I AM A JAMMUITE: The Chair Is the Same, The Impact Is Not

When Emotions Turn into Anxiety, a Leader Becomes a Boss

Anil Kumar Sharma

In the corporate world, a boss and a leader may sit on the same chair, hold the same designation, and sign the same files, yet the impact they create is often very different.

The difference does not lie in authority. It lies in emotional balance.

Leadership is not destroyed in boardrooms. It slowly weakens within the mind. When confidence turns into insecurity, when responsibility begins to feel like pressure, and when emotions silently convert into anxiety, something subtle changes. The leader who once inspired begins to control. The guide who once trusted begins to doubt. And without realising it, a leader becomes a boss.

Anxiety is rarely visible in corporate corridors. It hides behind strict emails, urgent meetings, and sudden reviews. It disguises itself as “discipline” and “performance pressure.” But those who work under it can sense the shift. Conversations become instructions. Dialogue becomes directives. Trust becomes monitoring.

A calm leader builds influence.

An anxious mind seeks authority.

As a banker by profession and a trade unionist by choice, I have had the opportunity to attend seminars and conferences at the All India level. During these interactions, one concern repeatedly surfaces in discussions among colleagues from different banks and regions.

We increasingly see a shift in our corporate structure , from leaders who led from the front to bosses who manage from the top.

There was a time in banking when leadership was not confined to cabins. Senior officers walked through branches, understood ground realities, mentored young officers, and stood with their teams during crises. Their leadership acumen was discussed not because of quarterly profits alone, but because of the institutions they built and the trust they nurtured. They shaped organisations that balanced growth with welfare of employees and customers alike.

Post liberalisation, step by step, the character of our institutions began to change. Strong value driven organisations gradually transformed into visible corporate identities where profit became the primary measurement of success. Financial performance is important ,no one denies that but somewhere empathy towards stakeholders began to weaken.

Targets today are not merely assigned; they descend from the top in layers, tightening at every level of hierarchy. By the time they reach the branch, they are no longer objectives they are pressures.

Allow me to illustrate from banking.

A branch manager is given aggressive cross selling targets , insurance, mutual funds, retail loans, digital activations often without matching manpower or local market assessment. The pressure moves to the credit officer, to the relationship manager, to the young probationary officer who is still learning the fundamentals of risk assessment.

When numbers become supreme, judgment begins to suffer.

In this race, ethical boundaries sometimes blur. Decisions taken under pressure later become subjects of scrutiny. The same officer who was encouraged to “push business” is questioned when an account turns irregular. Emotional strain builds quietly. Depression does not enter with noise,it accumulates silently in the minds of those constantly measured but rarely mentored.

This is where the difference between a leader and a boss becomes visible.

A leader understands the market realities of a rural branch differently from a metro branch. A leader calibrates targets. A leader protects subordinates when decisions are taken in good faith. A leader accepts collective responsibility.

A boss, driven by short term visibility, often focuses upward on presentations, on quarterly calls, on impressing stakeholders who have invested trust and capital in the institution. Tenure becomes shorter, performance display becomes louder. Bosses come and go. But the emotional and professional consequences of their short vision remain at the lower levels.

The irony is painful.

The very employees and customers on whose existence corporate identities stand become secondary to numbers. Yet without their trust, no balance sheet can remain strong for long.

In modern times, every bank rightly focuses on improving its cost to income ratio to strengthen the balance sheet alongside growth. Efficiency, capital adequacy, return on assets , these have become the defining metrics of institutional strength. Presentations revolve around numbers. Quarterly comparisons dominate boardroom conversations.

Today, in the age of instant media, quarterly disclosures often travel beyond financial circles. Headlines celebrate record profits, historic recoveries, highest ever growth figures. The balance sheet, in many cases, becomes a public statement of performance designed not only for compliance, but also for perception.

Numbers create narrative.

Narrative creates confidence.

Common investors, depositors, and even employees feel reassured when growth figures dominate the media space with the pic of boss. Expansion in advances, reduction in NPAs, surge in net profit these indicators shape public sentiment.

There is nothing inherently wrong in communicating success. Transparency builds trust.

But when balance sheets begin to influence perception more than reflection, the deeper institutional questions sometimes receive less attention. Growth in numbers becomes more visible than growth in capacity. Profit expansion becomes more celebrated than workforce expansion. Public image strengthens, while internal fatigue may quietly increase.

In such an environment, leadership must exercise even greater emotional maturity. Because while markets respond to numbers, organisations respond to culture.

A balance sheet can project strength.

Only leadership can ensure that strength is sustainable.

There is logic in this approach. Financial prudence cannot be ignored.

Yet, I often recall an earlier era in banking when the strength of an institution was also measured differently. We assessed robustness not merely by ratios, but by the size and stability of its workforce. A larger, well trained, motivated workforce was seen as an asset , not a cost.

Branches were opened with adequate staffing. Training was considered investment, not expenditure nether frabies . Expansion meant recruitment. Growth meant employment. Profitability and people moved together.

Today, efficiency sometimes translates into lean staffing. Cost control becomes workforce optimisation. Vacancies remain unfilled for longer periods in the name of prudence. The balance sheet may look healthier, but the human sheet grows heavier.

Earlier, profitability was built on people.

Now, profitability is often pursued despite fewer people.

The philosophy has subtly shifted from “people create performance” to “performance must adjust to available people.”

In this era, career progression are not always based on experience or knowledge alone. At times, individuals rise by aligning with senior preferences, executing directives without regard for human sensitivity. They become visible not for the example they set, but for the opportunities they secure for themselves ,often at the cost of those they are meant to lead.

The chair remains the same.

The designation remains the same.

But the impact changes , deeply and quietly.

Banking, at its core, is a trust business. Depositors do not invest merely in interest rates; they invest in credibility. Employees do not give only labour; they give their prime years and emotional energy to the institution.

When leadership weakens into anxiety driven authority, institutions may grow in size but shrink in soul.

And perhaps the question before us especially in the banking fraternity is not whether we are profitable, but whether we are building organisations that the younger generation can look up to as role models.

Because balance sheets can be audited every quarter.

But leadership character is audited silently every day by those who work under it.

This is reality not a fiction.

(STRAIGHT TALK COMMUNICATIONS EXCLUSIVE)