A few years ago, I was invited to speak about snakebites at an annual conference in Nagpur. As a physician who had treated hundreds of patients with venomous snakebites, I was excited to share my experience.

On that Sunday morning, as I arrived at the conference hall 15 minutes early, I found only two people in attendance: my friend who had asked me to speak and a cook preparing breakfast for the attendees. The venue was quiet and empty. As the minutes ticked by and no one else arrived, my concern grew. Perhaps it was the early hour, or the fact that it was a Sunday morning, but the empty seats seemed to speak volumes. We waited for half an hour, hoping that the others might be running late, but as the clock struck 9:30 am, I knew that we couldn’t wait any longer.

By the time I began the presentation at 9:30 am, I was already thirty minutes behind schedule.

As I stepped onto the stage to deliver my presentation on snakebites, the venomous creatures on my PowerPoint slides appeared to come to lifeโ€”cobras hissing and striking, vipers coiling and rattling, and kraits slithering silently. However, as I gazed out into the cavernous hall, which had the capacity to hold five hundred people, only six attendees sat in the front row.

Undeterred, I spoke with a fiery passion, hoping to make an impact on those who bothered to show up. I finished my presentation, and the venomous creatures on my slides disappeared, replaced by a disheartening reality: the number of attendees had not even reached double digits after twenty minutes.

As I made my way to the breakfast venue, the contrast couldn’t have been starker. The conference hall was almost empty, with just a handful of attendees. But here, the bustling breakfast area was overflowing with people eager to eat, talk, and network. The aroma of fresh coffee and the clinking of silverware filled the air as hundreds of attendees enjoyed their breakfast, sharing stories about their practices and exchanging patient referrals.

And amidst this lively scene, dozens of medical representatives from various pharma companies were present, their eyes fixed on the attendees, ensuring that their physicians got what they wanted. It was a stark reminder that while the presentation may have been about life and death, for many, the real action happened at the breakfast venue.

The contrast between the empty conference hall and the bustling breakfast venue was striking. I couldn’t help but think that these conferences are not just about making presentations, but also about networking, renewing old friendships, making new ones, spreading your practice, enjoying wine and sumptuous meals, and blowing your trumpet.

I learned that day that it’s not just about the size of the audience, but the connections you make with those who are present. Conferences are not only about academics but also provide opportunities for networking.

As a pathologist would say, sometimes the milieu outside the cell is more important than inside the cell.