The Most Wanted Chief Knowledge Officer of India: Arrested for Excessive Honesty and Mild Use of Common Sense

Arrested for Excessive Honesty and Mild Use of Common Sense

Once upon a very recent time in the great, paradox-laden land of India—a nation known equally for zeroes, sages, space missions, and WhatsApp forwards—a curious crime was committed. A man, let’s call him The Chief Knowledge Officer, was found guilty.

His offense? He pointed out things that were true.

His method? Too clear. Too logical. Too unsentimental.

His sentence? Social exile, WhatsApp muting, and being labeled "negative energy".

This man, poor fellow, had dared to suggest—hold your gasp—that supporting your children when they are being incompetent, dishonest, or arrogant is not parenting, but societal vandalism.

The Cult of Eternal Approval: A National Pastime

In a country where family WhatsApp groups are more sacred than the Constitution, and parental pride is considered a human right (irrespective of merit), the idea of constructive criticism is treated like a foreign invasion.

Our hero had simply said:

“Maybe we shouldn’t defend our children when they are obviously wrong?”

This caused great national unrest. The emotional stock markets crashed. Aunties clutched pearls. “How dare you! Support is unconditional!” they roared, confusing support with sabotage.

He was promptly reported to the Ministry of Uncomfortable Truths—a secret bureau that arrests anyone who uses logic in domestic settings.

Crime Scene: Indian Living Rooms

You see, in many Indian homes, it is now treason to say:

• “That idea doesn’t make sense.”

• “Your child isn’t entitled to a CEO chair just because he wears a blazer.”

• “No, shouting in English does not equal intelligence.”

Such statements are not "observations." They are personal attacks.

Worse, they are seen as betrayal of the sacred family fabric—woven from threads of blind affirmation and guilt-based loyalty.

Raising Narcissists: A National Development Plan?

Once upon a time, India had a Five-Year Plan. Now, we have a Five-Likes Plan.

Our new education system teaches:

• "Ask questions, but not the wrong ones."

• "Think critically, unless it upsets someone."

• "Be confident, even if you’re wrong."

Our economy may be growing, but our tolerance for honesty is on a steady decline.

And so, the Chief Knowledge Officer—a man with the unfortunate habit of speaking clearly and meaning well—is now a pariah. Schools reject him. Panels uninvite him. HR departments whisper, “He’s brilliant, but a little too... realistic.”

Parenting or Pandering?

Let us be clear: support is essential. But support isn’t saying “yes” to everything. That’s not parenting—that’s PR work.

We don’t need more children growing up thinking that "love" means “never being corrected.”

We need children who can distinguish between criticism and cruelty, between feedback and insult, between shame and accountability.

But alas, in a nation where the loudest defense often wins, where caste and cash often shield incompetence, truth is the most dangerous enemy of all—because it doesn’t apologize and it doesn’t flatter.

And So He Rests… In Intellectual Solitude

Our Chief Knowledge Officer now walks alone—armed only with facts, compassion, and a faint hope that maybe, just maybe, society will one day thank him for saying:

“We cannot build a competent nation on a diet of denial, delusion, and Daddy’s LinkedIn connections.”

Until then, he remains wanted.

Wanted by the system—for disturbing the peace of make-believe.

Wanted by the future—for being the rare adult in the room.

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Postscript: If you see him, offer him a cup of tea and a real conversation.

He’s not dangerous. He just refuses to pretend.