meta laid off around 8,000 employees and moved 7,000 others into AI-focused roles.

The layoffs got a lot of attention, but I kept thinking about the employees who were reassigned. What are they being asked to do? They are now helping to build systems that could one day decide how much of their own work remains relevant. That is not a small ask. We have seen this kind of workforce shift, often described as an opportunity or a transition.

Lindsay Jessup, CEO of Geeks Ltd, wrote something for us worth reading twice. She said your AI works fine. The real bottleneck is decision-making. Figuring out which problems matter, which tradeoffs to accept, and which direction to take when several options seem equally valid. That is still human work. But it is harder than most organizations have prepared their people for.

Richard Hua, founder & CEO of EPIQ Leadership Group, observed in his article that even skilled teams can struggle with major change, and that the reason is usually cultural. When things feel uncertain, people look to their leaders. If leaders demand speed but react harshly to mistakes, people hesitate. Teams hold back precisely when they need to move.

Both observations point to the same problem. Organizations are asking people to move faster while creating conditions that make movement feel dangerous.

Somayeh Aghnia, co-founder of the London School of Innovation, raised the deeper question. Most organizations think about AI in two stages: what it saves now, and what new value it creates next. But there is a third important stage. When AI can do more of what the organization was built to do, the question shifts from efficiency to purpose. Why does this organization exist?

That question is always present in workforce change.

Most workforce announcements tell you who is staying and who is leaving. Very few tell you what the organization is actually becoming.

If you’re leading through these changes, what are you asking your team to build? And how are you protecting trust as they do it?

Ashwini has been running Kaara for long enough to know what a wrong bet feels like. He has made several. He no longer calls them failures.

What he carried out of those years was not a pivot strategy. It was something simpler: stay honest to the basics, follow the business case, and never fall in love with the idea.

The firm today has 220 people. It is growing while TCS and Oracle are cutting. Three months after Kaara.Code went public, JPMC called. He came back from that meeting thinking about a question he had not asked before: how do you give sixty-five thousand engineers the right blueprint and memory for their enterprise development journey? He has a clear position on what is happening in his industry, and it is more contrarian than most people in it are willing to say out loud.
This is that conversation.

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Kaara has been through significant reinvention. What was the moment you found the clarity that formed what it is today?

We realized the shift in late 2024. The foundational models were getting better, our conversations with customers began to shift, Gen AI adoption took center stage, and soon the conversation moved to Agentic AI use cases and adoption. At the same time, we had started using AI inside our own delivery, in how we write code. There was real internal friction about it, and that friction turned out to be the most useful thing that happened to us.

The more we used AI, the deeper our conviction grew in the importance of context and memory for the proper adoption of Agentic workflows.

That was the moment it dawned upon us: if we wanted to help our customers realize what this shift makes possible, we had to change how we deliver before we asked them to change anything. That’s how the concept of Compounding Build started to take shape.

Before Kaara became what it is today, you tried Social, Edtech, Logistics, and Analytics. What did those experiences teach you about developing something that lasts?

We failed in all of those. None of them became what we hoped. I have moved on, and so has Kaara. We have stopped calling it failure. It was a learning experience, albeit a costly one. Costly enough to be worth remembering. Here is what I took from it.

Never ever fall in love with the idea. Follow the business case: why is it needed, who is going to use it, and how does it make their life better? Ideas are not enough. The discipline of execution, staying close enough to the ground, being able and willing to argue against your own plans, that is what actually matters. Cash flow is one of the most important aspects of any business, and founders often ignore it. The wrong culture can kill great ideas, and no execution SOP can save it.

What I learned is that building something that lasts is actually a lot simpler than most of us think. Today, I try to be honest in what I do, why I do it, who I do it with, and how I do it. Staying honest to the basics is something that I have started to value a lot.

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The IT services industry is experiencing its most significant disruption in 30 years. TCS. Oracle. Major cuts. Kaara is still growing. How do you read the current situation?

Our industry is seeing one of the most challenging times in the last 30 years; it was bound to happen sooner or later. AI has not caused it; it just brought it to the surface. This is the unwinding of a pricing model that remained unchanged for 3 decades, the confusion about AI’s value, and enterprises hiding their past decisions in the guise of AI productivity. I am not sure which one is contributing how much. One thing I am 100% certain of is that it’s not machines replacing humans.

It is a mismatch between how the industry has long created value and how value should be created now. We are a small firm, from whichever lens you look at - an IT services company of 220 odd people is a small company, and there are always opportunities for companies our size, no matter the market sentiments. We also made a few bets early, which are paying well. And that’s where the opportunities are: we have to reimagine how we deliver value to our customers, enable our team, and move them up. The days of the business model that assumed scale would always equal growth are long gone, but that’s also where the real opportunities lie.

Kaara.Code was recognized at JPMC's Technology Innovation Forum. What did you learn from that experience?

It has been around three months since we started talking about Kaara. Code and Compounding Build publicly. It was a pleasant surprise to receive a call from JPMC to present under the Modern Engineering Practice track.

The heartening part was understanding what they are doing internally. The context engineering work they are attempting is what Kaara.Code provides systematically. Before meeting them, we didn't realize how important it was to answer the question of scale. JPMC has a tech team of more than sixty-five thousand people. We came back thinking about how we can give each of them the right blueprint and memory for their enterprise development journey. That question changed the size of what we were building.

You have written that people building software matter more in the AI age, not less. That is a contrarian position right now. What gives you the confidence to hold it?

The common assumption is that as AI gets better at writing code, the people who write it matter less. I believe the opposite. My confidence comes from seeing the way Kaara functions today.

It's true that most developers haven't written a single line of code in months. But coding is not the only aspect of building software.

Knowing what is being built, why it is being built, end-user personas, context, compliance, guardrails- all of that has become much more important than before. The role of developers and builders has become more important too, but it moves upstream. It moves to judgment, knowing what to build, which trade-offs to encode, which constraints are real, and what 'done' actually means for a business user.

Furthermore, we are now solving problems that were hitherto unsolvable. The more we build, the more we grow, and the more work there is for everyone. We need to move into this cycle fast.

What is the one thing most companies miss when they move into AI, and why does it keep happening?

Stop inserting AI into old workflows. This is a sheer waste of such a powerful technology, and a lot of us keep taking the easier path.

The easier path is to retrofit AI into existing ways of functioning. What is actually required is to reimagine the work itself from the ground up. The way enterprise services are delivered needs to be completely reimagined. The roles of developers and everyone involved have changed; that does not mean they are going away. It is changing, that is it.

The best part: almost everyone I speak to is realizing this now and ensuring reimagination of workflows in almost every new project implementation.

My simple view is this: The winning companies will be the ones that redesign work, rebuild governance, make AI part of the business's daily operating rhythm, and do it fast.

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