Social media is one of the most under-rated business tools, in my

Host: The city pulsed beneath a late evening haze — a grid of lights, screens, and the silent hum of unseen conversations. Inside a glass-walled office thirty floors above the street, the skyline stretched like a living circuit board — windows flickering like electric hearts, the buzz of commerce never ceasing.

Jack stood near the window, his reflection blending with the city beyond — sharp-suited, sleeves rolled, tie loose, eyes scanning his phone as though reading the pulse of the world. Across from him, Jeeny sat at a sleek table, laptop open, her fingers resting lightly on the keyboard, her expression thoughtful, almost meditative.

The quote framed on the digital wall display behind them read:
“Social media is one of the most under-rated business tools, in my opinion. It's an amazing cockpit for any CEO. I can narrate any number of stories how it has helped me to reach out to customers, dealers, protesting workers, and even security guards.” — Anand Mahindra

Jeeny: “He’s right, you know. It is an amazing cockpit. A CEO today doesn’t just need a boardroom; they need a dashboard — and that’s what social media gives them. A direct line to the heartbeat of the company.”

Jack: “Or to the noise of the mob. You call it a cockpit, I call it a chaos feed. Too many voices, too many opinions — half of them misinformed.”

Host: The city lights flickered across Jack’s face, slicing it into panels of blue and gold, half illumined, half shadowed. His tone was measured, but beneath the control lay a note of quiet tension.

Jeeny: “Maybe it’s supposed to be messy. Real conversation always is. That’s the point — transparency. Anand Mahindra didn’t use social media to posture; he used it to listen.”

Jack: “Listening? You think tweets and hashtags are conversations? Most of them are echo chambers dressed as discourse.”

Jeeny: “You’re being cynical again. There’s a difference between noise and signal. The skill is in knowing which is which.”

Jack: “And you think the average CEO has that kind of radar?”

Jeeny: “The good ones do. Mahindra did. He didn’t hide behind press releases — he engaged. He spoke to workers, customers, even security guards. That’s leadership.”

Jack: “That’s PR.”

Jeeny: “That’s humanity.”

Host: A silence hung between them, heavy as the humid air outside the window. The city breathed below — cars threading through narrow streets, advertisements pulsing on massive screens, every pixel whispering someone’s idea of truth.

Jack turned from the window, his voice lower now.

Jack: “You call it humanity. I call it surveillance disguised as empathy. Every click, every like, every comment — it’s all data. The illusion of connection feeding the machinery of control.”

Jeeny: “But that’s not what Anand Mahindra meant. He didn’t say it’s perfect. He said it’s a tool. Tools reflect the hands that hold them. You can use a hammer to build or to break — the choice is always human.”

Jack: “And yet we keep pretending the hammer is the hero.”

Jeeny: “Because sometimes it is. When a CEO reaches a worker directly online, bypassing layers of hierarchy — that’s revolutionary. That’s the hammer cracking open the old walls.”

Host: The screensaver behind them shifted — a live feed of trending posts, comments, retweets cascading like digital rain. A distant thunderstorm rolled beyond the glass, faint lightning painting the sky in quick bursts of white.

Jack: “You really believe that? You think social media has made leaders more accountable?”

Jeeny: “It’s made them visible. That’s the first step. When a customer complains publicly, the company can’t pretend it didn’t happen. When a CEO responds, it’s a conversation, not a cover-up.”

Jack: “And what about when it backfires? When a poorly worded tweet wipes billions off the stock market? When outrage replaces reasoning?”

Jeeny: “That’s not a failure of technology,