The Simplicity Trap by Rohit C. Nambiar — Sameer Gudhate on the Courage to Let Go

Why do organisations find it so easy to add something—and so difficult to remove it?

A new process is introduced. A new layer of approval appears. Another product enters the portfolio. Another report is added to the calendar. A system that nobody particularly likes continues to exist because “this is how we have always done it.”

And slowly, almost invisibly, complexity becomes normal.

That was the thought I kept returning to while reading The Simplicity Trap by Rohit Chandrasekharan Nambiar.

The title initially made me expect a book about efficiency—perhaps another argument for fewer meetings, shorter processes and cleaner organisational structures. But Nambiar's argument is more uncomfortable than that.

He is essentially asking us to consider whether complexity survives not because it is necessary, but because removing it requires someone to take responsibility for the consequences.

And that changes the meaning of simplicity.

We often treat simplicity as the easier option. The book argues almost the opposite: simplicity can be an act of courage.

It takes courage to discontinue a product that someone spent years building.

It takes courage to question a process that has become institutional habit.

It takes courage for a leader to say, “We don't need this anymore,” when everyone else has become invested in its existence.

That idea stayed with me because organisations rarely become complicated overnight. Complexity accumulates. One exception becomes a rule. One rule becomes a process. One process requires another approval. Eventually, people spend more energy managing the system than serving the customer.

And perhaps the most interesting part is that nobody necessarily intended for this to happen.

The book's discussion of customers, leadership, innovation and organisational culture works because Nambiar approaches these subjects through the lens of actual leadership experience rather than abstract management theory. His career gives the argument weight, particularly when he describes situations involving transformation, technology, regulation and organisational change.

But what I found more interesting was the underlying question:

Who benefits when complexity remains?

Sometimes the answer is nobody.

Sometimes, however, complexity protects people.

A complicated process can make accountability blurry. A long chain of approvals can make difficult decisions easier to postpone. An unnecessarily elaborate system can create the appearance of sophistication while allowing everyone involved to avoid asking whether the system itself still makes sense.

That is where I think The Simplicity Trap becomes more than a management book.

It becomes a book about human behaviour.

We don't always preserve things because they are useful. Sometimes we preserve them because changing them would force us to admit that our earlier decisions were wrong.

That is a much harder problem to solve.

I particularly appreciated the author's willingness to acknowledge that simplification is not always comfortable. There is a temptation in business writing to make every transformation sound inevitable: identify the problem, make the bold decision, execute, and celebrate the result.

Real organisations are rarely that neat.

People resist. Incentives conflict. Legacy systems fight back. Customers don't always behave according to the strategy document. Regulators impose constraints. And sometimes a decision that looks obvious in hindsight was anything but obvious when it had to be made.

That realism strengthens the book.

At the same time, I found myself wanting to push the central argument a little further.

Can simplicity itself become a trap?

A system can certainly be overcomplicated. But complexity is not always waste. Some complexity exists because the problem itself is complex. Regulation, risk, competing customer needs and organisational scale can make elegant simplicity difficult—and occasionally dangerous.

The challenge, therefore, may not be to eliminate complexity.

It may be to distinguish necessary complexity from accumulated complexity.

That distinction matters.

A hospital, an airline, a financial institution or a large technology company cannot simply remove every layer in the name of simplicity. Some layers exist because consequences matter.

So perhaps the bravest question for a leader is not:

“How can we make this simpler?”

It is:

“Which parts of this complexity are genuinely necessary—and which parts exist because nobody has had the courage to question them?”

That is the question I carried beyond the final pages.

Nambiar's writing is direct, accessible and grounded in experience. The book will particularly appeal to leaders, entrepreneurs, managers and professionals who deal with organisational decision-making, innovation and change. But its central idea travels beyond the workplace too.

Because the same tendency exists in our personal lives.

We accumulate commitments.

We keep routines we no longer need.

We hold on to possessions, assumptions and habits simply because removing them would require a decision.

Perhaps simplicity is difficult for the same reason everywhere:

Adding something rarely forces us to explain ourselves. Removing something does.

And that may be the real trap.

We often think leadership is about knowing what to build next.

Perhaps, sometimes, leadership is having the courage to look at what already exists and say:

This served a purpose once. It doesn't anymore.

And then having the courage to remove it.

The Simplicity Trap doesn't make simplicity sound easy.

It makes it sound accountable.

And that is a much more interesting idea.

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