"𝗬𝗮𝗮𝗿, 𝗰𝗵𝘂𝘁𝘁𝗶 𝗸𝗮𝗯 𝗹𝗼𝗴𝗲!"

"𝗬𝗮𝗮𝗿, 𝗰𝗵𝘂𝘁𝘁𝗶 𝗸𝗮𝗯 𝗹𝗼𝗴𝗲!"

"When will you take some leaves?"

"Don’t you think you should take a break?"

"Will you really let your leaves lapse?"

"Don't check your emails or Teams when you're on leave! Koshish toh Karo!"

No, these questions and diktats did not come from my family. 

I’ve never been one to take leave unless it’s for an event, vacation, or family commitment—even when my health was 𝘥𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪 𝘥𝘢𝘭𝘪. The pandemic only reinforced this habit. But then came my latest boss. From mid-2024, he started encouraging everyone to take regular breaks to recharge. When I told him I usually let around 20 leaves lapse each year, he was genuinely intrigued.

From then on, during our catch-ups, he made it a point to nudge me about taking time off. He knew I’d readily update him on my work plans, but it was my leave plan that interested him more.

Eventually, in Q4 of last year, I gave in. I started taking a day off about once a week - 𝘢𝘪𝘸𝘦𝘩𝘪 - and even more often in December. What I experienced was pretty cool:

1. 𝗖𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗺𝘆 𝗽𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗴𝗮𝗱𝗴𝗲𝘁 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘃𝗲𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗹𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝘀—weekday offs meant no long queues.

2. 𝗙𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗰𝗹𝗼𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝘄𝗼 𝗺𝗼𝗻𝗲𝘆-𝗱𝗿𝗮𝗶𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗽𝗼𝗹𝗶𝗰𝗶𝗲𝘀 I had been meaning to cancel for ages. Just parked myself at the insurer’s office for two hours until they gave in.

3. 𝗕𝗮𝗻𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗺𝗮𝘆 𝗯𝗲 𝗼𝗻𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗲, 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗶𝗿𝗲 𝗮 𝗯𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗵 𝘃𝗶𝘀𝗶𝘁. Got those done too. 𝘓𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘪? 𝘒𝘰𝘪 𝘯𝘢𝘪, 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘳𝘶𝘬𝘵𝘢 𝘩𝘶𝘯.

4. 𝗦𝗽𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝗯𝗿𝘂𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘂𝗽 𝗼𝗻 𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗹𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗸 𝗽𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗻𝘀 used in technical analysis of stocks. The Hanging Man and Hammer are my favorites.

5. 𝗣𝗶𝗰𝗸𝗲𝗱 𝘂𝗽 𝗮 𝗯𝗼𝗼𝗸... 𝘱𝘩𝘪𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘢𝘱𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘢𝘬𝘩 𝘥𝘪𝘺𝘢 and binge-watched Netflix shows instead.

Did plenty more on these 𝘢𝘪𝘸𝘦𝘩𝘪 leave days, and now I try to take them more often.

Try taking a leave - 𝘢𝘪𝘸𝘦𝘩𝘪 - if you haven't. 𝗖𝗮𝘀𝘂𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗰𝗮𝘀𝘂𝗮𝗹 leaves kabhi leke dekho. It could be worth it.

"Your daughter is hurt. Do you want to come and pick her up?"

"Your daughter is hurt. Do you want to come and pick her up?" asked the teacher —let’s call her Daya.

Now, if any parent were to receive such a call, the only possible response would be a panicked "Yes!". Thankfully, I was working from home that day and rushed to the school.

"Sir, shorts are not allowed in school," I recalled the guard saying once when I had gone to pick her up wearing them. Already in my car, I hoped he’d let me through today. As soon as I arrived, I asked, "Where is the nursing room?" The guard, probably realizing this wasn’t the right moment to comment on my attire, simply pointed me in.

"She looked a bit worried, but I examined her thoroughly. The injury wasn’t anything concerning, so I sent her back to class," said the nurse, Ms. Hathi.

I quickly made my way to her classroom. As soon as V (my daughter) saw me, tears started streaming down her face. My heart sank. Before I could say anything, she blurted out, "I am absolutely fine. I don’t want to miss class!"

She wasn’t crying because of pain but because she was being sent home. I checked in with her and then turned to Daya, requesting that she allow V to stay. Daya explained that she had already completed the paperwork to send V home, and as per protocol, she had to leave. I asked if she could approach a senior staff member to reconsider. The senior was in a meeting and likely dismissed her. Daya then gently counseled V and requested us to leave.

On the ground floor, I stopped V and asked, "Do you really want to attend school?" She nodded without hesitation. I knew she hates missing school. "Then let's go to the principal," I said. At that moment, she hesitated. "No, no, let’s go home. It’s okay," she said quickly. That "It’s okay" got to me. As a dad, I wasn’t okay with my daughter having an "It’s okay" experience—settling for something she clearly didn’t want.

We went back up to where principal's office was located. Outside, we were greeted by an EA—let’s call her Babitaji. "Sir, why do you wish to meet the principal?" she asked politely. I explained the situation and shared my perspective: protocols should be followed in spirit, not just in letter. If Hathi and I were both okay with V staying, there was no reason she shouldn’t be allowed back in class.

Now, the difference between good EAs and great EAs is that the great ones solve small problems before they reach their bosses. She quickly called Hathi to confirm the details, then called Daya. After listening to both, she instructed Daya to allow V to attend class. Daya soon arrived at the office, and a smiling V walked away with her. I thanked Babitaji for her timely help and left.

Rules and policies exist for a reason, but applying them with empathy makes all the difference. Sometimes, what’s ‘by the book’ isn’t what’s best for the situation. Great leadership—at any level—is about knowing when to adapt and Babitaji did just that!

The image? Well, that’s me after going through a rollercoaster of emotions that day!