Most people assume creativity belongs only to experts. But a silent category exists between amateurs and full-fledged professionals—the borderline professionals. These are individuals who have the desire to create, and just enough basic skill to understand what they want, yet they struggle to execute.
Today, AI changes that equation.
The Ancient Framework That Explains Modern AI
In the Lalita Sahasranama, creation is rooted in three forces:
Ichha Shakti — the deep desire or will
Jnana Shakti — the knowledge or understanding
Kriya Shakti — the power to execute
In my book Directing Business, I highlighted how these three powers capture the entire arc of creation. Most people possess the first, many have some version of the second, but very few have the third.
This is where AI steps in—not as a replacement for human skill, but as the missing Kriya Shakti that unlocks execution.
Who Are Borderline Professionals?
Borderline professionals are not amateurs. They are not novices. They are people who:
Have a genuine desire to create
Possess basic foundational knowledge
Can articulate what they want
But get stuck when it’s time to execute
They often sit on ideas for years—songs they wanted to compose, books they wanted to write, companies they wanted to start, designs they always imagined but never completed.
Their limitation is almost always Kriya Shakti—the ability to translate intent and knowledge into a finished creation.
AI Completes the Creation Triangle
If you possess:
Ichha (desire)
Jnana (basic understanding)
AI now gives you:
Kriya (execution superpower)
This shifts the creative world in a fundamental way. AI does not magically inject expertise into you. Instead, it amplifies your minimum viable expertise.
In other words: If you can imagine it and understand it at a basic level, AI can help you build it.
Real Examples of Borderline Creators Becoming Real Creators
1. Writing & Storytelling
People who always wanted to write but struggled with structure or flow can now produce full essays, chapters, and scripts. AI becomes the co-author that takes their intent and shapes it into polished work.
2. Music & Composition
A person who can hum a tune or grasp rhythm but lacks musical training can now generate full compositions, lyrics, and studio-quality tracks.
3. Entrepreneurship
Someone with a startup idea but no experience in planning, pitching, or prototyping can now generate:
business plans
branding
pitch decks
landing pages
even early product mockups
In short, AI provides the scaffolding for company creation.
4. Multimodal Creativity
Text → Images → Video → Audio → Apps With modern multimodal AI, the entire pipeline of creativity becomes accessible—even if the individual has never been trained formally.
The Big Insight: Skill Is Not Dead—It Is Amplified
You still need some Jnana Shakti—some grasp of your domain. AI cannot replace absolute ignorance.
But the amount of knowledge needed to start has dramatically dropped.
Earlier, you needed 100% skill to get 100% output. Now, even with 20–30% knowledge, AI multiplies your ability to produce a finished work.
This is the true empowerment.
Why This Is the Best Time for Borderline Professionals
For the first time in history:
You don’t need a studio to compose.
You don’t need a publisher to write.
You don’t need a team to launch a startup.
You don’t need a design degree to create visuals.
You don’t need a production crew to make videos.
If you have deep desire (Ichha) and basic understanding (Jnana), AI gives you Kriya at a never-before scale.
This makes today the most powerful era for borderline professionals—those who were always “almost there,” waiting for a catalyst.
Conclusion
Creativity no longer belongs only to the trained elite. It belongs to anyone with the will to create and the willingness to learn just enough to guide AI.
AI completes the Ichha–Jnana–Kriya triad. It transforms borderline professionals from dreamers into doers, and from doers into creators.
The door is open wider than ever. And if you’ve always stood just outside it—this is your moment to walk through.
Infographic based on this article (using Nana Banana Pro)
Meaning: Treat pleasure and pain, gain and loss, victory and defeat alike. Then, act without attachment—you will not incur sin.
This timeless verse reminds us that life’s highs and lows are transient. Fame, applause, and adulation are as fleeting as silence, obscurity, and indifference.
🎭 Amitabh Bachchan’s Bitter-Sweet Realization
In a candid conversation years ago, Amitabh Bachchan recalled the stark contrast between two phases of his career. During the peak of his “angry young man” era, his presence in New York caused mayhem—crowds surged, limousines had to be driven onto the stage, and escape routes were orchestrated underground. Stardom was overwhelming, almost suffocating.
Yet, years later, while promoting a film alongside Govinda and Raveena Tandon, he stepped out of a limousine into a theatre and found himself walking unnoticed, like any other member of the audience. The silence was deafening.
This moment crystallized the truth: fame is not permanent. The crowd’s gaze shifts, the applause fades, and the spotlight moves on.
🌟 The Rise of Govinda
The 1990s marked Govinda’s meteoric rise. With effortless comic timing, dazzling dance moves, and a magnetic screen presence, he captured the nation’s imagination. Bachchan’s comeback in Bade Miyan Chote Miyan (1998) alongside Govinda was a commercial success, but it also underscored the generational shift in stardom.
🪶 Lessons in Impermanence
Bachchan’s reflection is not just about cinema—it’s about life itself.
Fame is cyclical: Today’s icon may be tomorrow’s forgotten name.
Identity evolves: Reinvention is essential when the old image no longer resonates.
Humility in transition: Accepting obscurity with grace is as important as handling fame with dignity.
✨ Closing Thought
The Sanskrit verse reminds us that equanimity is the antidote to the volatility of life. Amitabh Bachchan’s journey—from being mobbed in New York to walking unnoticed—echoes the eternal truth: everything changes, and wisdom lies in embracing both applause and silence with equal serenity.
Some traditions carry management secrets hidden inside rituals. The Kanne Swami custom from the Ayyappa pilgrimage is one of them. A structure so human that even the best corporate handbooks can’t quite touch it.
Every first-time pilgrim, the Kanne Swami, walks under the care of a Guru Swamy. Someone who has done the journey before. Someone who remembers the fear, the fatigue, the feeling of not knowing what lies beyond the next hill. The Guru doesn’t instruct from a distance. He walks beside the novice. Watches. Corrects. Encourages.
It’s mentorship without bureaucracy. Discipline without coldness. And care that doesn’t require an app.
Now imagine a company doing that.
A workplace that feels like a pilgrimage
Picture a new hire on their first day. They’ve cleared interviews, signed forms, logged in, smiled through the icebreaker round. Then what? Usually, silence.
An inbox full of welcome messages that mean well but sound rehearsed. A manager too busy to explain what “ownership” really means. A team that helps politely but never deeply.
What if that person was treated as a Kanne Swami? Guided with sincerity, not policy. Paired with someone who feels responsible for their initiation, not just their output.
A Guru Swamy at work would not be another “buddy” from HR. He or she would be a custodian of learning. The person who ensures that the first 41 days of the new member’s journey feel grounded, ethical, and alive.
Every culture that survives more than a century has some version of this. The Japanese senpai–kohai system. The guild apprenticeships of Europe. And here in India, the Guru–Śiṣya bond. The Ayyappa tradition simply gave it ritual clarity.
The modern company can too.
What ancient India already understood about leadership
Our texts and customs weren’t management manuals, but they carried psychological precision. The Guru–Śiṣya paramparā wasn’t just about transferring knowledge. It was about transmitting restraint, intuition, and self-control. The mentor watched how the student moved through frustration. The real lesson wasn’t the mantra; it was how to stay still when the world tested you.
Sevā bhāva taught that service purifies ego. A true guide serves the learner’s growth, not his own reputation. Atithi Devo Bhava reminded communities that newcomers bring divine potential. Even the Gītā quietly handed managers a code: Karmanye vadhikaraste ma phaleshu kadachana. Do your duty, but let go of the reward.
That line, taken seriously, can clean entire boardrooms.
We keep calling this philosophy. It’s actually process design. A cultural operating system, written in poetry.
The science caught up later
Psychology took two thousand years to name what the sages practiced daily. Amy Edmondson called it psychological safety. Google made it famous through Project Aristotle. Every study since then says the same thing. Teams thrive when people can speak without fear.
Fear is what ruins most first-time experiences. The first code deployment. The first client call. The first on-air appearance. One mistake, and it haunts you. A Guru Swamy neutralizes that fear. Not by removing risk, but by standing nearby.
Even AI systems—predictive ones, at least—run on something similar: feedback loops and safety nets. A team that encourages early vulnerability behaves like a well-trained model that’s constantly improving through gentle correction.
Funny how science ends up rediscovering faith with spreadsheets.
Translating pilgrimage into management practice
Let’s turn this into structure. Every time someone in your company does something for the first time, they’re a Kanne Swami.
A new hire. A first-time team lead. A developer pushing production code. A salesperson pitching a global client. Even an executive leading their first crisis.
Each deserves a guide. Someone with enough scar tissue to teach through calm.
The company can formalize this with small rituals, not heavy frameworks.
The 41-Day Frame: The first six weeks are sacred. They include orientation, shadowing, and reflection. The Guru ensures rhythm, not just routine.
The Two-Pouch Method: Inspired by the Irumudi the pilgrim carries. One pouch for learning goals. The other for contributions made during the journey.
The Safety Phrase: A simple, pre-agreed sentence any member can use to pause action when things feel wrong. Something human like, “Hold. Let’s rethink.” It must be honored instantly.
Completion Rite: After 41 days, both the guide and the learner sit together to reflect. The learner thanks, but the guide doesn’t take credit. The circle closes quietly.
Small, human mechanics. Yet they carry deep order.
Rituals aren’t weakness
In fact, they create accountability without paperwork. Every religion, military, and school that works well has rituals because rituals bypass bureaucracy. They create shared meaning fast.
A prayer, a salute, a morning sync-up—all function the same way: alignment through rhythm. Corporate life tried to replace ritual with tools, but tools can’t carry reverence.
So when someone becomes a Guru Swamy inside an organization, give them that dignity. Not a badge. Not a slide deck. A quiet recognition that they are guardians of culture.
And culture, as Peter Drucker warned, still eats strategy for breakfast.
What movies already taught us about guidance
We’ve seen this pattern in cinema again and again.
In Chak De! India, the coach isn’t training hockey players. He’s rebuilding belief. He doesn’t reward obedience; he rewards trust. In 3 Idiots, learning flows sideways—friend to friend, not top-down. Humor becomes pedagogy. In Super 30, the teacher’s power lies in hunger shared with students, not distance. Even Guru (2007) hides mentorship in ambition. Behind the swagger of business growth stands a quiet influence, a voice that asks harder questions.
Movies get it because stories remember what systems forget: that transformation is personal before it becomes organizational.
Bringing AI into the circle
Now the modern twist. What happens when you bring AI into this human equation?
AI can’t bless you, but it can remember you. It can keep a record of learnings, patterns, hesitations, blind spots. It can nudge both the mentor and the learner gently: “You missed two check-ins.” or “You’ve asked fewer questions this week.”
AI can play the role of the silent observer—the third pilgrim. It never sleeps, never forgets, and can hold mirrors without judgment.
Think of it as the keeper of the pilgrimage diary. The Guru Swamy guides through emotion. The Kanne Swami learns through experience. AI preserves their journey for the next generation.
And when done right, it doesn’t replace the bond. It deepens it. Because now the wisdom stays even after both have moved on.
This is what intelligent mentorship could look like. A trinity of presence: Human, Learner, Machine. Each aware, each humble.
Where the system breaks (and how to keep it alive)
Of course, rituals decay fast in corporations. Titles creep in. Ego returns. Mentorship becomes KPI. The sacred becomes symbolic.
That’s where vigilance matters. A Guru Swamy cannot be the learner’s boss. He or she must hold space, not authority.
Feedback must travel both ways. If the guide talks too much, the system fails. If the learner flatters too much, it fails again. Honesty is the only incense worth burning.
And every six months, rotate roles. Let learners become guides. Let guides return to learning. The cycle keeps humility fresh.
Because once people start saying “I’m done learning,” decline has already started, even if numbers still look fine.
The invisible outcomes
Companies that design this consciously will notice strange results. Meetings get quieter, but deeper. Attrition drops, not because of perks, but because belonging becomes visible. People start describing their managers as “protective,” not “demanding.” Errors reduce. Reflection increases.
All this without new software, slogans, or all-hands pep talks. Just a reintroduction of old-world care into high-speed business.
The future might actually belong to organizations that treat onboarding as initiation, not information download.
The AI parallel, again
There’s another way to see this. Large Language Models, at their core, learn like disciples. They absorb examples, refine responses through correction, and evolve through fine-tuning. Their growth depends on human supervision, alignment, and calibration.
Isn’t that what mentorship really is? Fine-tuning a human through feedback until their internal model aligns with shared values.
Now imagine combining that principle consciously. Each Guru Swamy in a company could have an AI co-pilot that records learnings, tracks questions asked by past Kanne Swamis, and generates a “wisdom log” for new ones.
The AI doesn’t command. It curates. A digital archive of lessons from countless pilgrimages across projects, departments, and years.
That’s not science fiction. It’s good documentation with a soul.
The paradox of progress
Technology races forward. Human depth often lags.
In a rush to automate, we risk forgetting the warmth that makes structure meaningful. A Kanne Swami framework doesn’t slow progress. It gives progress roots. And roots are what stop speed from turning into chaos.
AI can predict, suggest, summarize. But it can’t bless effort, can’t feel another’s struggle, can’t see pride in someone’s first small win. For that, you still need the human beside you.
Progress without mentorship is noise. Progress with care becomes tradition.
What success looks like when done right
A few years into such a system, your company would look different. Not in its products, but in its posture.
You’d hear stories like: “She was my first Guru Swamy here.” Or, “He taught me how to pause before responding.”
You’d notice people quoting lessons instead of policies. Meetings would start later but end faster. Trust would feel less like a word on posters and more like an atmosphere in the hallway.
That’s the test. When behavior travels through imitation, not enforcement, you’ve created culture.
Returning to the mountain
In the end, the pilgrimage to Sabarimala is physical, emotional, communal. Everyone carries the Irumudi, walks barefoot, sings the same chant, and reaches the same temple. Yet every person’s journey is different.
Organizations could learn from that. Equality in rules. Diversity in experience. Shared rhythm. Personal meaning.
Because when a team walks together that way, success stops being a race. It becomes a yatra.
And maybe that’s the secret we’ve forgotten in the age of dashboards and deadlines. That a journey, whether to a temple or to market leadership, feels complete only when someone wiser walks beside you, reminding you to breathe, to focus, to keep faith.
The last vow
Treat every newcomer as sacred responsibility, not replaceable labor. Let AI hold the checklist. Let humans hold the promise.
Because true leadership isn’t measured by how far you go. It’s measured by how many you take with you.
