By Rajesh Chakrabarti
There was a time — not so long ago — when “MICE” was not something you called pest control for. It was the glittering backbone of Indian hospitality.
Meetings, Incentives, Conferences, Exhibitions — the four horsemen of corporate bonding — galloped from Goa to Gurugram between 1995 and 2015. Resorts brimmed with blazers, agendas, and awkward icebreakers. “Team spirit” was served buffet-style, and the phrase off-site synergy could start wars.
Then came 2020. COVID swept through our calendars, remote work became religion, and MICE was quietly pronounced extinct. Why fly halfway across the country to shake hands when one could nod politely on Zoom while simultaneously doing laundry? The age of the conference, it seemed, had clicked “Leave Meeting.”
But lo! Like an enthusiastic keynote speaker denied his stage time, MICE has returned. And this time, it has a Canva deck, a purpose, and perhaps even a pulse.
From Ballroom to Bandwidth
The modern MICE creature has mutated magnificently. Today’s conference is part theatre, part TED Talk, and part therapy session. It’s no longer enough to herd a few hundred executives into a banquet hall with coffee that tastes of burnt ambition.
Hybrid events are the new mantra — physical for the huggers, digital for the pajama loyalists. Delegates beam in from everywhere, some attending from five-star lounges, others from the unmade wilderness of their living rooms.
The numbers, too, have staged a surprise encore. India’s MICE sector, last seen on life support, is now estimated at over ₹25,000 crore, growing at a tidy 8% annually. Convention centres are mushrooming, hotel chains are redesigning ballrooms for mixed reality, and hospitality managers are dusting off their clipboards with renewed optimism.
Tier-II Takes the Mic
Delhi and Mumbai may still play lead guitar, but the ensemble now includes Hyderabad, Jaipur, Kochi, and even Guwahati — each strumming its own cultural chord. With better airports, shinier convention centres (hello, Bharat Mandapam and Jio World Centre), and local governments catching the MICE fever, smaller cities are suddenly flavour of the quarter.
And why not? A “leadership retreat” sounds infinitely more appealing when it comes with heritage architecture, craft cocktails, and a sunset you don’t have to expense.
New Rules of Engagement
Post-pandemic, the MICE code of conduct has been rewritten:
• Shorter, sharper, snazzier: Nobody’s sitting through three days of presentations anymore. The modern off-site ends before the pastry tray does.
• Sustainability as spectacle: Bamboo name tags, paperless agendas, and something called “carbon-neutral cocktails” (which, disappointingly, taste like virtue).
• Wellness weaves in: A morning keynote followed by group yoga, digital detox corners, and “mindful networking.” One half expects someone to chant KPI mantras.
• Local love: Generic luxury has made way for regional character. You can now brainstorm quarterly targets in a Rajasthani haveli or network in a tea estate.
If old MICE was about escape, the new one is about experience — crafted, curated, and eminently Instagrammable.
So, What’s Next?
Expect MICE 2.0 to be lean, green, and obsessively data-driven.
Events will be shorter but smarter, heavy on analytics, light on oratory. Delegates will crave personalization: AI matchmaking, session customization, and immersive tech that makes “audience engagement” less of a myth.
Yet, beneath all this digital dazzle, MICE remains what it always was — a chance for people to look each other in the eye and remember that email threads don’t build teams, conversations do.
Final Word
So no, MICE isn’t dead. It’s just gone to rehab, found its purpose, and come back fitter. It drinks kombucha now, tracks its carbon footprint, and occasionally speaks in hashtags.
But give it time, and you’ll find it right where you left it — at the resort buffet, holding a plate, nodding at a colleague, and pretending the chaat is vegan.
And that, dear reader, is hospitality’s oldest magic trick — taking something transactional, and turning it gloriously, absurdly, delightfully human again.
“Rajesh Chakrabarti has spent 25 years turning chaos into strategy—from Nielsen’s boardrooms to World Bank projects and Reliance’s innovation labs. Today, he trades in insights, wit, and bold ideas—writing for industries that build, travel, and host the future. Expect a perspective that’s sharp, surprising, and impossible to ignore”.
