Whenever I join a new vessel, I look at the LMS early on. Not to draw conclusions. Just to understand what learning has looked like before I arrived. On my last contract, the completion figures were low. That alone didn’t tell me much. There hadn’t been a dedicated L&D presence for some time, so the numbers needed to be read in context, not isolation. That’s how I’ve learned to work. My way of operating is consistent. First, I experience the learning myself. I practice the mo

Kindness Without Standards Fails People. Standards Without Kindness Break Them. After 25+ years across cruise ships, island resorts, and high-pressure hospitality environments, one truth has stayed consistent for me: Empathy and accountability are not competing values. They are inseparable. I’ve seen crew members break down mid-shift. I’ve seen capable leaders miss deadlines when life hit hard. And I’ve been in the room when performance warnings were issued, contracts weren’t

My first ever Christmas at sea taught me more about real learning than any structured program ever has. As per custom, we opened a full guest dining venue exclusively for the crew. The kind of place most of them only passed by on their way to service, never imagining they’d sit there one day—no uniforms, no rush, no deadlines. The chefs went all out: suckling pig glistening under the lights, Christmas pudding still warm, trays of yule log slices, custard tarts, and desserts t

My career didn’t start in a training room. It started in a kitchen. As a management trainee in Food Production, our only “crisis drill” was the lunch rush. Tickets piling up. Equipment overheating. A chef calling timings like a conductor. I learnt early that you don’t rise to the level of your training; you fall to the level of your preparation. As a Food Production lecturer, I saw another truth. Students who knew every technique would still freeze the first time a sauce redu

After years of training across ships and island resorts, I’ve realised something simple: Most learning doesn’t happen when we plan it. It happens when the job forces it. I’ve seen waiters freeze during peak service even after perfect classroom scores. What helped them wasn’t a refresher. It was a supervisor’s one-line correction delivered in the heat of the moment. Those micro-lessons stick differently. During a Phase 2 pre-opening at an Indian Ocean resort, our villa team ke

I’ve spent years building training programs across ships and island resorts, and here’s the truth I wish someone had told me earlier: The moments that shape a professional never arrive in the format your SOP prepared you for. They show up unannounced. They bend the rules. And they demand the one skill no manual can teach—judgment. At Niyama, a guest at Fahrenheit Bar once asked a new associate for something completely off the menu. He froze. Not because he lacked capability,

One thing my years in L&D have taught me is this: In a real crisis, people don’t rely on what they memorised. They rely on the person who stays steady. I saw this in the Maldives, well after the Boxing Day Tsunami. We had all the checklists. Everyone was trained. But one early morning, a sudden surge of water swept across the island. For a fraction of a second, the resort was ankle-deep in seawater. Our Night Manager, usually calm on any shift, was suddenly frantic. Not becau

When COVID hit, hospitality and cruising didn’t just shut down. They were exposed. Every beautifully choreographed training room, every polished workshop, every “high-engagement” session—we suddenly saw how dependent we were on the room, not the learning. And the moment those rooms disappeared, the illusion disappeared with them. Trainers who built their style on energy, theatrics, and crowd dynamics had to face a brutal question: If you remove the performance, does the learn

There’s a truth most people in L&D won’t admit out loud: The session that gets the loudest applause usually creates the least behaviour change. I learned this the long way, from land to Maldives, across the stillness of the Inner Alaska Passage, through the mental-health fog of Covid, and back to ships again. The Maldives taught me that learning doesn’t happen in the classroom. It happens when a butler keeps his composure with a difficult guest at 11 pm. It happens when a new

One of the biggest misconceptions about Learning & Development is that training rooms are predictable. They’re not. They are living, breathing spaces where culture, ego, history, fear, pride, and past experiences sit right next to each other. And the moment a sensitive topic enters, everything sharpens. Anyone who has trained global teams knows this. I’ve facilitated multicultural, multi-generational crews across cruise ships, island resorts, corporate offices, pre-opening te

Twenty-five years in L&D taught me something no certification ever could: A training room is never a level playing field. It’s four generations trying to learn in one space. And if the delivery doesn’t respect that truth, even great content falls flat. I’ve seen this across ships, hotels, islands, and pre-opening teams. In one leadership session, a 21-year-old bar waiter preferred sharp micro-bursts. A 54-year-old housekeeping supervisor wanted slower reflection and real case

Every team learns two things. What you officially train them to do. And what you unknowingly teach them every day. And the second one always wins. Across ships, hotels, and corporate teams, I’ve watched people absorb the real rules long before the formal ones. I once inherited a training room where no one spoke above a whisper. Same company, same brand, same SOPs. But one leader’s habit of shooting down ideas had taught the entire team to stay small. On another ship, a superv

When I took charge of the vessel, the timing couldn’t have been tougher. A USPH inspection was on the horizon, and brand auditors from shoreside were scheduled to board on the next voyage. Crew morale was low. Pressure was high. The galley was deep-cleaning, housekeeping was sanitizing every inch, and guest services was firefighting mid-sailing. There was no room, or time, for a traditional classroom session. So, I did what ship life had trained me to do, adapt fast, and make

During my early cruising years, sailing through the Inside Passage in Alaska, I once delivered a session I thought had gone perfectly. Slides crisp. Timing flawless. Every activity in place. By the next day, no one remembered much. That evening, at the crew bar, watching glaciers drift past the porthole, a cabin steward turned to me and said, “Kketan, your sessions are good. But they don’t sound like us.” I hadn’t expected that. But I needed it. I had delivered the training —

Every trainer faces that day. The day when your delivery is flawless, your slides are perfect, but your heart is quietly rebelling. Because what you’re teaching… you don’t believe in. It’s easy to train what you trust. The real test of leadership begins when you’re asked to stand behind something that doesn’t stand for you. I still remember the rollout of a shining “service excellence” program polished with buzzwords and laminated checklists. It looked perfect in a boardroom.

Let’s be honest — most training doesn’t fail in the classroom. It fails after it ends. You can have the perfect deck, engaging activities, and applause at the end and still lose 90% of that impact within a week. That’s not poor facilitation. That’s biology. Psychologist Hermann Ebbinghaus proved it long before corporate learning existed, the Forgetting Curve shows we lose 70% of new information within 24 hours, and up to 90% within seven days unless it’s reinforced. Every gre

We call it “digital learning.” But sometimes, it feels more like digital drowning. I’ve seen teams log into back-to-back virtual sessions, race through e-modules, and complete every course on the tracker, only to remember almost nothing a week later. It’s not that they don’t care. It’s that their minds are full, not fed. The truth is, somewhere along the way, we started chasing numbers instead of nurturing understanding. Completion rates went up. Reflection went down. And thi

Most sessions start with slides. Mine start with silence. Not because I don’t have things to say, but because I want to listen first. Every room carries its own rhythm, some are eager, others guarded. If you don’t tune in to that rhythm, even the best-designed session will miss its beat. Two decades across ships, resorts, and boardrooms have taught me this: Before people open their minds, they must feel safe enough to show up as themselves. That’s where real learning begins,

Over the years, I’ve seen many service recovery stories, some routine, others remarkable. But one particular incident aboard a luxury cruise ship stayed with me. A guest had been trapped in an elevator for several minutes. She was claustrophobic, anxious, distressed, and understandably shaken when the doors finally opened.   What happened next turned a frightening episode into an unforgettable memory. Waiting outside wasn’t just the engineering or guest services team.  Standi

A few months ago, I requested to shadow our HR Director for a week. She’s one of those rare leaders who makes even the toughest conversations feel human. I wasn’t asked to do it. I chose to. Because part of my role involves training onboard managers on HR and leadership policies—and I realized I didn’t just want to teach them, I wanted to understand how they truly work when the stakes are high. On the very first morning, I watched her handle a challenging employee concern. Sh