By Dr. R. Balasubramaniam
It all started with a phone call. A distinguished voice on the other end said, “We are putting together a high-powered committee and we want you to chair it.”
Chairman. The word had a certain ring to it. A title that exuded authority, wisdom and — let us be honest — just the right amount of self-importance. I imagined leading intellectual debates, steering important decisions and basking in the collective brilliance of my esteemed colleagues. I said yes.
That was my first mistake.
The grand illusion of support
No sooner had I accepted the role than I realised I was on my own. No secretarial support, no assistants, not even an intern to take notes. The committee, I was told, had “all the resources I needed,” which, as it turned out, meant a list of members and an expectation that I figure everything else out.
E-mails had to be drafted, meetings scheduled and reports compiled — all by yours truly. When I pointed out that I could use some help, the response was unanimous: “Of course! Just let us know what we can do.” A lovely sentiment that translated to exactly nothing.
The art of giving advice without doing anything
If there is one thing a committee excels at, it is giving advice. I quickly learned that every member was an expert — not in execution, but in strategy.
• “What you should really do is simplify the report.”
• “The data section needs to be more detailed.”
• “Why don’t we rethink the entire structure?”
This, of course, was coming from people who had not read the draft in the first place. The only thing more certain than their opinions was their complete lack of involvement in implementing any of them.
The vanishing act
Scheduling meetings was an Olympic sport. Doodle polls were ignored. Calendar invites went unanswered. If, by some miracle, a meeting did take place, attendance was optional — except for me, the ever-hopeful chairman, staring at an empty Zoom screen.
But here is the twist: The same people who never showed up for discussions were the first to take credit when the final report started taking shape. Suddenly, they had been “deeply involved in the process,” “instrumental in shaping the recommendations,” and “key voices in the deliberations.” It was as if their very absence had been a strategic contribution.
The last-minute epiphany
After months of solitary effort, the final report was ready. I sent it out for sign-off, expecting quick approvals. Instead, I received an avalanche of “suggestions.”
• “I think I had suggested a different approach in one of the meetings.” (She never attended a meeting.)
• “We should reconsider the wording in Section 3.” (This was the exact wording he had approved six months ago.)
• “Can we add a new recommendation?” (We are submitting this tomorrow.)
By this stage, I had developed a new skill: the ability to nod thoughtfully while mentally calculating how much caffeine it would take to get me through the next round of revisions.
The dream of a free-loader’s life
As I sat exhausted, staring at the final document, I had an epiphany. The most powerful position on a committee is not the chairman. It is the free-loading member. The one who shows up just enough to be remembered but not enough to be burdened with responsibilities. The one who nods sagely in meetings, makes sweeping statements about “big-picture thinking,” and then disappears before the real work begins.
One day, I tell myself, I will be that person. I will bask in the glow of someone else’s toil, offer grand insights with no intention of implementation and take credit for work I barely remember discussing.
But then, just as I make this resolution, another call comes.
“We are forming a prestigious new committee. And we would really like you to chair it.”
And the seduction of the word “Chairman” pulls me back in.
[Dr. R. Balasubramaniam is the Founder of Swami Vivekananda Youth Movement. ‘The Lighter Side’ is a series of satirical articles meant to bring a smile by highlighting the funny side of everyday life.]
This post was published on July 9, 2025 6:10 pm