by M.K.Sudarshan
September 18, 2026: Chennai, India
Mankind universally resents flawed Authority or Authority-figures. We all fight it, tolerate it, work around it, undermine it or run away from it.
But what if there is a 6th way?
Discover how a clinical psychiatrist uses ancient Vedantic psychology to help a stressed corporate executive completely dissolve boardroom anxiety.
Act I: The Universal Friction
The clatter of stainless steel trays and the rich aroma of sambar floated across the university faculty cafeteria.
At a corner table near the window, Dr. Anand, a practicing clinical psychiatrist, set down his coffee cup, looking across at Professor Ranganathan, a senior professor of Vedantic philosophy.
Dr. Anand leaned back, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Ranga, I’m exhausted. The number of people I see every week who are just fundamentally miserable because of a boss, a parent, or a system is staggering. It makes me realize that it is an inherent, almost inalienable part of human nature to resent authority.”
Professor Ranganathan smiled gently, stirring his tea. “It’s a universal theme, Anand. From the moment we are born, aren’t we?”
“Exactly,” Anand nodded. “Sons and daughters growing up smarting under stifling parental authority. Students in your own university constantly at odds with academic administrators. And in the corporate world, across every rank of the hierarchy, there is this silent, simmering resentment. Even in the military, where rank demands absolute obedience, it’s not always given without a quiet murmur. Authority is universally resented. The degree of resentment varies, but the prevalence is an undeniable fact of life.”
Ranganathan took a sip of his tea, adjusting his spectacles. “It is undeniable. But here is the paradox, Anand: we hate it, yet we cannot live without it. Human societies consistently build these structures. We need them for coordination, safety, predictability, and resolving conflicts. So we are trapped in this friction between wanting to be entirely free and needing order.”
Anand smiled, tapping his spoon on the table. “You know, in my practice, I’ve noticed that people generally cope with this trap in four distinct ways. It’s like a four-fold map of human behavior.”
“Tell me,” Ranganathan said, leaning forward.
Act II: The Illusion of Freedom
“First, there’s “Frontal Confrontation”—open defiance, shouting matches, or in larger society, violent revolutions. It’s the classic ‘fight’ response to Authority.
Second, there’s the “Work Around”—bypassing, outwitting, or manipulating the system. The corporate types love this one; they follow the letter of the law to break the spirit of it.
Third, you have “Undermining”—subversion, non-cooperation, or what we nowadays call ‘quiet quitting.’
And finally, the most common: “Suffering Authority”. People just grin and bear it, internalizing the stress.”
Anand paused, his fingers resting on the edge of the table as he picked up the thread of his own thought. “In our world, authority is always flawed, so the ego naturally rebels to protect itself.
“Think about it. Every earthly authority figure we encounter—a father, a school principal, a corporate CEO, even a political leader—is just another human being. They bring their own baggage, their insecurities, their blind spots, and their biases to the table. When a boss micro-manages a team out of their own fear of failure, or a parent dominates a child to satisfy their own unfulfilled ambitions, the authority stops being about order. It becomes about control.”
Ranganathan nodded, listening intently as Anand continued.
“From a psychological standpoint, the human ego possesses a highly sensitive radar for that unfairness. The moment the ego senses that an authority figure is flawed, incompetent, or acting out of self-interest, it perceives it as a direct threat to its own dignity and survival. Rebellion, then, isn’t just bad behavior; it’s a defense mechanism. The ego throws up a wall of resentment—whether it’s open defiance or quiet non-cooperation—simply to protect its own boundaries from being crushed by an imperfect system. We fight because we instinctively know that no flawed human being truly has the right to own our will.”
“Exactly,” Ranganathan chimed in, his voice softening. “And that is precisely why the worldly mind is caught in a perpetual loop of conflict. You are always looking at the flaws of the person holding the stick.”
He continued: “Right…But you missed one, didn’t you? What about the absolute rarest mode? The total Exit.”
Anand smiled, gesturing with his hands.
“Exit? Well, physically quitting a job or running away, yes. But they usually just walk into another system with a new authority figure.”
Act III: The Metaphysical Border
“Ah, but in our Vedantic psychology, we call the true Exit sannyaasa,” Ranganathan said softly. “And it’s not just about running away to the Himalayas. True sannyaasa is a total dissolution of the inner framework that makes authority and the exercising of it possible in the first place.
You see, your four modes all depend on a battle of wills: my ego versus your power. Sannyaasa steps completely off the chessboard. By dissolving the false sense of ‘I’ and ‘mine’—what we call the ahamkara—there is no surface left for an authority figure to scratch.
The atheist does something similar on a cosmic scale, right? Atheism is an Exit mode from the religio-philosophical authority of God. The atheist exits by claiming the Master doesn’t exist. The sannyasi exits by realizing that their true, deepest identity is beyond the reach of any earthly master.”
Anand chuckled, taking a bite of his dosa. “Brilliant. So the atheist declares the throne empty, and the sannyasi realizes he isn’t the slave standing in front of it. But let’s be honest, Ranga, modern psychology still grapples with this. We try to help people ‘sublimate‘ that resentment—channeling the anger into exercise, art, or career ambition—but the core friction remains. We just help them manage the ego.”
Ranganathan’s eyes lit up. “And that is exactly where the tradition of Vishishtadvaita Vedanta offers something completely unique. It introduces a concept that shatters all five of these modes.”
Anand raised an eyebrow. “Oh? How so?”
“It speaks of a state called ātma-svarūpa-jñāna—waking up to the soul’s true and inherent nature. In this framework, the soul realizes it is a dasa-bhutha, an eternal servitor of the Divine, with no separate egoistic will of its own. Here, the ultimate authority of the Divine is accepted absolutely. But it doesn’t fall into any of your modes.”
“Wait,” Anand interrupted, setting his fork down. “Absolute submission with no will of your own? To a psychologist, Ranga, that sounds like the ultimate version of Mode 4—just suffering and submitting to a tyrant. It sounds deeply dysfunctional.”
“I knew you’d say that!” Ranganathan laughed. “But look closer. Suffering requires resistance. If your hand moves because your brain commands it, the hand doesn’t ‘suffer‘ the authority of the brain. It is simply fulfilling its organic nature. In Vishishtadvaita, the universe and our souls form the literal ‘body’ of the Divine. When a person realizes this, they don’t feel dominated; they feel a state of absolute harmony and bliss. It is the ultimate paradox: finding total, boundless freedom through absolute servitude.”
Anand sat in silence for a moment, watching the students outside the cafeteria window rushing to their next class.
“I see what you mean,” Anand said slowly. “If the ultimate authority is not a flawed, external boss imposing rules, but the very source of your own being… the radar of the ego has nothing to fight. The resentment doesn’t just get managed or suppressed. It dissolves entirely because the ego realizes it doesn’t need to protect itself from its own source.”
“Beautifully put, my friend,” Ranganathan smiled, draining the last of his tea. “Instead of a behavioral problem to be cured, the resentment becomes the very catalyst that drives us to look deeper, until we find where we truly belong.”
Anand checked his watch and stood up. “Well, speaking of authority, the clinic clock is a harsh master, and my 1:00 PM patient awaits. Let’s walk.”
The clinic door closed softly, shutting out the muted hum of the city. Dr. Anand gestured toward the comfortable armchair across from his desk. His 1:00 PM patient, Nitin, was a high-flying vice president at a global tech firm.
Today, Nitin looked completely spent—his tie loosened, his shoulders slumped under the weight of an invisible exhaustion.
“It’s the new regional director, Doc,” Nitin said, burying his face in his hands. “The man is a toxic micro-manager. He shifts goalposts daily, takes credit for my team’s wins, and publicly humiliates us when his own strategies fail. I wake up every morning with this heavy, burning resentment in my chest. I feel trapped. I want to fight him, but I can’t risk my career. I feel like I’m slowly losing my mind.”
Anand leaned back, folding his hands. He decided it was time to deploy a completely unconventional therapeutic gambit, borrowing the very framework he and Ranganathan had parsed over lunch just an hour prior.
“Nitin,” Anand began, his voice calm and grounding. “What you are experiencing is the universal human tax on living under authority. In my practice, I’ve realized that almost all of humanity copes with flawed authority through five distinct modes. Let’s look at where you stand on this map.”
Nitin looked up, listening.
“The first mode,” Anand said, ticking a finger, “is Frontal Confrontation. You storm into his office, call out his incompetence, and trigger an open war with the tyrant-boss. The cost? Dysfunctional relationships or career suicide.
The second is the Work Around—you outmanoeuvre him, manipulate the corporate politics, and use the compliance handbook as a shield. It takes massive mental and moral energy out of you.
The third is Undermining—quiet quitting, doing the bare minimum, sabotaging his initiatives from the shadows. Makes you feel like a weasel not a winner.
The fourth is what you are doing right now: Suffering Authority. You internalize the toxic pressure, grin and bear it, and let it erode your mental peace because your ego is desperately trying to protect its dignity from a flawed boss.”
Nitin nodded slowly. “I’ve bounced between suffering and wanting to undermine him every single day. What’s the fifth mode?”
“The fifth is the Exit mode,” Anand replied. “You resign. You walk away from the chessboard entirely. But let’s be honest—if you move to another company, you might just walk right into a different version of the same boss. Because in our world, human authority is always flawed, and your ego will naturally rebel to protect itself.”
Nitin sighed, staring at the floor. “So that’s it? There’s no way out? I’m just stuck in this loop?”
“No,” Anand said softly, leaning forward. “There is a light at the end of this tunnel. But to see it, you have to look past Western psychology and step into a sixteenth-century philosophical breakthrough called Vishishtadvaita Vedanta. It introduces a Sixth Mode, and it turns the entire power dynamic on its head.”
Act IV: The Boardroom Gambit
Nitin looked intrigued, the corporate cynicism momentarily fading. “A sixth mode? How does that work in a boardroom?”
“The ancient sages spoke of a realization called ātma-svarūpa-jñāna—waking up to the true, inherent nature of the self,” Anand explained, keeping the language intentionally functional. “They argued that our deepest identity isn’t this fragile ego that needs to protect its turf, but a dasa-bhutha—an organic, eternal part of a grander, divine whole. Think of it less as religious dogma and more as a profound shift in alignment.”
Anand leaned in closer. “Right now, Nitin, your psychological radar is entirely locked onto your boss, the director’s flaws. Your ego is fighting his ego. But what if you change the source of the authority you answer to? The sixth mode is the “Integration Mode”. It’s the realization that you do not ultimately belong to this corporation, nor do you belong to this flawed boss. You belong to the grand design of life itself. You are an organic cell in a cosmic body.”
“If you can anchor your sense of duty, your kainkarya, not to satisfy a toxic director’s insecurities, but as an offering to that higher, universal flow, something incredible happens. Your work stops being about corporate survival and becomes an expression of your true nature. When you execute your duties with that inner alignment, your boss’s shouting matches lose their power over you. Why? Because your hand doesn’t resent the brain when it moves; it just performs its function. By realizing your svarūpa-jñāna—that you answer to a much higher, perfect authority—the egoistic friction dissolves. You aren’t submitting to him; you are staying true to yourself.”
Silence fell over the consultation room. Nitin sat perfectly still, letting the words settle. For the first time in months, the tense line of his jaw began to relax. The realization that he could psychologically detach from the corporate hierarchy without physically leaving it was a paradigm shift.
“So,” Nitin said slowly, a faint glimmer of understanding in his eyes, “when he yells, I don’t need to throw up a wall to protect my ego. I just filter it out because my true boss isn’t sitting in that cabin, after all!.”
Anand smiled warmly. “Exactly, Nitin. You do your job flawlessly, but you offer the results to the universe, not to his ego. That is the light at the end of the tunnel.
“Let’s spend the rest of our session charting how you can practice this inner alignment tomorrow morning.”
Act V: The Echo in the Cafeteria
The afternoon sun filtered through the same window of the university faculty cafeteria, casting long shadows across the table. The lunchtime rush had cleared out, leaving only the faint clink of glasses from the kitchen.
Professor Ranganathan sat turning his empty tea glass in his hands, looking up as Dr. Anand slid into the chair opposite him, carrying two fresh cups of filter coffee.
“You look significantly lighter than you did a few weeks ago, Anand,” Ranganathan observed, taking a cup. “Did the clinic clock finally grant you a truce?”
Anand laughed, taking a long sip of the hot coffee. “Not the clock, Ranga. But I did run a clinical experiment based on our last conversation, and I’ve been dying to tell you the outcome. Remember my corporate patient? The one drowning in resentment toward his toxic boss, the regional director?”
Ranganathan’s eyes twinkled behind his spectacles. “Ah, the young man trapped between your four modes of coping and the desperate urge to exit. Did you deploy the gambit?”
“I did,” Anand nodded, leaning forward, his tone turning reflective. “During his session that very afternoon, I laid out the five modes for him. I showed him exactly how he was oscillating between suffering and wanting to undermine his boss, and how it was systematically destroying his mental health. And then, I took a leap. I introduced him to the sixth mode. I explained the concept of ātma-svarūpa-jñāna and the idea of being a dasa-bhutha to a higher cosmic order, rather than a slave to an imperfect corporate hierarchy.”
Ranganathan leaned in, deeply intrigued. “And how did a modern corporate vice president receive a sixteenth-century Vedantic paradigm shift?”
“At first, there was this profound silence,” Anand said. “You could almost see the gears shifting in his head. The breakthrough came when he realized that his intense anxiety wasn’t actually caused by his boss’s behavior—it was caused by his own ego constantly throwing up walls to defend its dignity against a flawed man…. Let’s say, a bit like how the human auto-immunity system is known to overreact to physical imbalances within us caused by allergy and releasing an overload of antibodies to fight it. By reframing his daily corporate tasks not as submission to a toxic director, but as a form of kainkarya—a dutiful offering to the larger universe—he completely re-anchored his psychology.”
Anand took another sip of coffee, a smile spreading across his face. “He came back to my office yesterday for a follow-up. He told me that earlier that week, the director launched into one of his typical, loud public tirades during a regional strategy meeting. Usually, Nitin’s blood pressure would spike, his jaw would clench, and he’d spend the next three days simmering in silent rage—classic Mode 4.”
“And this time?” Ranganathan asked.
“This time, Nitin said he just sat there, looked at the man, and felt an overwhelming sense of calm. He internally detached his ego from the situation. He recognized that the director was just a flawed, insecure actor playing a temporary part in a worldly system. Nitin told me, ‘Doc, I realized my true boss wasn’t sitting in that cabin. I did my job flawlessly, presented the data objectively, and offered the day’s work to the universe. When he started shouting, the words just slid right past me. There was no ego-wall for them to hit.’“
Ranganathan let out a soft, appreciative laugh, nodding slowly. “Wonderful. He moved from the horizontal friction of wills to the vertical alignment of reality. He didn’t change his job, he didn’t change his boss, and he didn’t even run away. He simply woke up to his true nature while sitting right there in the boardroom.”
“Exactly,” Anand said. “From a clinical perspective, his stress markers are down, his sleep has improved, and his cognitive clarity is back. But more importantly, he has cracked the secret code on how to survive a toxic environment.
“Modern psychology always tells patients to ‘set boundaries‘ or ‘assert themselves‘—which just reinforces the ego’s fortresses. Visishtadvaita Vedanta showed him how to dissolve the fortress entirely by aligning with a perfect authority.”
Anand smiled, clinking his cup against Ranganathan’s. “I just told him the truth, Ranga. Once you realize you belong to the grand design, the small tyrants of the world lose their power to make you suffer.”
Prof. Ranganathan, the philosophy department faculty member smiled and said to his colleague, the psychiatrist , Dr Anand :
“Well … Anand , all’s well then that ends well . But I’m not going to let you have the last word. The last word always must be found in the Bhagavath Gita”.
Ranganathan’s eyes drifted to the window for a moment, a look of profound satisfaction settling on his face. “You know, Anand, what you did in that clinic room is the exact psychological translation of the ultimate counsel given in the Bhagavad Gita. When Arjuna was paralyzed by his own internal conflicts, Krishna didn’t tell him to run away from the battlefield, nor did he tell him to build an ego-fortress. He gave him a deceptively simple formula in the ninth chapter, verse twenty-seven.”
Ranganathan closed his eyes softly and recited the timeless verses verbatim, his voice dropping into a rhythmic, steady chant:
यत्करोषि यदश्नासि यज्जुहोषि ददासि यत् ।
यत्तपस्यसि कौन्તેય तत्कुरुष्व मदर्पणम् ॥“Yat karoṣi yad aśnāsi yaj juhoṣi dadāsi yat / Yat tapasyasi kaunteya tat kuruṣva mad-arpaṇam”
“‘Whatever you do, whatever you consume, whatever offerings or sacrifices you make, dedicate it all as an offering unto Me.’
“And right in the very next verse,” Ranganathan continued, opening his eyes, “Krishna promises the exact psychological liberation your patient experienced: śubhāśubha-phalair evaṁ mokṣyase karma-bandhanaiḥ. He tells him that by shifting the destination of his actions, he will be completely freed from the bondage of results, whether they are good or bad.
Your patient stopped working for the fruit of his toxic boss’s approval and began offering his daily effort to the cosmic design. The moment he did that, the chain of resentment towards Authority simply snapped.”
Ranganathan raised his coffee cup in a gentle toast. “It seems, my friend, that you successfully translated ancient theology into a highly effective therapeutic tool. Ramanuja would have been proud of your psychiatric gambit.”
(Concluded)
