The season of seminars

Many of these seminars have an inaugural session that must be graced by a Minister; often by more than one. Then there are the bureaucrats, dignitaries, experts, heads of organisations and so on who must also occupy centre stage to say a few words. Few? The first thing one notices is that the chief guest is invariably late...because he has been held up: an issue has apparently surfaced that, without his intervention, would place the nation at grave risk. If we are lucky, he ( I am using "he" henceforth in a gender-neutral manner) is half-an-hour late; if unlucky, the whole printed schedule, devised painstakingly, must be redone. A total waste of creative energy, wouldn't you say?

When the speeches begin, you must listen closely, for they are a big huff and puff with little substance. You may also notice how some of these speeches are not just dull and boring, but also how each speaker makes the same point over and over, as if the previous speeches were not even presented. It's plausible that they were all written by the same person. How convenient for the speakers and the organisers...how objectionable for the invitees who came to be enlightened but were made to sit through this interminable caricature.

As the speeches are delivered, especially the ones by the important dignitaries, note how many cell phones go off in a bewildering cacophony of tunes...a veritable symphony indeed! Is there no decorum that these cell phone owners must observe as they interrupt the speakers and the thought trains of others? I'd think someone would request all cell phones owners to turn off the damn thing. But perhaps, if they were asked to do so, the world would stop! Incredibly, among these "interrupters" are a few fools who do not even seem to know how to operate their phones because these contraptions keep on ringing...or singing. Or perhaps these people are plain deaf and need ENT intervention. Their phones must be impounded!

Then there's another interesting dynamic: Note that as the important speakers come to the microphone, they suddenly disappear from view. The audience is treated, instead, to the royal bottoms of a horde of photographers who seem to have come from nowhere like a bevy of locusts. The hustle and bustle of these media-men and their accompanying antics are enough to distract interested parties and raise their exasperation levels a few notches.

What is perhaps most perturbing is when the speechmaking is over, the chief guest must leave...after refreshments, i.e. He's had his say and that's that. Hmmm! Why is he running away? Is the seminar too high powered? Is he going to feel stupid sitting there? Is he clueless why he's there? You might even overhear that he is on his way to another seminar, when he should have really been at the present one - - for the entire time - -because of the policy advice from which he's likely to gain. But, of course, he needs no advice: he has all the answers. Why would he need to stay and waste time? Also note that as the chief guest leaves, a horde of participants leave right after. Nourished by the sumptuous tea break and with a generous gift in hand, half the attendees are gone. Party poopers! Were they there to make the seminar look well-attended? I wonder!

Alright, let's fast-forward. Tea break (and delectable at that) is over and we are now headed for the first session; it's for 90 minutes: the standard Bengali attention span? Sure. But what is frustrating is that the organisers have scheduled six (or even more) paper presenters. At 15 minutes each, we'll have been sitting there like little school children with no opportunity for dissention or discussion. Perhaps the organisers think of the participants as brain-dead idiots (and believe me many are) who have little to say or offer!

As the session is to begin, new dynamics emerge: First you note that all the presenters are yet to assemble. Some are busy selling themselves to potential international recruiters; others may still be at the refreshment table; while yet others are milling around in the rest rooms seeking relief and comfort, big time. Tea was indeed filling! Then there is going to be the inevitable operational trouble: the microphone system may be down (remember when the national anthem could not be played in front of foreign dignitaries?), the power point files cannot be located or loaded, or a speaker cannot find his notes. This is chaos at its quintessential best!

As the session proceeds, note the lack of communication skills of many presenters: Poor sentences, uncoordinated thoughts, gaps of silence, nervous smiles, etc. are intermittent.

Sitting through such un-preparedness is an exercise in patience, almost yogic in nature! And if you are not in a contemplative mood, even as you sit straight-faced, I know what most of you mutter and hurl at the buffoons: If they only knew!

If we are lucky, some of the paper presenters have not shown up. So, there'll be time for discussions. The chairperson comes on to invite comments, but of course he has a funny story to tell first... in which there are ten side stories. There goes another block of time that could have been spent more fruitfully. When the audience finally has a chance, several hands go up. Invariably the senior-looking individual is recognised first. As he takes the microphone, he unloads a barrage of irrelevant history (and bhumika) to show off his knowledge of the subject matter that is utterly undesirable and often out of context. These people must be told that the less they speak the better because they give away their weaknesses. In many international forums the Q&A sessions are brief, to the point, and fast moving. The speakers clearly form their thoughts before speaking. Here, it's different: it seems that the speakers must begin to speak before they can form their thoughts! This conclusion is gleaned from the disarray, the disorganisation, and the chaotic thought patterns that emanate. So, what point was the speaker trying to make?

Then there is the discussant who begins with a self-introduction. Self-introduction? No way, it's nothing less than a full-blown resume. Who in heavens is interested in your bio? Why not focus on the key points? Another discussant comes up and attacks a particular presenter vehemently with arguments so tangential to the main point that one cannot help but be awe-struck. And, peculiarly, after attacking the presenter, the discussant disappears from the room without allowing the presenter to offer a rejoinder. How convenient: You shoot someone down with vitriol and then run from the scene: idiot!

Several more hands go up as the participants begin to feel comfortable about engaging. Sorry...time's up! The chairperson takes control, apologises profusely for being unable to take additional questions and begins to wrap-up, a process that should not take more than two minutes. Instead, he takes off on a tangent of his own that has no empirical or theoretical bearing: For him there is no time limit. And don't be fooled when he says "finally' because it is the fifth time he has already repeated that word!

The upshot of this exasperation is for the organisers to take away the following points:

1. Cut out the inaugural; it's a horrendous waste of time and funds that could have been much better utilised. Please drop the dinner too! Instead, ask the chief guest to present a paper of his/her own. And please dump those gifts (or inducements). Those who are interested will come; those who come for the gifts DO NOT matter. Consequently, focus on the message, not on the messengers.

2. Invite a chief guest for whom the seminar is relevant and who is able to stay to hear the presenters, engage with them, and take away a few valuable insights. He is possibly an influential policy shaper: shouldn't he be there for the entire time?

3. Be better organised and allocate time fairly to "all" speakers. Inevitably, the presenters at the end are asked to hurry when the beginners have hogged all the time. Use a stopwatch if need be and lay down the ground rules of presentation.

4. Plan time for discussions, because that's where the real issues surface. When you have five minutes left for 20 discussants, you may have lost important insights. But you might not care for them anyway!

5. Tell the discussants to limit their introductions to name and organisation represented. That's it, no resumes puh..lease!

6. Archive the discussions. What good is it to encourage comments and not have it available for future consideration? And how about sharing these compiled thoughts with interested parties who can make good use of them?

7. Finally, (note I have used the word only once), tell all those fools to turn off their annoying cell-phones. They are an obnoxious bunch and they should not be disturbing others.

Seminars, believe me, can be interesting, useful, and worthwhile; from the good ones something is gained at the end of the day! If the organisers cannot make this happen, I don't want to be invited.