Nothing quite made sense. Ashish, an unpaid trainee, was in the second week of his first job. Seniors, the best of them, sounded insecure. “In the private sector, anything can happen; no one is permanent” he was told by his supervisor. Busyness was the business—some seniors attended two meetings simultaneously, on two devices. “I lack this skill,” thought Ashish. “I either watch reels or work.” Many others were ‘just there,’ doing their work and that is it. His supervisor called them “two punch and one lunch.” Were they?
Yet there were some, the quitter ones, who worked endlessly, and with a smile. Even though Ashish never dared to approach them, they were happy to engage and often ask the trickiest question– “How are you?”The newest recruits spoke endlessly about “learning opportunities” and seemed to take ownership of their work. The least paid ones, including him, seemed to be the happiest–eager to learn and do. “If my experience is any guide,” thought Ashish, “the company could achieve 100% employee happiness simply by making everyone unpaid.”
The office set up was not quite different from Sukumar Roy’s Ha-Za-Ba-Ra-La—a Bengali nonsense tale where logic bends, language plays tricks, and absurdity feels strangely familiar—a world where conversations were in riddles and sounded absurd. Yet, everyone behaved as if the rules were perfectly obvious. Everyone seemed to know something, but no one said it directly. The eager talked about learning. The restless discussed growth. The anxious mentioned restructuring. Nobody ever talked about the real arithmetic underneath.
What Ashish had stumbled upon was not a theory, but a strange hybrid—part learning curve, part diminishing returns, part wage economics. A kind of corporate Hansjaru. In the rest of the article, I have used this hybrid, or Hansjaru—a strange imaginary hybrid animal, part swan and part porcupine, capturing the mix of elegance and discomfort in corporate life, from the same Sukumar Roy’s Abol Tabol—a collection of playful nonsense verses—to make sense of the Ha-Za-Ba-Ra-La paradox that all Ashishes encounter. If Ha-Za-Ba-Ra-La described how the office felt, the Hansjaru explains how it worked.
Once upon a time, in 1936, Theodore Paul Wright noticed something remarkable in aircraft manufacturing. Every time production doubled, labour hour per aircraft fell by about 20%. The concept of the Learning Curve was born. Early gains in productivity were dramatic—workers learned better techniques, discovered short-cuts, reduced mistakes, and improved coordination. The learning curve was steep. However, over time, the improvements began to plateau with most shortcuts discovered, most mistakes eliminated and technology mastered.
This is the ‘Hans’ of my Hansjaru model.
As learning plateaus, marginal gains decline. Additional effort, all other things remaining unchanged, produces smaller productivity increments. This is the ‘jaru’—diminishing returns.
Transposed to the career context, learning is steep in a new role. Productivity rises quickly. Over time, as learning saturates, improvement slows. It is like driving on the Andheri flyover in Mumbai at 9:00 am—one still moves, but at a decreasing speed. Total productivity still rises, but marginal productivity falls.To complete the creature, I add the salary curve. For the Hansjaru model, I assume it rises steadily with time. This is, of course, an oversimplification.
Once the Hansjaru is seen in full, the ridiculous organizational conversations lose their riddles. Unfortunately, we tend to see only part of it at a time. The workplace remains a Ha-Za-Ba-Ra-La paradox.
Perhaps, it brings some comfort to see the Hansjaru in its entirety. Next, I do exactly that—through an employee’s lens.
A smart career strategy is to understand the arithmetic by looking at the Hansjaru as a whole and choosing the right box at the right time.I have seen many rock stars choosing to be a Solid Citizen for part of their career. A childbirth, an ailing parent, doing a PhD. They do not crib about low salary growth in those years.
Then there are many whose life anchor is outside work—amateur acting, motorcycling, social service etc. They love to remain Solid Citizens. If one chooses to be one, there is nothing wrong. Just do not be demanding about salaries.
Changing role or job is not always easy. Particularly at an advanced age. Companies want to stay young—for economic reasons of course. Mama’s boys type behaviour has higher long-term survival probability in Hormuz Zone. One may choose to lie low and adjust accordingly.
Ashish never fully solved the puzzle. The office still felt like Ha-Za-Ba-Ra-La. People continued to speak in hints—about learning, growth, restructuring.
But something had changed.
He had begun to notice the economics. The happiest were still learning. The busiest were defending. The most accomplished were quietly anxious.
Nobody spoke about it directly. Perhaps they did not need to.
Because beneath all the noise, the arithmetic remained unchanged—value created, and value paid.
And somewhere along that invisible curve, every career makes a choice: stay, stretch, or step away.
Ashish did not yet know what he would choose. But at least now, the nonsense made a little more sense.
What Should One Do?
1. Track one’s learning, not just performance.
If learning has slowed, the curve is flattening—even if ratings are strong.
2. Compare current value with current pay.
Ask: Would this role justify its current salary today?
3. Reset role before the plateau becomes visible.
Seek unfamiliar problems, responsibilities, or contexts. Role change often matters more than job change.
4. Do not confuse busyness with value.
More meetings and longer hours do not always mean higher contribution.
5. Move before the “Hormuz Zone.”
The best time to change is when your value is still ahead of your salary—not after.
6. Choose consciously: growth or stability
It is fine to be a “Solid Citizen”—but align expectations accordingly.
7. Reset every few years
A new role—or a new job—can restart the learning curve and extend relevance.