Part 6 of 17 in The Engaged Indian Teen
I’ve been thinking lately about a phenomenon I see both in my clinic and in the startups I invest in. I call it “Passenger Mode.” It’s not the glaring failure that alarms us, nor the stunning success that we celebrate. It’s the quiet, unremarkable, and often unnoticed state of “fine.” The student who does just enough to get by, the startup founder who reiterates the same pitch without introspection, the patient who nods along without comprehending. In my experience, “fine” is the most dangerous word in any language, because it marks the end of inquiry and the start of complacency.
A couple of weeks ago, I saw a young IVF patient who embodied this mode. Her medical history was unremarkable, and she came in with the usual concerns. Yet, her responses were mechanical, devoid of any real engagement. She was doing what was required, nothing more, nothing less. In the investment world, this would be akin to a company that meets its quarterly targets but has no vision for innovation or growth. Just as with passengers in life, these entities move through the motions, without realizing they’re on autopilot.
Why do so many of us, particularly in the Indian context, fall into this trap? I believe it’s because the structure of our systems—education, healthcare, even entrepreneurship—often rewards compliance over curiosity. In schools, students are primed to answer questions, not to ask them. The same holds true in the startup ecosystem, where founders often pitch what they think investors want to hear, rather than what they’re genuinely passionate about.
In both domains, the work is often neither theirs nor pitched at them. Schools and parents decide the destination—engineer, doctor, chartered accountant—and the child is reduced to a vehicle. Similarly, in the startup world, the push for quick exits or predictable revenue streams can stifle innovation.
But let’s dig deeper. In an AI-driven world, the ability to initiate, to question, to explore is not optional—it is imperative. The muscle of initiative is what distinguishes the visionary from the passenger. A child who spends years doing the minimum never builds this muscle. And in a world where AI can execute the mundane, this muscle is the whole game.
Recognizing passenger mode isn’t always straightforward. It’s the homework finished at lightning speed, devoid of any lingering questions. It’s the phrase “What’s the point of this?” uttered as a full stop rather than a genuine inquiry. It’s the teenager with strong opinions about cricket or K-dramas but none about their school subjects. It’s the calendar packed with activities, yet a mind that can’t claim ownership over a single idea.
Nagging, as many Indian parents will attest, is not the solution. I’ve seen it in practice: when adolescents hear a parent’s voice in nagging mode, the problem-solving networks in their brains shut down. The lecture feels like care to us, but to them, it’s akin to a shutdown command.
Instead, we need to offer agency within boundaries. This means giving small choices and restoring relevance. Choice doesn’t mean “Do whatever you want.” It means “You must practice mathematics for forty minutes. Do you want to start with the problem set or with teaching me the concept?” Agency within a boundary encourages children to move from being driven to driving themselves.
As parents and mentors, our job is to build the bridge between the syllabus and real life. A history teacher with forty students can’t pause to connect the Permanent Settlement to your family’s land, but you can. A chemistry teacher won’t stop to talk about the rust on the building’s water tank, but you can. If you don’t build that bridge, don’t be surprised when your child treats school as a foreign land.
Planning is another tool often overlooked. Passengers don’t lack intelligence; they lack a way to start. Help them write a plan for one study block: start time, first task, what “done” looks like, and then walk away. Your walking away is as important as the planning. If you stand over them, you’re still the engine.
I remember a story from Chennai about a girl named Divya. Described as “average but sincere,” her mother, Lakshmi, saw that label as a life sentence. But instead of piling on more classes, she asked Divya to teach a younger cousin a topic she found least pointless. Divya chose life processes, using an asthma inhaler as a prop. She got stuck on alveoli, looked it up, got stuck again, and became annoyed at her own gaps rather than the syllabus. That annoyance marked the beginning of her journey into “Explorer mode.”
This is what we need to foster—an environment where curiosity is the driver, not compliance. In a world where AI tutors often fall short, a child’s curiosity remains their best teacher. It’s not about adding more classes or confiscating phones but about fostering an environment where questions are encouraged, and exploration is rewarded.
In both medicine and investment, I’ve learned that authenticity trumps perfection. The patients who ask questions, who push back, who are engaged, tend to have better outcomes. Similarly, the founders who are honest about their challenges, who iterate based on genuine insight rather than investor expectations, are the ones who build enduring companies. Authenticity is a trait I value deeply, both in patients and founders.
Passenger mode is a quiet trap, but it’s not inevitable. By recognizing it and taking deliberate steps to encourage agency and curiosity, we can transform passengers into explorers. Whether it’s in the classroom, the clinic, or the startup ecosystem, it’s time we move beyond “fine” and aim for something truly meaningful.