When an airline service collapses under its own negligence, stamping it off as “unfortunate” is not forgiveness; it’s collective cowardice. In the recent IndiGo meltdown, thousands of passengers were stranded for hours or days without food, water, shelter, or answers. The authorities weren’t rushed. And the board of IndiGo remained stunningly silent. Instead of stepping forward, it behaved like a rubber stamp pretending this was weather, fate, or mysterious cosmic turbulence.

You can learn a lot about a company just by “reading the boardroom tea leaves”. A check on the IndiGo website revealed nothing on the board’s committees, which could give a good perspective on the board’s organisation and priorities. A look at the board bios suggests several members with sound aviation and airline backgrounds, but many serve on 6-15 other boards. How do you expect them to have any time for IndiGo?

Air travel is a service and not a mere convenience. A contract forged with fare money, deadlines, hopes, and fragile human plans. When the failure stems not from force majeure but from ignored staffing norms, DGCA red flags, and long-brewing operational rot, the result is not bad luck but corporate and regulatory dereliction.

A responsible airline board would have systems akin to “Operational Resilience Committees” used globally. These bodies constantly track staffing forecasts, pilot fatigue, training pipelines, duty rosters, and compliance triggers. If IndiGo’s board had been functioning as a guardian rather than an observer, it would have pressed pause the moment DGCA violations surfaced or even when whispers of pilot shortages became too loud to ignore. It should have halted ticket sales, issued clear alerts, mobilised emergency resources, and coordinated with airports and regulators; not allowed more passengers to walk blindly into a crisis. Instead, they kept boarding, selling, pretending everything was fine, and watched chaos explode.

Silence in a crisis is deceit. Real leaders communicate fast, honestly, and in full. Around the world, airlines facing large-scale disruptions publish updates, open helplines, give clear rebooking options, and activate contingency support long before passengers hit despair. When Southwest Airlines faced an IT and scheduling disaster in 2022, the board was dragged into accountability but still showed up, apologising publicly, issuing hotel stays, meals, refunds, re-bookings, and later compensation. IndiGo, instead, offered passengers a mix of confusion, silence, and later, guarded corporate statements.

Globally, compensation is a default, not a favour. EU Regulation 261, Canadian air-passenger charters, and Australian protections mandate automatic refunds, meals, accommodation, and monetary payouts. Airlines may grumble, but they comply. IndiGo’s board could have shown leadership by declaring automatic relief for stranded passengers. But they were abandoned in terminals, forced to buy overpriced meals and fend for themselves like refugees of corporate indifference.

True board oversight is about governance, safety and accountability—not about growth charts or share prices. When DGCA flagged violations, IndiGo’s board should have ordered immediate internal audits, root-cause reviews, suspension of non-essential flights, overhaul of rostering and training, and if necessary, holding senior management accountable through restructuring. But the board looked less like a custodian of public trust and more like an insurance agent shrugging at rising claims. When an entire airline forgets the rules, the board must become the judiciary.

Public outrage is a governance signal. When families slept on airport floors, when weddings were missed, when job interviews evaporated, when frustration filled terminals, the board should have treated it as a flashing red light. Global airlines have reformed under far smaller crises—Ryanair rebuilt scheduling under EU pressure, Lufthansa strengthened redundancy after IT failures. IndiGo chose band-aid PR and the hope that Indians would forget.

This was not a random glitch. IndiGo dominates Indian skies with 62% market share in a market where regulators frequently extend relaxations. The board had access to all related metrics and reports. They saw the cracks widening. They allowed more flights to fly, more revenue to be booked, more pressure to pile onto an already stretched crew.

Their silence taught the entire industry that regulation doesn’t matter. When compliance becomes optional, safety becomes negotiable, and passengers become collateral. Governance becomes farcical.

Passengers and civil society must now demand structural change: mandatory passenger support for airline-caused delays; automatic EU-style compensation; quarterly public disclosures on crew levels and compliance; serious DGCA penalties including slot withdrawal; and collective legal action for damages. If IndiGo’s board had openly committed to these when the crisis began, they could have recovered trust and reshaped Indian aviation governance.

Global examples prove reform is possible, and no airline collapsed under accountability. Why should Indian giants be exempt? IndiGo’s meltdown was a choice, one that was made by the board that placed revenue before responsibility.

That silence is complicity. But passengers now have a moment to act, demand regulation, demand accountability, and refuse to forget. Karma isn’t what happens after waiting—it’s what happens after acting. And this time, the board should hear the roar of every stranded passenger saying: “We haven’t forgotten.”

(Muneer is a Fortune 500 advisor, startup investor and co-founder of the non-profit Medici Institute for Innovation. Ward is global board advisor, coach, and publisher. Views are personal.)