Leadership Spice

There are moments when the rules change without asking our permission. Something enters your world unexpectedly, rearranges your priorities, and makes you question what you thought you knew about tomorrow.

I have been thinking about what it means to lead yourself when you cannot lead the situation. When you cannot fix it. When you cannot control the outcome. When resilience isn’t about overcoming something, but about continuing to live meaningfully alongside it.

Perhaps that is the hardest form of leadership. Not leading others. Leading yourself.

For me, this has meant confronting something I never expected to: how easily we can put ourselves into a box labelled “I’m not okay.” Once we’re in that box, we stop living and start waiting. We stop making plans because the future feels uncertain. We begin to believe we have to be okay before we can lead – ourselves, our teams and our lives fully again.

But perhaps that isn’t true.

I can be afraid and still be courageous. Exhausted and still find joy. Uncertain and still be present. Not okay, and still okay.

That realisation led me to write the poem that follows. I began imagining cancer as an unwelcome guest – one who arrived without invitation, took over space in our lives, and refused to leave. A guest we never wanted, and nevertheless learnt to care for. A guest who taught us things we didn’t know we needed: compassion, courage, perseverance, presence. And the discipline to stop asking “Why me?” and instead say, “Try me.”

Not because we believe we can control everything. But because we can still choose how we show up and that choice, more than any outcome, is what leadership actually is.

So, this time on LeadershipSpice, there is no recipe. Instead, there is this.

The Guest Who Wouldn’t Leave

You came into our lives

like a piercing arrow – sudden, sharp and unexpected.

We never invited you

 Yet you walked through the door without knocking,

without permission, and settled yourself in

as though you belonged.

An unwelcome guest.

A rude, demanding, dominating presence

who behaved as though you owned the house.

You thought you would cripple us.

You thought you would defeat us.

You thought you would break us –

our bodies,our minds, our spirit,

our laughter, our dreams.

You thought you would turn

our lives into a waiting room,

our days into appointments,

our nights into worry,

our conversations into whispers.

You thought, perhaps,

that once you arrived,

everything else would become

less important.

But we had other plans.

Despite the trouble you brought,

We took care of you.

We learnt your language. We learnt your moods.

We learnt your demands. We gave you our time,

our attention,our energy.

We rearranged our days

around you.

We made room for you

when there was hardly

any room left to give.

We even tried

to make you comfortable

which seems rather absurd

when you had made

our lives so uncomfortable.

And still you demanded more.

More patience. More waiting.

More uncertainty. More courage

than we thought we had.

You kept troubling us.

And then you overstayed.

Days became weeks.

Weeks became months.

Still, you refused to leave.

You settled deeper

into our lives,

as though the invitation

had been extended indefinitely.

You never seemed to notice

the pressure you created.

The exhaustion. The worry.

The moments when a smile

had to be assembled

before stepping out of the room.

You didn’t see the tears that were hidden.

The fears that were swallowed.

The nights that seemed

far longer than they should.

You didn’t see

how often we said,

“I’m fine,”

when what we really meant was,

“I’m trying.”

And perhaps that

was your greatest mistake.

You mistook our tiredness for defeat.

You mistook our silence for surrender.

You mistook our fear for weakness.

You did not understand

that people can be afraid

and still be brave.

That they can be exhausted

and still carry on.

That they can be hurting

and still laugh.

That they can be

not okay and still live.

Because somewhere along the way,

you tried to put us

inside a box.

A box labelled:

NOT OKAY.

Not okay today.

Not okay tomorrow.

Not okay until you leave.

Not okay until everything

is certain again.

But we refused

to live inside that box.

We discovered

that “not okay”

is a moment, not an identity.

So we stepped outside it.

We laughed.

We ate good food.

We celebrated.

We met people we loved.

We made plans.

We travelled when we could.

We found joy

in ridiculously ordinary things.

We made memories.

And sometimes,

you were there too.

At the edge of the photograph.

In the background

of the celebration.

Sitting quietly

in the corner of a good day.

We did not pretend

you weren’t there.

We simply refused

to let you be

the only thing there.

You occupied space.

You did not own it.

And strangely,

for all that you took from us,

you gave us with things

we never knew we needed.

You taught us compassion to understand pain

without asking it to justify itself.

You taught us tenderness – the quiet kind,

that needs no words.

You taught us courage – not the dramatic courage

of people who know they will win,

but the quiet courage of showing up

when you don’t know

what tomorrow holds.

You taught us perseverance, to keep going

without guarantees.

To find strength in smaller places.

One morning.

One meal.

One conversation.

One laugh.

One day at a time.

You taught us

to stop postponing joy.

To stop waiting

for the perfect day.

To stop saying,

“We’ll do it when things are better.”

Because sometimes

the imperfect day

is the day we have.

And somewhere along the way,

something inside us changed.

We stopped asking,

“Why me?”

And began asking,

“Why not me?”

Then something stronger:

“Try me.”

Try to frighten me.

Try to take away my courage.

Try to silence my laughter.

Try to convince me

that because life is uncertain,

it isn’t worth living fully.

Try.

Because I have learnt

that courage isn’t

the absence of fear.

It is refusing

to let fear choose

how I live.

So yes, Cancer – you may stay longer

than any guest should.

You may continue to make demands.

You may change our plans.

You may make some days

harder than others.

You may even leave scars

that will never completely disappear.

But you do not get

to decide what happens

inside this house.

You don’t get

to decide how much we laugh.

How much we love.

How much we celebrate.

How much life

we allow ourselves to live.

You don’t get to turn a family

into a diagnosis.

You don’t get to turn a caregiver

into nothing but caregiving.

You don’t get to make a woman

forget that she is more than the person

who holds everything together.

You don’t get to take away

the parts of us that existed before you arrived.

The dreams.

The friendships.

The silliness.

The music.

The food.

The conversations.

The journeys.

The joy.

The person I was before I learnt

your name.

That person is still here.

And perhaps that

is what you never understood.

You came into our lives

expecting to become

the centre of our world.

Instead,

you became a reminder

of how precious

the world already was.

You came to teach us

about endings.

We learnt about beginnings.

You came with fear.

We found courage.

You came with uncertainty.

We found presence.

You came with pain.

We found compassion.

You came expecting

to break us.

And instead,

you revealed

the places in us

that could not be broken.

So stay if you must.

Make your noise.

Take your space.

But know your place.

You are a guest.

An unwelcome one.

A difficult one.

A guest who stayed

far beyond your invitation.

But this is our home.

These are our days.

These are our memories.

This is our life.

And while you may be

a part of our story,

you are not the story.

You may be

a chapter we never chose.

But you do not get

to write the ending.

Because the ending

is not yours to write.

Until the very last page,

we will laugh.

We will love.

We will live.

We will have bad days

and good days.

We will be frightened

and brave.

We will be tired

and still find joy.

We will be

not okay – and still be okay.

And if you ask us

what we have learnt

from having you

in our lives,

we will not say defeat.

We will not say surrender.

We will not even say

that we conquered you.

We will simply say:

You taught us

how fragile life is.

And in teaching us

how fragile it is,

you taught us

how fiercely

to live it.

So, Cancer – you came like a piercing arrow.

You stayed like a rude, relentless guest.

You thought you had come

to take something from us.

But look at us.

We are still here.

Still laughing.

Still loving.

Still living.

Still choosing.

Still saying – Try me.

A final thought

We often speak about leadership as the ability to influence people, navigate complexity, drive change and achieve outcomes. But there is another kind of leadership that rarely makes it into leadership frameworks. The leadership required when you cannot change the outcome. When all you can do is decide how you will meet the day. Perhaps that is where self-leadership becomes most real. Not when everything is going well. But when life isn’t. Perhaps the question isn’t always: “How do I fix this?” Sometimes it is simply: “Who do I choose to be while this is happening?”

That is the question I am still learning to answer.

Recently, I spent two days facilitating a leadership programme for a group of experienced professionals. As I watched the conversations unfold, listened to the questions being asked and observed the expectations participants brought into the room, I found myself thinking about something completely unrelated to leadership. 

Marination.

Yes, marination.

Because the more I thought about it, the more I realised that perhaps leadership development has something important in common with cooking. We often expect transformation to happen while we are sitting in the workshop – much like expecting the flavour of a dish to develop the moment it hits the grill. But some of the most important work happens long before that, and much of it happens when we can’t immediately see it.

As a facilitator, I walked into the programme with the usual intention of creating a meaningful learning experience. There were frameworks to introduce, conversations to facilitate, activities to create insight and, hopefully, a few moments when participants would see something about themselves or their workplace from a slightly different perspective.

And there were those moments.

But I also found myself observing something that I have seen repeatedly in leadership development. People come into a programme with very real workplace challenges, and understandably, they want solutions. They want to know how to deal with the difficult stakeholders, how to manage a challenging team member, how to communicate more effectively, how to become more confident, how to influence without authority, or how to deal with conflict.

All of these are legitimate questions. But sometimes, beneath the question what we are asking lies another one that is much harder to confront:

What if the way I am looking at the problem is part of the problem?

We bring our own recipes into the room

Every one of us comes into the workplace carrying a personal recipe for how we believe things should work. That recipe is made up of our experiences, our successes and failures, the feedback we have received, the people who have influenced us, our values, our fears, our strengths and the many assumptions we have accumulated along the way.

The interesting thing is that we don’t usually experience these as assumptions. We experience them as facts.

If I believe that a good leader should always have the answer, I may find it difficult to say, “I don’t know.” If I have learnt that being assertive gets things done, I may not notice when my assertiveness starts being experienced by others as aggression. If I dislike conflict, I may tell myself that I am being diplomatic when I am actually avoiding a conversation that needs to happen. If I have built my career by being highly dependable and taking responsibility for everything, I may wonder why my team doesn’t take ownership without noticing that I may have inadvertently taught them to depend on me.

None of these behaviours are necessarily bad. In fact, many of them may have been strengths that helped us succeed. The problem occurs when a behaviour that works in one context becomes our automatic response in every context.

Over time, our behaviours become habits. Habits become patterns. Patterns become part of our identity. And eventually we say, “That’s just the way I am.”

That sentence can be one of the biggest barriers to development.

Because if something is simply “the way I am”, then there is very little reason to change it.

Knowing your personality is only the beginning

This is where self-awareness becomes so important, and also why personality assessments can be such powerful tools in leadership development.

An assessment can help us put a name to something we may have experienced but never quite understood. It can show us tendencies, preferences and behavioural patterns. It can help us understand why we may respond differently from the people around us and why certain situations energise us while others drain us.

But there is a significant difference between knowing your personality and understanding yourself.

It is easy to read a personality report and say, “Yes, that’s me.” The harder work begins when we ask, “So what does this mean for the way I lead?”

If I discover that I am highly analytical, do I recognise that I may sometimes overanalyse when a decision needs to be made? If I discover that I am highly people-oriented, can I see when my desire to maintain relationships stops me from having a difficult conversation? If I discover that I am naturally assertive, can I recognise when that strength is helping me move things forward and when it is unintentionally preventing someone else from being heard?

Self-awareness isn’t simply the ability to describe ourselves accurately. It is the ability to catch ourselves in action.

It is that moment when you hear yourself responding in exactly the way you always do and think, “There I go again.” It is noticing the defensive reaction, the need to control, the tendency to withdraw, the urge to interrupt, the assumption you have just made or the conversation you are once again avoiding.

That moment of recognition is valuable because it creates a choice.

And choice is where change begins.

The expectation of the two-day solution

One of the things I found myself reflecting on during these two days was our expectation that a programme should provide solutions to problems that may have taken years to develop.

I understand why we have this expectation. If we invest two days in a development programme, we naturally want something tangible in return. We want frameworks, tools, practical answers and perhaps even that wonderful feeling of having finally figured something out.

But leadership development is not quite that simple.

A two-day programme can create awareness. It can introduce a new way of looking at an old problem. It can challenge an assumption. It can give someone language for an experience they couldn’t previously articulate. It can create a safe space to practise a new behaviour and discover how difficult it actually is.

What it cannot do is undo years of conditioning in forty-eight hours.

It cannot change a deeply embedded mindset simply because we introduced a new model. It cannot turn an insight into a habit without repeated practice. And it certainly cannot do the inner work for us.

Perhaps this is where we need to change our expectations of leadership development. The purpose of a programme is not necessarily to leave the room with all the answers. Sometimes its real purpose is to leave the room with better questions.

The workshop is the grill, not the marinade

And this is where, inevitably, my mind went to food.

One of the things I love about cooking is that some of the most important work happens before the actual cooking begins. Think about a good Greek Chicken Souvlaki. The final cooking time is relatively short, but the chicken first spends time in a marinade of olive oil, lemon, garlic, oregano and seasoning. The flavours need time to work their way into the chicken before it reaches the grill.

The grill is important, of course. It cooks the chicken, gives it colour and creates that wonderful charred flavour.

But the grill isn’t where the flavour begins.

The flavour begins in the marinade.

And I think there is something rather beautiful about that as a metaphor for leadership development.

The workshop is the grill. It is the visible part of the experience: the two days of discussion, activities, frameworks, assessments, conversations and insights.

But the real development happens in the marination that follows.

It happens when you go back to work and encounter exactly the situation you were discussing in the workshop. Your colleague challenges your idea. Your stakeholder pushes back. Your team member misses a commitment. Someone becomes defensive when you give feedback. Your instinct is to respond exactly as you have always responded.

And then you remember the conversation from the programme.

You pause.

Perhaps you listen for a little longer. Perhaps you ask a question instead of making an assumption. Perhaps you don’t immediately take over. Perhaps you say what you would previously have avoided saying. Perhaps you recognise that the other person’s behaviour is only one part of the story and that your own response is another.

It may not work perfectly the first time. In fact, it probably won’t.

But you notice. You reflect. You try again.

That is the marination.

What goes into the leadership marinade?

If I were to create a Leadership Spice marinade, I wouldn’t need to look very far for the ingredients. They are already at the heart of the SPICE™ model I use in my leadership work: Self-awareness, Presence, Influence, Clarity and Evolution.

It begins with Self-awareness, because we cannot change what we don’t notice. Without understanding our own patterns, triggers, preferences and assumptions, we can very easily keep repeating behaviours without recognising the impact they have on the people and situations around us. Self-awareness helps us notice, “This is how I usually respond.” And once we can see the pattern, we have a choice about whether we want to continue it.

But awareness alone isn’t enough. We also need Presence which is nothing but the ability to notice what is happening in the moment rather than operating entirely on autopilot. Presence creates that small but important space between what happens and how we respond. It allows us to pause, listen, regulate our emotions and make a more conscious choice about how we want to show up.

Then comes Influence, because leadership is ultimately about our impact on others. It asks us to look beyond what we intended and consider what actually landed. How do people experience me? What happens in the room when I speak? Am I creating ownership or dependence? Am I bringing people with me or simply expecting them to follow? Influence reminds us that leadership isn’t only about what we do; it is also about the effect our behaviour has on others.

Clarity is the next ingredient. Once we become more aware and intentional about our presence and influence, we need to communicate what matters – our thinking, our expectations, our decisions and sometimes the difficult messages that need to be said. Clarity isn’t simply about speaking well. It is about knowing what you want to say, why it matters and making sure the message lands in the way you intended.

And then comes Evolution – the willingness to keep learning, experimenting and changing. It is recognising that what worked for us yesterday may not necessarily work for us tomorrow, and that leadership isn’t a destination at which we eventually arrive. It is an ongoing process of becoming more effective, more intentional and, hopefully, more authentic.

But eventually, for the marinade to transform the ingredients, it needs heat, and to me, that heat is discomfort.

Real development isn’t always comfortable. Sometimes the mirror shows us something we would rather not see. Sometimes we discover that a strength we are proud of has a downside. Sometimes we realise that the behaviour we complain about in others is one we also display under pressure. And sometimes we have to question a belief that has been part of our identity for years.

That discomfort is not a sign that something has gone wrong. It may actually be a sign that something important is happening.

The final ingredient is the one that cannot be substituted: time.

Self-awareness needs time to deepen. Presence needs time to practise. Influence needs time to observe and adjust. Clarity needs time to develop. And Evolution, by its very nature, needs time – because leadership is a continuous journey, not something we ever truly finish.

That is why I think of SPICE™ not as five competencies to be ticked off, but as ingredients that need to work together along with a little discomfort to activate them and enough time for them to penetrate.

A two-day programme can introduce the ingredients. It can help you recognise what might be missing from your recipe. It can create the discomfort of seeing yourself differently. It can give you the first taste of what might be possible.

But the real flavour develops afterwards.

It develops when you go back to work and catch yourself responding in an old way. When you notice a familiar trigger. When you pause before speaking. When you choose curiosity instead of assumption. When you have the conversation you would previously have avoided. When you experiment with a different way of leading and discover that it works or doesn’t, and you learn from that too.

Don’t put the recipe card away

Perhaps that is the biggest reflection I took away from those two days.

You can leave a programme with ten pages of notes, a personality report, three new frameworks and several powerful insights. You can feel energised and motivated and genuinely believe that something has shifted.

But then Monday morning arrives. And suddenly it becomes very easy to go back to the same old recipe.

This is why the real test of a development programme isn’t what you remember when you leave the room. It is what you do when you encounter the same old situation again. So, please allow yourself time to marinade. And because every Leadership Spice story needs an actual recipe, here is the one that inspired this reflection.

Greek Chicken Souvlaki

PREP TIME: 15 mins
MARINATION: 1 hour–overnight
COOKING TIME: 10–15 mins
SERVES: 4

INGREDIENTS

For the Marinade

• 500 g boneless chicken, cut into bite-sized pieces
• 3 tbsp extra-virgin olive oil
• Juice of 1 lemon
• 3–4 cloves garlic, finely minced
• 1 tbsp dried oregano
• 1 tsp paprika
• Salt, to taste
• Freshly ground black pepper

To Serve

• Warm pita bread
• Greek yoghurt or tzatziki
• Cucumber
• Lemon wedges
• Fresh oregano or parsley, optional

METHOD

1. Make the marinade
In a bowl, combine the olive oil, lemon juice, garlic, oregano, paprika, salt and pepper.

2. Add the chicken
Add the chicken pieces and toss well, making sure every piece is coated with the marinade.

3. Let it marinate
Cover and refrigerate for at least one hour. If you have the time, leave it overnight. This is where the magic happens — the flavours have time to work their way in.

4. Grill
Thread the chicken onto skewers and grill or cook over high heat until beautifully browned and cooked through.

5. Serve
Serve hot with warm pita, tzatziki or Greek yoghurt, cucumber and a squeeze of fresh lemon.

And as you enjoy it, think about what the marinade is doing.

Employee engagement in India is under visible strain.

According to ADP, engagement levels have dropped to 19% in 2025 from 24% in 2024, marking one of the steepest declines globally. Alongside this, 30% of employees report daily stress, and nearly half the workforce is actively considering a job switch.

These are not just workforce statistics. They are signals. Signals that something in the way work is experienced is no longer working.

Employees today are asking for more than compensation and process. They are asking for flexibility, meaning, and more importantly – human connection at work. Yet, many organizations are still operating with structures that haven’t evolved at the same pace.

This is where the pressure on leadership has fundamentally changed. It is no longer just about delivering results. It is about restoring engagement through human leadership.

The IDP Paradox: Good Intent, Incomplete Impact

What I find that in response to growing disengagement, many organizations have doubled down on structured development interventions such as Individual Development Plans (IDPs).

On paper, this is a strong system. It brings structure to growth conversations. It creates visibility of aspirations. It encourages alignment between employee goals and organizational needs.

But somewhere between design and experience, a gap appears.

A significant amount of effort goes into creating templates, running development discussions, and documenting outcomes. Yet when employees move through these cycles, a recurring feedback is that they don’t feel any different. Though the intent exists and the process exists – the impact often does not land. The key reason for this is simple, yet uncomfortable – Leadership involvement is inconsistent, fragmented, or overly transactional. This again goes to show that development does not fail in HR systems but it fails in everyday leadership moments.

Why Leadership Behaviour Is the Real Intervention

At the heart of any development conversation are three critical leadership behaviours – authenticity, courage and empathy. When these are missing, even the best-designed IDP becomes a formality and when they are present, even a simple conversation can become transformational. The real opportunity lies not only in redesigning the system further, but in strengthening how leaders show up within it. This is also where AI can enter the picture.

AI as a Leadership Enabler, Not a Replacement

AI is already embedded in leadership workflows today without being explicitly named as such.

Leaders use AI to draft communication, summarize information, structure their thinking, prepare for conversations, and generate ideas. In many ways, it has become a silent thinking partner – helping leaders process complexity faster and work more efficiently.

Yet, amidst all these applications, one powerful use remains underexplored: using AI as a tool for reflection, self-awareness, and deeper leadership growth.

However, the one principle that must remain non-negotiable is that AI can support leadership but it cannot substitute it. Because the moment leadership becomes automated, development loses its human depth.

The value lies in the combination: AI for clarity. Leadership for connection.

The Deep Layer: Self-Awareness

Before AI can be used to support employee development, it must first be used to support something even more fundamental and that is Leader self-awareness. Because the quality of any development conversation is directly shaped by the internal patterns of the person leading it.

• How quickly do they listen vs. respond?
• What kinds of feedback do they resist?
• What situations trigger defensiveness?
• Where do they unconsciously avoid discomfort?

These patterns often operate below the surface of awareness. This is where AI, interestingly, can act as a mirror.

Using AI as a Reflection Partner

Unlike human interactions, AI does not adjust for hierarchy, emotion, or social pressure. It responds directly and without filtering intent based on what is shared with it. But when leaders begin to reflect on situations using AI, something subtle starts to happen.

A leader may describe a difficult conversation in detail, explain their response and interpretation, and then ask, “What might I not be seeing here?”

At first, the responses may feel generic. But over time, as the inputs become more honest and specific, patterns begin to emerge. It could be a tendency to close conversations too quickly. A discomfort with disagreement. A habit of interpreting questions as challenges. A need to solve before fully listening.

And this is where AI becomes interesting. It is not as a replacement for leadership wisdom, coaching, or human connection, but as a mirror that quietly reflects recurring tendencies leaders may not always notice in themselves.

The more authentic the reflection, the clearer the patterns become. Nothing entirely new but something newly visible and that’s where awareness begins.

From Self-Awareness to System Impact

When leaders begin to see themselves more clearly, something shifts externally as well. The IDP conversations become more present and meaningful. Feedback becomes less procedural and more developmental and employees feel seen, not just assessed. And when employees feel seen, engagement begins to rebuild.

Closing Thought: AI Is Not the Story – Leadership Is

AI will continue to evolve. Engagement metrics will continue to fluctuate. HR systems will continue to be refined. But the core truth of leadership remains unchanged. People do not disengage from work first. They disengage from how they are led. AI, when used thoughtfully, does not replace that responsibility but it amplifies it. It helps leaders see more clearly – but the choice of how to show up remains entirely human.

Thai Curry with AI touch

As always, love to end these blogs with a recipe. This time there’s a touch of AI to this. When I asked AI what to do differently with the curry, it suggested replacing coconut milk with vegetable stock, adding peanut butter for depth and finishing with lime to preserve freshness.

Then came the interesting part. As I cooked, I realized AI could suggest combinations…but it could not taste. It could recommend balance. But I had to feel when the balance was right. The curry needed slightly more warmth, less sweetness, more basil and less lime.

This is exactly what leadership with AI looks like. AI can accelerate clarity. It can widen perspective.
It can offer possibilities we may not immediately see. But leadership, like cooking, still depends on human judgment. Because people are not data points. Teams are not recipes. And culture cannot be automated.

The best leaders will not be those who reject AI. Nor those who blindly depend on it. They will be the ones who learn how to blend technological intelligence with human sensitivity.

Just like a good Thai curry. The recipe may come from AI. But the final flavour still depends on the person holding the ladle.

AI-Enhanced Thai Curry Recipe

Ingredients

• 1 tbsp oil
• 1 tbsp red curry paste
• 1 cup coconut milk (can be replaced or decreased)
• ½ cup vegetable stock
• 1 tsp peanut butter
• Mixed vegetables (bell peppers, broccoli, carrots, mushrooms)
• Tofu or chicken
• 1 tsp jaggery
• Soy sauce
• Thai basil
• Lime juice

Method

1. Sauté curry paste in oil.
2. Add coconut milk and stock.
3. Stir in peanut butter for depth.
4. Add vegetables in stages based on cooking time.
5. Add tofu or chicken.
6. Balance with jaggery and soy sauce.
7. Finish with basil and fresh lime juice.

Serve hot with jasmine rice.

The other morning, I was making idlis. There is something deeply calming about the process. The batter had fermented overnight, quietly transforming while no one was watching. I poured it gently into the moulds, placed them in the steamer, and closed the lid. And then, there was nothing to do. No stirring. No flipping. No constant checking.

Just listening.

The gentle sound of steam slowly building inside the vessel. The quiet rhythm telling you that something is happening, even though you cannot see it. If you open the lid too early, the idlis collapse. If the heat is too high, they dry out. If you ignore the steam, you miss the perfect moment.

Good idlis require patience. They require presence. They require listening.

And it struck me that leadership communication is very similar. Listening is not loud. It is not dramatic. But it transforms everything.

Listening: The Skill Leaders Talk About but Rarely Practice

In leadership conversations, we often talk about communication. We encourage leaders to be articulate, persuasive, and confident. We admire those who can speak well in town halls, influence stakeholders, and present compelling ideas. And somewhere along the way, communication became synonymous with speaking.

The leaders who create the deepest impact, however, are often those who listen well. Listening builds trust. It surfaces perspectives that may otherwise remain hidden. It creates psychological safety and encourages ownership. Most importantly, listening helps leaders understand before they decide.

And understanding is at the heart of meaningful leadership.

Nelson Mandela: The Power of Speaking Last

Nelson Mandela was known for his extraordinary listening ability. Those who worked with him often spoke about how he would sit quietly in meetings and allow everyone to share their perspectives, even the most junior members. He would listen without interrupting, absorbing the nuances of each viewpoint. Only after everyone had spoken would Mandela summarize the conversation and gently guide the group toward a decision.

Mandela often shared that he learned this approach from tribal leadership traditions, where the chief spoke last. The logic was simple yet profound. When the leader speaks first, others begin aligning their views to match the leader’s thinking. But when the leader listens first, people think more independently and speak more honestly.

Listening, in Mandela’s case, was not passive. It was deliberate leadership. It created trust, encouraged openness, and led to wiser decisions.

One of the most telling stories about Nelson Mandela’s listening comes from his time during the negotiations to end apartheid. Meetings were often tense, filled with deep mistrust, anger, and fear from all sides. Leaders arrived prepared to defend positions rather than explore solutions.

In one such meeting, Mandela sat quietly as leaders spoke passionately, sometimes emotionally, about their concerns and fears. Some expected him to intervene early and steer the conversation. But he didn’t. He allowed even those who strongly disagreed with him to speak at length. At one point, a younger leader expressed frustration that progress was too slow and criticized the negotiation approach. Many in the room shifted uncomfortably, unsure how Mandela would react. Instead of responding defensively, Mandela asked him to continue.

After everyone had spoken, Mandela leaned forward and calmly summarized each viewpoint, including the concerns of those who had criticized him. He acknowledged the fears, the frustrations, and the hopes expressed in the room. Then he said something simple:
“If we do not understand one another’s fears, we cannot build one another’s future.”

The tone of the room shifted. People felt heard. The conversation softened. Positions became more flexible. And the meeting moved forward with renewed trust.

Those who worked with Mandela often said that this was his quiet strength. He did not dominate conversations. He created space for them. And in doing so, he helped transform conflict into collaboration.

Listening, for Mandela, was not silence. It was leadership in action.

Satya Nadella: Listening That Transformed Culture

When Satya Nadella took over as CEO of Microsoft, the company was technically strong but culturally fragmented. Teams were competing internally, and collaboration was limited. Many leaders in this situation might have responded with sweeping announcements and bold directives.

Nadella chose a different path. He began by listening.

He spent time meeting employees across levels, hearing their experiences and challenges. He spoke with customers to understand what they valued and what they felt was missing. He engaged partners and stakeholders, gathering insights from different corners of the ecosystem.

One of the most powerful examples of Satya Nadella’s listening came early in his tenure at Microsoft, when he gathered his senior leadership team for an offsite meeting. Instead of beginning with strategy, numbers, or market share discussions, Nadella did something unexpected. He invited a group exercise on empathy.

The leaders were asked to read a passage and reflect on how they felt. What followed was telling. Many leaders approached the exercise analytically, focusing on facts rather than emotions. Nadella noticed this and gently pointed out something important – Microsoft had become a company that valued intelligence and expertise, but had lost touch with empathy and listening.

He then shared a deeply personal story about his son, who was born with severe disabilities. Nadella spoke about how that experience changed him and how he initially focused on “fixing” the situation, but over time learned to listen, understand, and empathize. He spoke about learning to see the world from another person’s perspective.

The room grew quiet. This wasn’t a typical leadership offsite conversation. But it shifted something fundamental.

Nadella connected empathy with innovation. He emphasized that if Microsoft wanted to build meaningful products, leaders had to listen – not just to customers, but to each other.

That conversation became a turning point.

Leaders began encouraging cross-team collaboration. Silos started breaking down. Conversations became more open. The cultural shift from “know-it-all” to “learn-it-all” began not with strategy, but with listening.

Nadella later reinforced this message repeatedly that innovation begins with understanding unmet and unarticulated needs. And understanding begins with listening.

What emerged from these conversations was a shift in mindset. Nadella began emphasizing a “learn-it-all” culture instead of a “know-it-all” one. This seemingly simple shift had a profound impact. Collaboration improved, innovation increased, and employee engagement strengthened.

Listening, in this case, did not just shape conversations. It reshaped culture.

Abraham Lincoln: Listening to Dissent

Abraham Lincoln demonstrated another dimension of listening. He surrounded himself with people who disagreed with him. His cabinet included political rivals, individuals who held strong and often opposing views. Instead of avoiding disagreement, Lincoln encouraged it. He listened carefully to debates, absorbing arguments from multiple perspectives before making decisions.

This approach helped him navigate one of the most difficult periods in history. By listening to dissenting voices, Lincoln avoided blind spots and strengthened his decision-making. Listening, for him, was not about agreement. It was about wisdom.

One of the most powerful examples of Abraham Lincoln’s listening came during the discussions around the Emancipation Proclamation.

Lincoln had already drafted the proclamation that would declare enslaved people in Confederate states free. It was one of the most consequential decisions of his presidency. Many leaders in his position might have simply announced it.

Instead, Lincoln brought the draft to his cabinet – a group that included political rivals and strong personalities, such as William H. Seward and Salmon P. Chase. He read the document aloud and asked for their views. Some cabinet members supported it strongly. Others were cautious. Seward, in particular, advised Lincoln to delay the announcement. He believed that issuing it at that moment especially when the Union had suffered setbacks might make it appear as an act of desperation rather than strength.

Lincoln listened carefully. He did not dismiss the advice, even though he had already made up his mind about the direction. Instead, he reflected on Seward’s concern and chose to wait. Months later, after the Union victory at the Battle of Antietam, Lincoln issued the Emancipation Proclamation. The timing gave the decision greater strength and credibility. Lincoln later acknowledged that Seward’s advice had influenced his decision.

This was listening in action. Lincoln did not surround himself with agreement.
He surrounded himself with perspective. And by listening to dissent, he made one of the most important leadership decisions in history with greater wisdom and impact.

Steve Jobs: Learning to Listen

Steve Jobs, in his early leadership years, was known for his brilliance and intensity. He was also known for dismissing ideas quickly and pushing strongly for his own vision. While this created innovation, it also created friction within teams and contributed to challenges during his first stint at Apple.

When Jobs returned years later, colleagues noticed a shift. He still had strong opinions, but he listened more carefully. He focused on fewer ideas, engaged more deeply with design teams, and allowed discussions to evolve before making decisions. This evolution helped Apple create some of its most iconic products. Listening did not dilute Jobs’ leadership. It refined it.

One of the most revealing examples of Steve Jobs’ shift as a listener came during the development of the iMac after his return to Apple. During the iMac development, designers presented multiple prototypes – different colors, shapes, and materials. Instead of immediately declaring his preference, Jobs asked questions. He walked around the models, touched them, and invited the team to explain their thinking.

One designer later recalled that Jobs spent a long time listening to why translucent colors might make technology feel less intimidating and more approachable for everyday users. This was a different Steve Jobs who was curious, engaged, and willing to explore perspectives.

Initially, even Jobs wasn’t sure about the bold translucent design. But as he listened to the team’s reasoning and discussed possibilities, he became convinced. The result was the iconic translucent blue iMac which was a radical departure from the beige computers of the time. The iMac went on to become one of Apple’s most successful products and played a major role in reviving the company.

What changed wasn’t just the design. It was the conversation. Jobs still had strong instincts, but he allowed ideas to develop. He listened long enough for creativity to surface. Listening, in this case, didn’t slow innovation. It made it possible.

Listening in Everyday Leadership

In my work with leaders, I often notice that many genuinely believe they are listening. Yet, in reality, they are preparing responses, evaluating ideas, or thinking about the next question. The conversation continues, but the listening is partial.

I remember working with a senior business leader during a leadership development engagement. He was respected, decisive, and highly experienced. Yet his team consistently gave feedback that he did not listen. His response during our first coaching session was immediate and honest – “I do listen. I just move quickly to solutions.”

As we explored further, I asked him to reflect on what happened internally when someone brought him a problem. He paused for a moment and then admitted something interesting. The moment someone started speaking, he felt responsible for solving the issue. His mind would immediately begin working on solutions. While the person was still explaining, he was already thinking ahead. He believed that as a leader, he was expected to have answers. Listening, in his mind, meant that he had to respond with a solution. And if he didn’t have one, he worried it would make him appear ineffective.

Over a few coaching conversations, a deeper fear surfaced. He shared that early in his career, he had built his reputation as someone who solved problems quickly. People relied on him for answers. Over time, that became part of his identity. Slowing down and listening felt risky. What if he did not have the answer? What if silence made him look uncertain?

This insight changed everything.

We experimented with small shifts. Instead of responding immediately, he began asking one additional question. Then he began summarizing what he heard before offering suggestions. Sometimes, he simply acknowledged the concern and asked the team member what they thought might work.

Initially, he described the silence as uncomfortable. But gradually, something interesting happened. His team began speaking more openly. They started bringing more thoughtful ideas. Conversations became richer.

He later reflected that when he stopped jumping in with answers, his team began thinking more independently. Listening no longer meant solving everything immediately. Instead, it created space for others to explore solutions, take ownership, and contribute more meaningfully.

True listening requires presence. It requires slowing down. It requires allowing silence.

Silence, however, can feel uncomfortable. Many leaders feel compelled to fill gaps quickly, fearing that silence may signal uncertainty. Yet, silence often reveals what words do not. A hesitation, a change in tone, or something left unsaid can provide deeper insight than long explanations.

These are the subtle signals of communication. They are quiet, like steam building inside an idli steamer. But they tell you everything you need to know.

My Soft Idli Recipe – With Secret Ingredients

Over time, I discovered that small, thoughtful additions make idlis softer and more flavorful. Two ingredients that I always add are fenugreek seeds and a tablespoon of poha. They work quietly in the background, but the difference is unmistakable – much like listening in leadership.

Ingredients

2 cups idli rice
1 cup urad dal (split, skinless)
1 teaspoon fenugreek seeds
1 tablespoon poha (flattened rice)
Salt to taste
Water as required

Preparation Time

Soaking: 6–8 hours
Fermentation: 8–10 hours
Cooking Time: 10–12 minutes

Method

Wash and soak the rice in one bowl for 6–8 hours. In a separate bowl, soak the urad dal along with the fenugreek seeds for the same duration. The fenugreek seeds help improve fermentation and add softness to the idlis.

Just before grinding, soak the poha in a little water for about 5 minutes. This helps it soften and blend smoothly into the batter.

Grind the urad dal and fenugreek seeds first, adding water gradually to create a smooth and fluffy batter. Transfer it to a large bowl. Then grind the rice to a slightly coarse texture and add it to the same bowl.

Add the soaked poha and mix everything gently using your hand. Mixing by hand helps incorporate air and supports better fermentation.

Add salt lightly if you prefer before fermentation, or after fermentation based on your preference. Cover the batter and allow it to ferment overnight in a warm place.

The next morning, you will notice the batter has risen and become light. Grease the idli moulds lightly, pour the batter, and place them in a steamer.

Close the lid and allow the idlis to cook in steam for about 10–12 minutes. This is where listening becomes important. The gentle sound of steam tells you the process is working. Avoid opening the lid too early. Allow the idlis to rise quietly.

Once done, remove gently and allow them to cool slightly before taking them out.

Soft, fluffy idlis are ready.

The Leadership Parallel

Just like fenugreek seeds and poha quietly transform idlis, listening also works quietly in leadership. Curiosity, humility, patience, and empathy are not loud behaviors. But they soften conversations, improve understanding, and create deeper connections.

Listening allows ideas to ferment. It allows conversations to rise. It creates space for insight.

Good communication is not about saying more. It is about understanding more.

Like idlis rising quietly in steam, listening happens without noise. Yet when done well, it transforms conversations, relationships, and leadership.

Sometimes, the most powerful leadership move is to close the lid, listen to the steam, and allow ideas to rise.

That is the true spice of leadership.