As a leader, I am tough on myself and I raise the standard for

Host: The office building stood tall against the midnight skyline, its glass walls glowing faintly like the last ember of a dying fire. The city below pulsed with distant headlights, the rhythm of ambition still alive even as the world slept. Inside, on the top floor, the boardroom lights burned — steady, relentless, sterile.

Jack sat near the window, tie loosened, sleeves rolled, the city’s reflection caught in the sheen of the long mahogany table. His jawline was sharp, his eyes tired but still precise — like a soldier of the corporate kind, built on caffeine, discipline, and deadlines. Jeeny stood by the far end, her hair unbound, blazer draped on the chair, her hands clasped around a paper cup of cold coffee.

The meeting had ended hours ago. But their debate — that never really ended.

Jeeny: “You ever read what Indra Nooyi said about leadership, Jack? ‘I’m tough on myself and I raise the standard for everybody; however, I am very caring because I want people to excel.’”

Jack: “Yeah.” (pauses) “Sounds nice in interviews. Not so much in practice.”

Host: The rain began to patter softly against the glass, each droplet tracing the lights below — streaks of white and red smearing into something almost human. The room, once loud with chatter and decision, had gone quiet except for their voices — two echoes in the hollow of late-night ambition.

Jeeny: “You really think she didn’t mean it? You think people like Nooyi build empires on slogans?”

Jack: “No. I think they build them on expectations — impossible ones. You can’t be both ruthless and nurturing without breaking something. Either the system cracks, or the people do.”

Jeeny: “Or they rise. Maybe that’s the point.”

Jack: “You’ve led teams before, Jeeny. You know what I mean. You push too hard, they burn out. You care too much, they take advantage. Leadership’s not balance — it’s constant loss management.”

Host: Jeeny took a slow sip from her cup, her eyes narrowing, brows drawn in thought. The city lights flickered across her face like passing thoughts — fragments of empathy and defiance intertwined.

Jeeny: “You always assume the world breaks under pressure. But sometimes, pressure forges something better. Nooyi didn’t just demand performance; she demanded purpose. There’s a difference.”

Jack: “Purpose doesn’t pay the bills. I’ve seen people give everything — loyalty, weekends, health — all for some leader who said it was ‘for the greater good.’ And when it’s over? A farewell email and a new vacancy on LinkedIn.”

Jeeny: “That’s not leadership — that’s exploitation. You’re confusing the two.”

Jack: “And you’re romanticizing it. You want to believe leaders can be kind without being weak, tough without being cruel. But power changes people. It turns care into control.”

Host: A flash of lightning tore through the sky, reflecting across the glass. For a heartbeat, their faces — sharp, illuminated — mirrored two sides of the same coin.

Jeeny: “Not everyone changes. Look at her, Jack. Indra Nooyi didn’t climb to the top by pretending to care — she actually did. She wrote letters to her employees’ parents, thanking them for raising good people. Who does that?”

Jack: “A strategist. Someone who knows loyalty can’t be demanded — it has to be inspired.”

Jeeny: “No. Someone who still remembers that every number on a balance sheet has a heartbeat behind it.”

Host: The air between them thickened — not with anger, but with that peculiar electricity of conviction clashing with experience. Jack leaned back, rubbing his temples, the faint sigh of fatigue escaping his throat.

Jack: “You think being a leader means caring? I think it means not flinching when people hate you for expecting more.”

Jeeny: “Expecting more is fine — but expecting without empathy is tyranny.”

Jack: “And empathy without discipline is chaos.”

Host: The rain grew heavier, the sound like applause or accusation — it was hard to tell. The clock on the wall read 12:47 a.m. The hour of truth-telling, when facades wear thin and people speak from the soft underside of their armor.

Jeeny: “When I managed my first team, I thought I had to be nice. That’s what they teach women — to be agreeable, to smile, to cushion every order with kindness. But it didn’t work. People walked over me.”

Jack: (looking up) “So what changed?”

Jeeny: “I stopped being nice. I started being honest. I stopped saying ‘It’s okay’ when it wasn’t. And you know what? They started listening. Not because they feared me — but because they trusted I cared enough to tell the truth.”

Jack: (quietly) “That’s… rare.”

Jeeny: “No, it’s responsible. Leadership isn’t about power — it’s about permission. You give people permission to be better than they think they can be. That’s what Nooyi meant.”

Host: Jack turned to the window, his reflection faintly visible against the night — his own tired face, and behind it, the vast city he’d spent his life trying to conquer. His voice came softer now, less armor, more ache.

Jack: “You know what I envy about leaders like her? They make people want to follow. Me? I’ve just made people obey.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe that’s your next standard to raise — not their performance, but your purpose.”

Host: Silence. The kind that fills a room not with emptiness, but with recognition. The storm outside began to ease, its rhythm slowing to a whisper.

Jack: “You ever wonder if leaders like Nooyi ever feel alone? The higher you climb, the fewer people can tell you the truth.”

Jeeny: “Of course they do. Every real leader feels that. But caring doesn’t mean you won’t be lonely — it just means you won’t be heartless while you are.”

Jack: “You think compassion can survive at the top?”

Jeeny: “If it dies, the whole ladder collapses.”

Host: A faint light from a nearby building blinked — the signal of a cleaning crew beginning their quiet shift. The hum of the air conditioner filled the pause between them.

Jack stood slowly, straightening his tie, the weariness replaced by something quieter — a kind of resolve. He looked at Jeeny, his grey eyes steady.

Jack: “You know, I’ve spent years making people afraid to fail. Maybe it’s time I make them want to succeed instead.”

Jeeny: “That’s the difference, Jack. Fear gets compliance. Care gets excellence.”

Host: She smiled, faintly but genuinely, as he picked up his briefcase. He turned toward the window one last time, staring out at the skyline — a thousand windows glowing with unseen stories, unseen effort.

Jack: “You know, I used to think leadership was about commanding attention. Now I think it’s about earning respect.”

Jeeny: “And respect comes from how much you demand of yourself first.”

Host: He nodded — slowly, thoughtfully. Then, almost instinctively, he flicked off the boardroom lights. The city’s glow took over, painting their silhouettes in soft blue. Outside, the storm had cleared, leaving behind a faint, silver horizon — a promise of morning.

As they walked out together, the sound of their footsteps echoed through the corridor — firm, even, deliberate. The kind of rhythm that belongs to those who lead, not because they must…

…but because they care enough to.