When was the last time you felt truly listened to? Not just heard, but fully attended to - with eyes, body, and presence. When was the last time you gave that gift to someone else? Do you listen with intent in meetings, conversations, or negotiations or do you find your attention scattered between voices in the room and the glow of your devices? And perhaps most important of all: how much might you be missing, not only from others, but from yourself, by not listening deeply?
In our hyperconnected and overstimulated age, speaking has been elevated while listening has been diminished. Platforms reward the loudest voice, workplaces valorise the “thought leader” who speaks, and meetings often dissolve into monologues. Yet any leader who has paused long enough knows: it is listening that creates influence, not speaking. The paradox of our times is that while we are surrounded by more words than ever before, we are actually absorbing less.
Listening is often mistaken for passivity. People equate it with silence, with withholding one’s opinion, or with simply waiting for their turn to speak. But true listening is active. It requires attention, energy, and discipline. In fact, active listening is harder work than speaking. We must distinguish here between empathic listening and active listening. Empathic listening is for the benefit of the speaker. It reassures them, validates their emotions, and allows them to feel heard. Active listening, however, is for the benefit of the listener. It sharpens perception. It draws in not only words, but tone, rhythm, silence, and what remains unsaid. It transforms fragments of communication into a whole meaning. In that sense, active listening is an act of intelligence, not politeness.
Most of us in India can recall small moments that reveal the power of listening. A teacher who looked past the noisy classroom and gave undivided attention to a hesitant student, sparking a lifetime of confidence. A shopkeeper who listens carefully to a customer’s hesitation and offers the right solution, ensuring loyalty that no discount could buy. A grandmother who sits on the verandah, listening to a grandchild stumble through stories of the day, making the child feel larger than life. A young manager who chooses to hear out her team’s frustrations before presenting her own views, creating trust in ways that formal designations never could. Across ages and social settings, the act of being truly listened to remains universal in its impact.
Communication is often said to be 80 per cent non-verbal. Listening, too, is not confined to the ears. Our posture, our stillness, the pace of our breathing, even the way our eyes hold curiosity—all of these are instruments of receptivity. When we lean forward with intent, when we remain silent without impatience, we create a space where the other feels invited to bring more of themselves into the conversation. Active listening is not simply a technique. It is a discipline of attention. In the yogic sense, it mirrors pratyahara—the withdrawal from distraction—and dharana—the focused centring of attention. Listening, then, becomes a practice of integration. This is why I often describe it as yogic listening. It aligns us internally while connecting us externally. It is as if we are tuning an inner instrument, one that resonates with the voice of another.
Leaders often underestimate how much power lies in their listening presence. To be listened to with full attention is to be affirmed. It signals that the other matters, that their ideas have weight. This is not only a morale booster—it is a performance catalyst. People give their best to leaders who make them feel truly heard. Moreover, active listening builds trust. Trust is rarely created by grand declarations. It is created in those moments when someone feels safe enough to share an idea, a doubt, or a discomfort—because they sense that their leader will not only hear but truly listen.
In today’s workplace, attention has become the rarest of currencies. The constant ping of notifications, the pressure to multitask, and the habit of divided focus have eroded our capacity to listen. Yet the principle remains timeless: where attention goes, energy flows. When we practice active listening, we are not just gathering information—we are giving something priceless: our presence. Presence, more than authority or charisma, is the essence of leadership. A leader who listens magnifies the energy in the room, amplifies the voices of others, and anchors collective intelligence.
So how do we reclaim this lost art? The first step is to intentionally withdraw from distractions. It means silencing devices, putting away screens, and giving undivided attention in moments that matter. It means cultivating patience with silence instead of rushing to fill it. It means asking questions not to prove one’s own intelligence, but to deepen understanding. Most of all, it means practising awareness that listening is not just about the other—it is about oneself. When we listen, we expand. We sharpen our perception. We enter into the subtle dimensions of communication where meaning is richer and deeper. Listening is leadership in action. It is also leadership in humility—the humility to admit that wisdom does not only reside in one’s own words.
In an era where speaking has become abundant and listening scarce, active listening is both countercultural and transformational. It is the rare leader who chooses to listen deeply, to offer presence in a distracted world. Yet it is precisely such leaders who build trust, draw out potential, and create lasting impact. The question, then, is not whether you can speak compellingly. The question is whether you can listen so completely that others find themselves heard, valued, and understood. And in that act of listening, you may discover a leadership power greater than any words you could have spoken.
Think of one person in your life who deserves your undivided attention today. When you listen to them fully, you may give them more than any words ever could.
Disclaimer: The views expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publication. |
