The ‘Third Act’ of true leadership

Recently, I received an award for my “Second Act” — for leaving behind the corner office, boardrooms, and business-class flights and instead running schools for children from the slums. The citation spoke of courage, transformation, and social impact.

But what the organisers did not know is that I have quietly stepped into what I now call my ‘Third Act’.

My 97-year-old mother, once fiercely independent, is now partially bedridden. I have become her primary caregiver. And of all the roles I have played — CEO, changemaker, educator — this is by far the most emotionally demanding, and perhaps the most profound.

In my ‘First Act’, I led through strategy, targets, and performance. In my ‘Second’, through empathy, vision, and purpose. But this? It is leadership without goals — only love. It is measured not in impact reports, profits, or applause, but in patience, stillness, and the ability to offer comfort at 3 am.

She no longer eats properly. She struggles to sleep. Sometimes she drifts between lucidity and silence. And she insists that I sit by her side — not because she needs anything urgent, but because she needs me. I have a trained nurse at home. But she cannot replace the presence of a daughter who can decode a furrowed brow, recognise a soft sigh, or remember how she once liked her tea.

This caregiving journey has given me a new-found respect for professional caregivers — nurses, hospice staff, and home attendants. They do for strangers what I sometimes find overwhelming to do for my own mother. Their quiet labour keeps countless families afloat, and yet they remain underpaid, under trained, and largely invisible in public discourse.

Globally, the numbers are staggering. In the US alone, there are over 43.5 million informal caregivers. In India, these roles fall mostly on daughters, daughters-in-law, and spouses. It is a role almost always unpaid, often unacknowledged, and sometimes emotionally isolating.

India is ageing rapidly. According to HelpAge India, there are over 140 million elderly people in the country today. By 2050, this number is expected to cross 319 million. Advances in medicine mean people are living longer, but often with fragile bodies and fading independence. And yet, our systems are woefully unprepared.

A recent NITI Aayog report points to the urgent need for investment in elderly care — structured support for at-home care, better geriatric facilities, and trained caregivers. The private sector has begun responding with luxury elder-care homes and AI-enabled monitoring systems. But these options remain accessible only to the privileged.

Japan, one of the world’s most rapidly ageing societies, has pioneered robotic caregivers like Pepper and Paro, designed to assist and comfort the elderly. Yet even there, human companionship remains irreplaceable. Machines may monitor vital signs or even mimic affection, but can they sense unspoken fear in a loved one’s eyes? Can they offer the tender discipline of midnight care — when a mother’s trembling hand reaches out for reassurance?

Caregiving also raises complex ethical questions. Should we encourage longer lives without ensuring a life worth living? Do we prepare families — emotionally, financially, socially — to deal with the slow deterioration of loved ones? Or do we simply expect them to “manage”?

I have sometimes considered placing my mother in an upscale assisted living facility. It would be easier and more efficient. But I know it would break her heart. She would feel abandoned. Unloved. And so, I stay. I stay awake at odd hours. I coax her to eat. I calm her anxiety. I offer what only a daughter can offer — presence.

And in this quiet, unglamorous room, I have learned more about leadership than in decades of professional life. Not the kind of leadership that wins applause, promotions, or awards. But the kind that demands surrender, endurance, and grace. Leadership, at its most distilled, is about showing up for another human being, consistently, without expectation of return.

As a society, we need to start valuing caregiving as essential work — not just private duty. We must provide support structures – financial and emotional -- especially for women who shoulder this invisible burden while simultaneously holding jobs, raising children, and managing homes. If education and healthcare are seen as public goods, why not caregiving?

The ‘Third Act’ of life may not have the glory of a career peak or the celebration of a social movement. But it is, in many ways, where love is lived in its purest form — through care.

If my First Act was about ambition, and my Second about purpose, then this Third Act is about surrender. It is a reminder that at the end of every professional journey, beyond every achievement, what truly remains is the love we give and the love we receive.

And perhaps, that is the most important legacy of all.

(The writer is the founder- CEO of Parikrma Humanity Foundation)

Disclaimer: The views expressed above are the author's own. They do not necessarily reflect the views of DH.