A couple of months ago, I was demonstrating a surgical procedure live at a conference. A colleague and I were exhibiting how to perform a minimally invasive spinal fixation in a patient with degenerative instability of the spine. The surgery was being telecast live to a conference room where a receptive and enthused audience had gathered. It was simultaneously being broadcast online, where a few hundred people were attending. Besides the usual surgical paraphernalia that adorns someone who operates, we were hooked on to mics where we could explain to the audience what we were doing and answer questions related to our decision making, technique, and nuance. The crowd was replete with resident doctors and junior and senior colleagues, all of whom watched our every move with a hawk’s eye. Being part of a scenario like this can be unnerving, but I am surprisingly comfortable with this mode of teaching; we regularly have observers and visitors in our operation theatres from other institutes whom we are happy to teach.

Just as I completed inserting the final screw to complete the procedure, the anaesthetist tapped me on my shoulder, signalling that I should step down from the platform I was standing on. She asked the audio-video guys to turn my mic off and indicated to my colleague to continue with surgery. I was temporarily perplexed. I was sure I hadn’t done anything silly, and I double-checked to confirm that the patient was stable. We were just about to conclude a perfect operation I was proud of.