Rosham
A Raging Sense of High Pride
The first time I understood what “the walls were closing in” meant was when I got fired. I was in my apartment, or to be more accurate, in my room in the apartment that I shared with my roommate. I was anxiously waiting to hear back from my supervisor, who was supposed to tell me if my contract was being renewed or not. I was pacing back and forth in that tiny apartment—sorry, room—in Wisconsin, and I got the call around 2 PM. My supervisor, who was a project manager (also on contract, along with me), told me they were not going to renew my contract. I was very surprised. Or rather, I convinced myself to be surprised. All the signs were there. I wasn’t able to finish tasks on my own. My work was of poor quality. I didn’t really understand system design. The only thing I was able to do well was be a friendly colleague. But my naive brain back then was also not that self-critical. I had convinced myself that I had done a great job. OK, fine, an acceptable job, but not so poorly that my contract was not being renewed. I needed the job, the money. I started arguing with my supervisor, demanding to know why they didn’t renew my contract. I started to explain how I was able to get everything done on time, etc., etc., when he interrupted me and told me, “Mahesh, you were fired. They (the company I worked for) didn’t think you would be able to do the work assigned to you and have asked for another contractor,” and then hung up. My already small room felt even smaller. I felt like the walls were closing in, threatening to shut me inside this crappy apartment in the middle of winter. A fitting tomb for a fitting end.
There is a word in Tamil called “Rosham” (pronounced ROH-shum). Google translates this incorrectly to “Rage” in English. The correct translation, or at least how it’s used locally where I grew up, is “A raging sense of high pride.” If anger and pride had a baby, that baby would be called “Rosham.” In the moment when my manager told me that I got fired, I felt a sense of hopelessness and despair, but it quickly dissipated, only to be replaced by “Rosham.” I didn’t come here to chilly Wisconsin, all the way from Chennai via Detroit, on borrowed money that my middle-class parents squirreled away by saving every penny for decades, to feel helpless. In that moment, I leaned into my pride and ego. I decided then and there that I was never going to be shit. I was never going to be helpless. I am in control of my future, and circumstances be damned. There is no ceiling. This post is about how to lean into ego the right way.
To a large extent, my Rosham was forged in Detroit. I grew up average in an average middle-class neighborhood. Average in academics, average in sports, no clear destiny. But I knew one thing: I wanted freedom, to live life on my own terms, and America was perfect for that. America offers oversized rewards for individual excellence and perseverance. I wasn’t that smart, so I flipped burgers in Detroit to make ends meet. I graduated into a terrible job market. Many of my friends went back to India. I didn’t, because going back would mean accepting failure. I stuck around and found the job I got fired from. My point being, at every moment of hardship, we all have a choice: declare failure and become depressed, or lean into our ego and declare that failure means nothing. It doesn’t define you. All this failure has done is strengthen your Rosham.
After getting fired, I found a new job and hit the books. I spent hours reading the existing codebase. I actively sought out help from others. I didn’t turn down any tasks. I met all my deadlines. What I realized: when sufficiently motivated (which I was!), I was a quick learner and even quicker at producing results. I wasn’t the smartest person in the room, but I could outperform everyone because I took the fastest path to completing tasks. And to my surprise and delight, that’s what companies wanted. This is where I learned that producing results will always surpass academic purity or perceived smartness in corporate America.
So with my Rosham fully activated, I climbed. When the world around me told me I had to “put in time” to get promoted, I ignored it and job-hopped to that promotion. I made lateral moves while on a work visa—moves that cost me 5-7 years of delay in getting my permanent residency in the United States. I took risks. I joined small startups. I quickly left toxic workplaces. I built strong professional relationships along the way. I made counterintuitive career turns, all the way to a C-suite role.
Rosham powered all of these professional twists and turns. Not the white-hot rage from that Wisconsin apartment, but something steadier. A quiet, consistent refusal to accept someone else’s ceiling as my own. However, if you don’t control it, Rosham can push you down a dark path. Here’s how to harness it without self-destructing.
Convert Failure to Fuel
Rosham is fantastic at converting failure to fuel, but the key is to keep the anger part under control. When you fail, or your team fails, let Rosham swell inside you, but do not let it overtake you. Let it swell and simmer down. Let the anger get to you, but only for a millisecond, and never let it consume you. Once it has simmered down, first tell yourself, “Failure is not the end. It is just the beginning.” Then tell your team, “We can’t let this failure demoralize us. Let’s regroup, let’s learn from the experience, and let’s go win next time.”
Because anger is a big part of Rosham, you have to figure out how to keep it in check. A great way of keeping your anger in check is meditation, specifically mindfulness. However, you can’t let your sense of pride go away. A fantastic way of keeping your pride and ego sharpened and pointed in the right direction is to cultivate a sense of competition—but compete with yourself, not others. For me, that meant health. After a health scare many years ago, I channeled my competitive energy into the gym, running, and weightlifting. When I’m pushing myself physically, that competitive fire stays sharp but doesn’t poison my relationships at work. Bottom line is, to be able to use Rosham effectively, you need to calm your mind down but cultivate your competitive spirit.
Conversely, if your Rosham causes you to blame others, or circumstances, or god, or you lash out at your team, you are doing it completely wrong. I have seen many senior leaders fall into this trap. They viscerally feel the failure (which is good), but they react to it by yelling at others (not so good) or belittling others. Here is a simple test to apply to yourself. In moments of failure (or any crisis), does your team seek you out for support and solutions, or do they dread to talk to you and try to avoid talking to you as much as possible? If it’s the former, you are using Rosham correctly.
Ignore Ceilings and Take Risks
The first time I encountered a ceiling was when I asked my boss what it would take to become a manager and was told to “put in the time.” I tried to convince them that I had cultivated many of the skills that would enable me to succeed as a manager—leading a team, resolving conflicts, translating goals into projects—but it fell on deaf ears. Everybody was sympathetic and agreed that I had the skills, but no one was willing to take a chance on me, mostly because there were others waiting in line. I was on a work visa, and the safest thing for me to do would have been to stay put and “put in the time.” I remember this one conversation where my boss was trying to explain to me why I wasn’t “ready” to be a manager, and in the moment, I let pride and ego wash over me. I said to myself, “Life is too short.” I decided to just roll the dice. I looked around for a new job where I could be a manager, interviewed at a bunch of places, and finally found a manager (thank you, Jeff!) who took a chance on me. The pay was lower, but it gave me the title and the chance to be a manager. Everyone around me, except my wife, told me I was making a mistake. Jumping around pushed out my permanent residency by about five years, but I don’t regret it one bit. That touch of pride that pushed me to take risks took me to places I would have never imagined in my life.
There is, however, a dark side to this. The wrong way to use pride and ego is to let it cloud your ability to be self-critical. Yes, I told myself, “I can become a manager,” but I never told myself, “I have all the skills needed to become a successful manager.” Even though I leaned into my ego in the moment, I never had any illusions about the skills required to become a successful manager. I knew that I had to be self-critical and never lose a sense of humility and lifelong learning.
Take on Impossible Tasks
My next job after getting fired was at a financial services company, and I actually did pretty well there. I became quite the popular developer in both my team and my sister teams for one primary reason: I very rarely said no. I was regularly sent in to pinch-hit and save projects. One of the biggest reasons I rarely said no was because I liked the success and validation from my peers and managers, and it further fueled my Rosham. It pushed me to take on riskier and riskier projects.
Until I found my limit and failed spectacularly. One can only go so long surviving on Red Bull and three hours of sleep. I took on a project I couldn’t deliver on time. My boss was understanding. The project was already plagued with issues before I got put on it, so he was somewhat prepared for delays—but I learned my lesson: I can’t say yes to everything. I had leaned into my Rosham too much without understanding other constraints, which in my case was sleep!
My point being, leaning into your ego to push ahead is a great tactic, but you have to do it smart:
Understand your limits. This comes mostly from practice and experience. But the key here is to push yourself first to find your limits, and when you find them, calibrate your yes/no responses to impossible requests accordingly.
Be transparent about odds, not outcomes. Giving it your best shot is different than promising success. If you’re taking on a seemingly impossible task, be clear about what to expect from the effort. People will always respect someone who tries versus someone who promises success and fails.
Wrapping Up
Over the last fifteen years, the tech industry has championed empathetic leadership, and that’s largely been a good thing. But I’ve noticed a side effect: a generation of managers who are all listening, all forgiving, all democratic, and completely non-competitive. Their teams love them, but their businesses don’t move. They have empathy without edge, kindness without drive.
The tech world is growing up, and that means its leaders need a backbone. Having a backbone doesn’t mean being a dick. It means knowing when to lean into your Rosham in a productive way—to push back on mediocrity, to refuse arbitrary ceilings, to convert failure into fuel instead of excuses. It means balancing empathy with competitive fire.
Rosham took me from that tiny Wisconsin apartment to places I never imagined. It cost me years and comfort, but it gave me control over my own ceiling. If you’re waiting for permission to bet on yourself, this is it. Let your Rosham rise, but keep it sharp, controlled, and pointed in the right direction.
And that is it for now. Until next time!
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