Category: history

When Prizes Change the World: What Innovation Contests Teach Us (and Why India Should Care)

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Most prizes are given to those who have already changed the world: the Nobel, the Magsaysay, any number of national recognitions. These prizes are ways in which the world recognizes a lifetime’s work, a breakthrough discovery, timeless writing, selfless humanitarian aid. The awards in these instances are however collateral benefits. For these greats, often the wok is their own reward.

But in some cases, the prize itself is the motivator, it is the way to spur developments to change the world. Some of the most transformative technologies in human history were sparked by something deceptively simple: a prize.

A problem recognized. A deadline set for its solution. A reward announced for the solution.

And then—an open invitation to anyone bold enough to try.

Take the British Parliament’s Longitude Prize of 1714. Navigation at sea was perilous because sailors could not accurately determine longitude. The reward on offer was up to £20,000—an astronomical sum at the time. The solution did not come from a celebrated astronomer, but from a self-taught clockmaker, John Harrison. His marine chronometer worked—but recognition did not come easily. Payments were staggered, disputed, and delayed. Even when innovation succeeds, institutions do not always know how to respond.

A century later, war catalysed innovation. Napoleon Bonaparte, seeking to feed his armies, offered 12,000 francs for a reliable food preservation method. The result? Nicolas Appert’s pioneering work on canning. With his innovation, food for armies could be preserved for months and years, and could keep armies fed on long campaigns to distant lands. Explorers and sailors started depending on them, opening up new frontiers of discovery. Canned food gave a fillip to farmers, now that their produce could have extended lives. And brought convenience to dining. One competition, one process, many benefits!

These early contests reveal something important: prizes work best when the problem is urgent, the goal is clear, and the reward is meaningful enough to sustain effort over time.

Rainhill Trials

Fast forward to the industrial age. The directors of the Liverpool and Manchester Railway had originally intended to use stationary steam engines to pull trains along the railway using cables. However, their engineer George Stephenson strongly advocated for the use of steam locomotives instead. As the railway was approaching completion, the directors decided to hold a competition to decide whether locomotives could be used to pull the trains. The Rainhill Trials of 1829 offered a prize of £500 for the best way to haul the trains. George Stephenson’s Rocket won decisively, and its design quickly became the standard for locomotives. Here, the feedback loop between competition and adoption was almost immediate.

Then came the age of flight. The Raymond Orteig Prize promised $25,000 for a nonstop transatlantic flight. Charles Lindbergh claimed it in 1927—but only after multiple failed attempts and fatal crashes by others. The prize went to Lingberg, but more importantly, it accelerated aviation as an industry.

By the late 20th century, competitions had evolved into global innovation platforms. The XPRIZE Foundation’s Ansari X Prize offered $10 million for private human spaceflight—and catalysed over $100 million in investment before it was eventually won. The DARPA Grand Challenges, with prizes of $1–2 million, helped lay the groundwork for self-driving cars.

And in the digital age, contests have become even more distributed. The Netflix Prize offered $1 million to improve its recommendation algorithm—successfully claimed, and now foundational to digital platforms. Competitions on Kaggle for machine learning and data science challenges are designed to solve complex, real-world problems using crowdsourced predictive modelling. They routinely offer prizes ranging from a few thousand dollars to over $1 million, with winning models often deployed in real-world systems.

Not all prizes, however, are claimed. The Google Lunar X Prize, sponsored by Google, famously went unawarded when no team met the deadline. And yet, several participating teams went on to become serious space ventures. More recently, the rebooted Longitude Prize on antibiotic resistance—run by Nesta with a purse of £10 million—was eventually awarded after years of global effort.

Enter the Hackathon: The New-Age Contest

If prizes defined earlier centuries, hackathons define ours.

From college campuses to corporate offices, hackathons have become the default format for innovation challenges. India, in particular, has embraced them at scale through initiatives like the Smart India Hackathon, where winning teams typically receive ₹1–5 lakh, along with visibility and recognition.

At first glance, hackathons look like a natural continuation of the prize tradition. But look closer, and a crucial distinction emerges.

Hackathons are built for speed. Typically compressed into 24 to 72 hours, they excel at generating ideas, prototypes, and energy. They uncover talent and encourage collaboration. But they are not designed for depth.

The breakthroughs that defined earlier prize competitions were the result of years of iteration, backed by incentives large enough to justify sustained commitment. Even modern competitions on Kaggle run for months, allowing refinement and optimisation. Hackathons, by contrast, often end at the stage of a promising prototype.

This is not a weakness. It is a different role.

Hackathons are the sparking mechanisms of the tech world.

Lessons for India: Moving from Events to Ecosystems                            

India is no stranger to ingenuity—though often of the jugaad class. We could surely use the powerful lever of structured, sustained innovation contests.

1. Define Grand Challenges That Matter Locally
India’s problems—air pollution, water scarcity, affordable healthcare—require sharply defined challenges and serious prize money. Rewards must be large enough to sustain effort beyond a weekend.

2. Open Participation Beyond Credentials
Breakthroughs often come from unexpected quarters. Platforms must include informal innovators, practitioners, and non-traditional problem-solvers.

3. Build a Pipeline, Not One-Off Events
Hackathons should be the starting point, not the endpoint. Without this pipeline, ideas from initiatives like the Smart India Hackathon risk fading away.

4. Shift from Inputs to Outcomes
Prize systems reward results, not proposals—encouraging creativity and reducing bureaucratic inertia.

5. Invest in Follow-Through
Mentorship, funding, and testing environments are what convert prototypes into deployable solutions.

6. Measure Success Beyond Winners
India must move beyond a binary view of success. Even if a prize is not claimed, the ecosystem it builds can be valuable.

Because sometimes, all it takes to change the world…is not just a prize—but a prize large enough, a timeline long enough, and a system strong enough to turn ideas into impact.

–Meena                  

Pic: http://www.rainhilltrials.org/

A Just War: St. Augustine of Hippo

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Pope Leo XIV’s recent visit to Algeria had a special personal significance for His Holiness. The current Pope is the first Augustinian Pope; he is a member of the Order of St. Augustine. The Pope visited the archaeological site of ancient Hippo, (modern day Annaba) where once stood the Basilica of Peace church where St Augustine was Bishop was 34 years. He described it as “a profoundly emotional and spiritual moment”.

Who was St Augustine, and why is he significant even today, even though he lived 16 centuries ago? 

St. Augustine of Hippo was a theologian, writer, preacher, rhetorician, and bishop. Before he became a saint, Augustine’s life saw many different phases. He was born in 354 AD in Thagaste, presently called Souk Ahras in modern-day Algeria, which was then a part of the Roman Empire. He was African, and not white, as later depicted. His mother Monica was a devout Christian, and his father, a tax collector who converted to Christianity only on his deathbed.

Augustine was bright student, and he had great rhetorical skills; he travelled to Carthage to study rhetoric. But in his teenage years he was irreligious and led a wild life, in spite of his mother’s prayers and counselling. In his twenties Augustine was restless and in his quest to discover ‘the truth’ he experimented with the cult of Manichaeism, a concoction of Christian, Buddhist, astrological and pagan elements. He then became influenced by Neo-Platonism, which drew from Plato. Augustine was still lost and wandering, much to his mother’s despair.

His wandering led him to Milan, where an encounter with the bishop of Milan, Ambrose, changed his life path. The bishop, who was considered one of the greatest orators in the Roman world influenced Augustine, at the age of 33, to convert to Christianity in AD 347. Augustine was ordained a priest in 391 and he became Bishop of Hippo (today’s Annaba, Algeria) in 395.

After his conversion, Augustine used his skills as a thinker and writer in service to the church. He moved back to North Africa and eventually became bishop of a town named Hippo. He continued not only to speak eloquently, but was also a prolific writer. His personal journey, the story of his spiritual quest, formation and conversion, is documented in The Confessions. Written in 401, this work is a model for modern autobiography as it depicts the formation of a mind and character.

St. Augustine also wrote several other noteworthy books. Perhaps the most relevant today, are his thoughts and writings on war and peace. He was one of the first people to articulate a philosophical statement of war and justice. Augustine drew upon Christian teachings as well as Greek and Roman philosophy to propose a set of principles that defined a ‘just’ versus an ‘unjust’ war. He laid the groundwork for what became known as the Just War Doctrine.

St. Augustine lived in volatile times. In a period when there was a race to expand Empires, St. Augustine questioned the value of such expansion, comparing it to a human body, arguing that a moderate stature with good health is preferable to an oversized, unhealthy body (and by extension, empire).

He viewed war with deep sorrow and profound skepticism regarding its ultimate value. Acknowledging that war is inevitable in some situations, he laid down certain criteria under which war is a permissible recourse. 

Just Cause: to confront “a real and certain danger” to protect innocent life.

Competent Authority: declared by those with responsibility for public order.

Comparative Justice: Are the values at stake critical enough to override the presumption against war?

Right Intention: War can only be conducted to satisfy the just cause.

Last Resort: All peaceful alternatives have already been exhausted.

Probability of Success: The outcome cannot be disproportionate or futile.

Proportionality: inflicted damage must be proportionate to the good expected.

St. Augustine also drew upon earlier Roman conventions about war. For example, that it must be declared by proper authorities and not by angry mobs. The Empire also had a policy — not always followed — of allowing conquered people to keep their own customs, religions, and local laws.

Which wars are not just? These would be wars marked by selfish intent. Wars to seize territory, wealth, or power are not just. Wars fought for personal glory or out of vindictiveness are not just.

While he agreed that a ‘just war’ could be fought to restore peace or punish injustice, he viewed it as a ‘necessary evil’ rather than a good. He maintained a fundamental belief in the futility of war for achieving lasting, meaningful human happiness.

As early as the fifth century St. Augustine was considering the moral consequences of war. For Augustine, any conflict that does not have the final establishment of a stable, just peace as its sole purpose, is useless and immoral.

Writing in 418 A.D., he wrote: “Peace should be the object of your desire; war should be waged only as a necessity…in order that peace may be obtained. Therefore, even in waging a war, cherish the spirit of a peacemaker, that, by conquering those whom you attack, you may lead them back to the advantages of peace…As violence is used toward him who rebels and resists, so mercy is due to the vanquished or captive.”  

In his book City of God, he noted that even a ‘just war’ is characterized by cruelties and miseries. He viewed the brutality of war with profound lament and often expressed a “deep hatred of war” and contempt for those who glorified military victories. The Just War doctrine emphasizes that a set of rules for military combat must be followed. This means treating non-combatants such as women, children, elderly, wounded, and prisoners of war humanely.

The Just War theory has become an integral part of Western philosophy. Even today it is reflected in international humanitarian law.

St. Augustine regarded the power-seeking know-it-alls of the day as ‘dangerous fools armed with the pretense of knowledge’. In our current turbulent period of history, we are witness to how international and humanitarian law is being flouted with arrogance and impunity by exactly the same kind of people.

It is a time to remember another valuable insight from St Augustine–The idea that you were bigger or better, or more self-righteous, or somehow immune from the rules that govern others — the absence of humility, in other words, gave you license to do unto others what you would never allow them to do unto you.

Just War?  Or A Just War?

–Mamata

The Lady at the Helm: Sumati Morarji

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Among the many days, significant or silly, that are being celebrated, this week marked a special day in India’s maritime history. April 5 is celebrated annually as National Maritime Day.

India, a peninsular subcontinent with more than 7000 km of coastline, has a long maritime history, dating way back to the Indus Valley Civilization. Since ancient times Indian sailors ventured out to sea thanks to their deep understanding of the ocean patterns and the monsoon winds. This allowed them to travel safely and efficiently, opening up trade routes to distant lands. It is speculated that the English word “navigation’ may have its roots in the Sanskrit ‘navgati’, a combination of ‘nav’ meaning ship or sailing vessel, and ‘gati’ meaning speed or progress. There are many stories in Indian mythology about the seas and oceans, and proof of Indian maritime operations can be found in Indian literature, sculpture, painting and archaeology.

The advent of the colonial powers replaced the traditional trade and trading vessels with what became a European monopoly. Over the next few centuries British companies dominated the shipping industry. In the early 1900s a far-sighted group of Indian industrialists, led by Walchand Hirachand, and including Narottam Morarji, Kilachand Devachand, and Lallubhai Samaldas dreamed of creating India’s own mercantile fleet—a swadeshi shipping enterprise.

They formed a company called the Scindia Steam Navigation Company, and purchased a steamer from the Gwalior royal family. The ship, the RMS Empress, originally purchased from the Canadian Pacific Railway had been used as a hospital ship for wounded Indian soldiers in World War I. It was a challenge to set up and sustain a marine mercantile enterprise in the face of the long-running British companies.

RMS Empress was renamed the SS Loyalty. On 5 April 1919, the now totally swadeshi SS Loyalty made its maiden voyage from Bombay to London. It carried 700 passengers and cargo. This was significant as it marked the beginning of breaking the British monopoly on maritime trade. This event continues to be commemorated as National Maritime Day on 5 April every year.

What makes the subsequent story of the founding company, the Scindia Steam Navigation Company more significant, is also the story of a remarkable woman who steered this company to exemplary success.

Sumati Morarji was born in 1909 in an affluent, and conservative, merchant family of Bombay. Named Jamuna by her parents, at the age of 13, she was married, with an extravagant wedding, to Shanti Kumar Morarjee, the only son of Narottam Morarji. Narottam Morarji, an eminent industrialist, was one of the co-founders of the Scindia Steam Navigation Company.

The young bride was extremely bright, and displayed a great thirst for learning. She was also keen on understanding more about her marital family’s business and its working. Her father-in-law Narottam Morarji recognised in the newly-wed teenager a sharp mind, and hidden potential.

He renamed her Sumati (a woman with superior wisdom), and invited and respected her insights into the family business. She equally demonstrated her management skills when she took over running of the household following her mother-in-law’s early demise. By the time she was 20, Sumati had demonstrated her capabilities in all spheres. Thus her husband Shanti nominated her to the Managing Board of Scindia Steam Navigation Company.

This was a time when the company was still in its infancy, having a few cargo ships running between India and Europe. With Sumati at the helm, the company’s strength and reputation increased greatly over the next few decades. As India was on the cusp of Independence, Sumati quietly assumed complete charge of the company, leading it from strength to strength as the newly independent nation began its journey to self-reliance and progress. 

Sumati was deeply influenced by Gandhii, and despite her business commitments took an active part in the underground operations of the freedom movement. In the aftermath of Partition, she used her ships to help safely transport Sindhis from Pakistan to India. She remained close to Gandhiji, with whom she corresponded regularly.

After Independence as Indian maritime trade was increasingly handled by Indian ships, Sumati’s insights, expertise, and experience in the field played a crucial part. She set a precedent as being the first woman in the world to head the Indian National Shipowners Association, a pioneer organisation of ship owners. She was globally recognised and elected as Vice President of World Shipping Federation in London in 1970.

Sumati Morarji managed the Scindia Steam Navigation Company for 69 years, and steered the company’s great success, until she passed away in 1998. She contributed in many national endeavours, and was a deeply spiritual person who helped in propagating Indian culture across many countries. But her primary passion was her ships, that she regarded as her daughters. No wonder, then, that she is called the Mother of Indian Shipping in every sense of the phrase.

National Maritime Day is a fit occasion to honour Sumati Morarji, a lady who quietly made waves across the oceans.

–Mamata

Rainbow Island: Hormuz

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Just over a month ago, the name Hormuz did not mean much for a large population of the world. Today the word is making headlines across the globe. The blockade of the Strait of Hormuz is having a ripple effect far from the waters of the Persian Gulf. Sadly, its claim to fame is rooted in the fall-out of a war that the world did not, and does not need.

For centuries ships have been sailing through the waters of the Persian Gulf, carrying people and cargo, and perhaps, not as visibly, culture. These waters are not just transporters, they are also the space for small land formations, many of which are unique in their geology and biogeography. One such island is the island of Hormuz.

Hormuz Island is a part of the Hormozgan Province of Iran. Located about eight  kilometres from Bandar Abbas on the coast of Iran, and 18 km from Qeshm Island in the Persian Gulf, it is strategically perched where the Persian Gulf and the Gulf of Oman meet. Hormuz island covers an area of approximately 42 square kilometres.

The ancient Greeks called it Organa; during the Islamic period it was known as Jarun, and later took the name Hormuz from a significant mainland port of Ormus. It is believed that around 1300 A.D. the ruler of this town and its inhabitants shifted to the island in order to evade attacks by Mongolian and Turkish troops. Thus they called their island home New Hormuz. Today it continues to be recognized simply as Hormuz.

Its strategic location at the entrance of the Persian Gulf has historically made Hormuz Island a key trading post. It was an important stop for traders on the Silk Road. In the 15th century a Russian merchant described it as “a vast emporium of all the world”.  

It was part of a flourishing kingdom during the medieval period. This attracted the attention of the European powers. In the early 16th century it was taken over by the Portuguese who established a fort there, which helped the Portuguese to control strategic trade routes between Europe, India, and the Far East, and dominate the spice trade.

It remained a Portuguese colony for almost a century and a half, before being taken over in 1622, by the Safavid Empire, run by a powerful Iranian dynasty. It has been a part of the Persian empire since then, and is today a part of Iran.

Even today the island’s culture and customs reflects a blend of the Arab influences from neighbouring countries, as well as past interactions with Portuguese, English, and Indian merchants. The island today is home to Persians Arabs, and the indigenous Hormuzis, each contributing to the rich cultural mosaic.

What makes Hormuz Island unique are its dazzling geological features. It is one of the biggest salt domes—where a mound of salt layers rises up through overlying layers of rock. The formation glows with brilliant shades of red, yellow and orange. This palette is created by the deposition of minerals which constitute the layers of shale, clay, and volcanic rock. Geologists believe that hundreds of million years ago shallow seas formed thick layers of salt around the margins of the Persian Gulf. These layers gradually collided and interlayered with mineral-rich volcanic sediment in the area, leading to the formation of the brilliantly coloured soil and mountains. The high percentage of minerals, including iron, gypsum, oligiste, apatite and quartz has given colour to all the geographical features—ochre-coloured streams; beaches with sand ranging from white, silver and gold, to crimson; the Rainbow Mountains whose vibrant colours range from deep reds and oranges to purples and yellows, and natural salt caves that resemble vibrant works of art. The beaches are covered in crimson sand, and when the waves wash over these, the water also takes on reddish and pink hues. Because the beach’s red glow could be spotted from far out at sea, sailors once used it as a natural navigation marker in the Strait of Hormuz.

The geological formations on the island include the Valley of Statues, a surreal landscape with natural rock formations; Silence Valley which is has an eerie landscape of salt formations and is completely silent; and the Cave of the Salt Goddess formed over thousands of years by water erosion and salt crystals, the walls of which shimmer with vibrant shades of whites, blues, purple and pinks.

In this stunning landscape, the Red Mountain stands tall. This is even more unique because not only is its soil is bright red, it is also edible!  

The red soil is caused by haematite, an iron oxide which comes from the islands volcanic rocks. The mineral is valuable in the production of cosmetics, paper, plastic, stainless steel, ceramics, tiles, pottery and glass, and was exported for this, but the exports have now been reduced to prevent overexploitation. This soil is found nowhere else in the world; however it is not permitted to carry any samples out of the island, even as a souvenir.

The soil plays an equally important part in local cuisine! Known as Gelack, it is an important ingredient, in local cuisine. It is used as a spice, especially in the traditional fish curry called sooragh. A rare edible soil that is a valued spice in itself!  

If Hormuz Island is renowned for its geological features, it is equally rich in biodiversity. A patch of mangroves at its northern end adds a touch of green to the vibrant palette. The island ecosystem harbours a rich variety of bird species, and the waters are home to thriving marine life.

With its kaleidoscope of natural colours, Hormuz aptly deserves the title of Rainbow Island. Sadly the rainbow is today eclipsed by the dark clouds of war.

-Mamata

Of Birds and Birdwatchers: International Bird Day — 1 April

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April 1 traces back to the International Convention for the Protection of Birds, one of the earliest international efforts to formally recognise the need to conserve avian life. On International Bird Day, observed each year on April 1, the focus is usually on birds themselves—their fragile habitats, their migrations, their role in holding ecosystems together and the threats they face.

But today we are looking more at the people who watch birds and their idiosyncrasies.

Every obsession develops its own private vocabulary. Birdwatchers—or birders, as they prefer—have taken this instinct a step further. Over time, they have shaped a dictionary so distinctive that to outsiders it can sound faintly eccentric. Words here behave differently: they slip free of their everyday meanings, acquire new ones, and quietly signal who belongs.

Consider twitching. To most people it suggests nervousness or involuntary movement. In birding, it means deliberate, often hurried travel to see a rare bird reported elsewhere. A twitcher is someone who drops everything at short notice and sets off, binoculars in hand to chase that possibility. The term emerged in mid-twentieth-century Britain, when news of sightings spread through phones and handwritten notes, carrying with them a sense of urgency and barely contained excitement.

This habit of birders to repurpose language runs deep. A tick is not a parasite but a small victory—a species added to one’s personal list. A lifer marks a first-ever sighting, the kind that stays with you. A dip, on the other hand, captures a very specific disappointment: travelling all that way and missing the bird.

Some of the most intriguing expressions describe perception. Jizz—sometimes softened to giss—refers to the overall impression of a bird: its shape, posture, movement, the rhythm of its flight. You may not catch every marking, but you recognise it instinctively. “It had the jizz of a harrier.” There is no real substitute for this word, which perhaps explains why birders defend it with quiet determination.

Then come the social terms, edged with humour. A stringer is someone suspected of stretching the truth about sightings—their records “on a string.” A lagger arrives too late. A gripper is not an object but a bird so rare it inspires envy, and to be gripped off is to feel that envy keenly while still offering polite congratulations.

Even equipment is linguistically reshaped. Bins are binoculars. A scope is a spotting-telescope. To lock on is to get your optics trained on the bird before it disappears. These are practical words, forged in moments where seconds matter.

Place, too, carries its own vocabulary. A patch is a birder’s regular haunt, revisited across seasons and years. A stakeout involves waiting patiently at a known location. Suppression refers to an ethical choice—not publicising a rare bird’s location if attention might disturb it. To flush a bird is simply to make it fly off, usually by getting too close, and is generally frowned upon.

What stands out is how emotionally evocative this language is. It does not just describe birds; it maps the experience of pursuing them. Like any specialised language, birding slang creates community. To know the terms is to belong; to learn them is to enter gradually. Yet many of these words travel beyond their niche. Twitching now describes reactive behaviour more broadly. Jizz has been borrowed into design and art. Patch has found a life in other forms of local attachment.

Colour, in birding, acquires a precision that everyday language rarely demands. Birds are not simply brown or grey; they are rufous, buff, ochre, slate, ashy, olive, chestnut. A drab-looking bird, on closer inspection, becomes a composition of tones—warm on the flanks, cooler on the crown, a faint wash along the breast. These are not ornamental choices of words but functional ones, allowing birders to separate one species from another in seconds. To say “yellow” is often useless; to say “sulphur-yellow with a greenish wash” is to narrow the field.

Even familiar colours are subtly reworked. A “black” bird may, to a birder, show glosses of blue or green; a “white” wing might carry a hint of cream or grey that matters enormously in identification. Terms like supercilium (the eyebrow stripe), mantle (the upper back), and primaries (the outer flight feathers) turn the bird’s body into a map where colour is carefully located, not loosely described. Over time, birders learn to see in these finer gradations, and the language follows suit—less about naming colours as we know them, more about learning to see them as birds wear them.

Some colour words have travelled the other way—borrowed not to describe birds, but from them. Teal is the most familiar example, a word that once referred primarily to the small freshwater duck, the Eurasian teal, whose striking greenish-blue patch lent its name to a shade now used everywhere from fashion to design. What began as a bird became a colour, and then quietly detached itself, so that many people use “teal” today without any awareness of its avian origin.

This is not an isolated case. Duck-egg blue, robin’s egg blue, and peacock blue all carry traces of the natural world into everyday speech. The Indian peafowl, for instance, has given us a whole palette of iridescent blues and greens, while the soft tint of a robin’s egg has become shorthand for a particular pastel. In these instances, birding has quietly shaped how colour is named and imagined—proof that even those who never lift a pair of binoculars are, in some small way, speaking a language borrowed from birds.

In an age where English is increasingly standardised, birdwatching offers a reminder that language still evolves wherever people care deeply enough. These words were not coined for effect. They emerge out of necessity—to express experience, to share feeling, to laugh gently at oneself.

So this International Bird Day, stand quietly at the edge of a wetland or in your garden. Watch the birds and hopefully, you will get a tick!

–Meena

Pic: BNHS https://www.bnhs.org/nature-trails-details/

Dedicated to Serve: Dr Ida Scudder and Christian Medical College, Vellore

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A young American girl, born and brought up in a missionary family in a small town in Tamil Nadu was expected to continue the family’s tradition of service to the neediest of the people. Ida Scudder, born in 1870, the only sister to seven boys, was exposed at an early age to the poverty and deprivation of the local population through her parents’ work.  But Ida was repelled by all this. She was young and pretty, and dreamt of enjoying life, and eventually making a comfortable marriage. Her parents, both long-time missionaries in South India returned to the United States for a few years with their large family when Ida was eight years old. The comfortable life in America was a huge change from the challenging missionary work in India. After a few years of school, Ida moved to the Northfield Seminary for Young Women in Massachusetts while her parents returned to Tamil Nadu.

When Ida was 20 years old she came to visit her ailing mother in Tamil Nadu. While she was there, one night three different men came to seek medical help for their wives who were about to deliver, and were in distress. They appealed to Ida to attend to them. Ida had no medical training; her father was the doctor in the family. But the conservative community would not let their women be treated by a male. The next morning Ida heard that all the three young women and their babies had died in the night due to lack of medical attention. This was a life-changing experience for Ida. She found her calling.

But in order to be in a position to really help women medically, Ida herself had first to undergo medical training. She returned to the United States and enrolled in the Philadelphia Women’s Medical College, and studied further at Cornell Medical College where she was among the few female students. After 10 years of rigorous study and training she returned to India where she hoped to work alongside her father. Sadly, her father died not long after her return.

But Ida was here to stay. She determined to carry on his work, now focussing on women’s health. Her vision was that women should have the same access to quality and compassionate healthcare that men did, regardless of religion and ability to pay for it.

She began her practice from her family home in Vellore, 135 km west of Madras, by opening a small clinic for women. Ida was initially unsure how her presence and engagement would be received by the local community; but patients trusted her, and the numbers grew greatly.

A donation from an American who wanted memorialize his late wife, led to the building of the 40-bed Mary Taber Schell Memorial Hospital for women in 1902. Ida also started organizing roadside medical camps in villages around Vellore, travelling across difficult terrain to treat people and give health education.

Given the huge need and demand for medical care for women, Ida realized that as a single person there was only so much that she could achieve. It was critical to train and educate more people in this field. In 1903 she started to train compounders, and in 1909 nurses. Her vision was to set up a world class medical college. Many scoffed at such an ambition, but Ida was tenacious and managed to raise funds to support her cause.

The Union Mission Medical School for Women was set up in Vellore in 1918. Sceptics felt that there would be no takers. But the very first year there were 150 applications, and 18 women were selected for the first batch who went on to secure a Medical Practitioner Diploma.

Dr Ida Scudder’s words to the first batch of graduating students to pass out, reflect her professional dedication, her tenacity, as well as her missionary spirit: “You will not only be curing diseases, but will also be battling with epidemics, plagues and pestilences and preventing them. Face trials with a smile, with head erect and a calm exterior. If you are fighting for the right and for a true principle, be calm and sure and keep on until you win.​”

In 1938 the British Government announced that it would only recognize an MMBS degree, and not a diploma. This necessitated that Ida’s medical school, be upgraded to a medical college. Thus was born the Christian Medical College of Vellore. The original women’s college also became co-educational in 1945. Ida was completely engaged in every aspect of the institution—teaching, medical practice, as well as administrative responsibilities including fund raising.

Even after Independence, Christian Medical College continued to draw dedicated doctors from across the country and abroad. They came not for money or glory, but inspired by the founder Ida Scudder and her single-minded dedication to the cause of service to the sick.

Over a century after Dr Ida Scudder sowed the seeds that gave form to her vision, her legacy has blossomed into a spreading banyan tree. The tiny clinic has grown into CMC Vellore—one of India’s top-ranked educational, healthcare and research institutes.

The 40-bedded hospital has grown into a 3000-bedded multi-specialty health care system spread over six campuses. CMC cares for over twenty lakh patients, and trains one thousand doctors, nurses and other medical professionals each year. People from all walks of life and all parts of the country and beyond come here for the ethical, compassionate, and quality care that it is reputed for. Ida Scudder’s vision and work have outlived her.

This month, we have been celebrating women who have broken barriers, and led the way in many different ways, in widely diverse fields. We have shared stories of women who have truly “made a difference.” Who better epitomizes this than Dr Ida Scudder! 

–Mamata

Rebel Nomad: Isabelle Eberhardt

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Continuing our celebration of path-breaking women this month. Through history, women have often been denied rightful recognition for their contribution in different fields. In STEM, their significant work has been eclipsed by the attention and glory garnered by men. While many of these female scientists and researchers are equally present in labs, they tend to lose visibility as their achievements advance. These achievements have been ignored, minimized, or credited to men. 

There is another band of women, who have had to make efforts to disguise their real persona in order to pursue their passions. This has been the story of several women who have stepped into what is traditionally considered a ‘male domain’. Among these are women explorers who have boldly ventured into dangerous terrains on perilous missions; women who broke conventional barriers in more ways than one.

One such story is that of Isabelle Eberhardt—journalist, writer, explorer-adventurer, and rebel. Today she would also be identified as ‘feminist’.

Isabelle was born in February 1877 in Geneva, Switzerland. Her mother Nathalie was the daughter of a German and a Russian Jew. There is some uncertainty about Isabelle’s real father, but she always considered her mother’s husband Alexandre Trophimowsky as her father. Isabelle was taught by Alexandre, who was a tutor. She studied philosophy history and geography, and also learned many languages including French, Russian, German, Italian, Latin, Greek, and classical Arabic. She loved literature and read a great deal. Alexandre had liberal views and gave her a lot of freedom to explore, and develop, her own personality.

When she was 17 Isabelle started correspondence with a French officer in the Sahara desert wanting to know, in detail, all about life there. This triggered in her the yen to explore for herself. In the meanwhile, based on her correspondence, she began to write short stories about the region under a male pseudonym Nicolas Podolinsky. These were published in a magazine. By now Isabelle was eager to see and experience for herself.

She met a photographer from Algiers who offered to help her move to Algiers. In May 1897 Isabelle and her mother moved to Bone in Algeria. Isabelle was 20 years old. Both mother and daughter were distressed by how the colonial Europeans treated the local Arab population. They rented a house in the non-European part of town. This was an area where women were not expected to go out alone or without a veil. So Isabelle started wearing a burnous and a turban (the dress worn by the local men). She quickly became fluent in Arabic. She and her mother also converted to Islam. Isabelle found it easy to accept Islam because she believed in fate, and Islam gave meaning to this belief. Isabelle’s unusual lifestyle caused the French colonial settlers and officials to suspect her of being a spy.

Isabel converted her observations and experiences into fictional stories, some of which were published. Her mother’s death in the same year that they had moved to Algiers, was a great blow. She returned for a while to Geneva to look after her sick father. After he died, she mortgaged the family property and returned to Africa in 1900, and began to lead a nomadic life. She wandered restlessly in North Africa, usually alone, writing her diaries, stories and travelogues. To freely experience everything as a native would, she wore only male clothing, joined a local Sufi group, and even changed her name to Si Mahmoud Saadi. During her travels she met and fell in love with an Algerian soldier Slimane Ehnni. This heightened the suspicion of the French authorities. Isabelle continued to court danger; she was attacked and severely wounded by a man with a sword. She was ordered by the French to leave North Africa, and went back to France where she could barely make ends meet by working as a dock worker, disguised as a man. Meanwhile she continued with her writing.

A friend introduced her to Eugene Brieux, a writer who supported Arab freedom. He tried to publish her stories, but there was no market nor support for pro-Arab stories. The only ray of light was when Slimane Ehnni was transferred to a military unit near Marseilles. They did not need permission to marry in France, and the two married in 1901. The next year, her husband left the army and the couple returned to Algeria.

Back in Algeria she started working for the Al-Akhbar newspaper. Her novel Trimardeur also began to appear in parts in the paper. She worked hard, but only when she felt like it; and spent all her money on tobacco, books, and gifts for friends. She travelled for long periods on assignments.

Isabelle continued to lead an erratic life, travelling in perilous conditions; she indulged excessively in drink and drugs. But amid all this, her writing still occupied a central part of her life. Her articles and short stories appeared in the local press, and for a while she also wrote a regular column on the customs of Bedouin tribes. In 1903 when reporting on a battle she met the French general Hubert Lyautey, and helped him communicate with the local Arabs because of her fluency in Arabic.

Isabelle’s nomadic and often promiscuous lifestyle took a severe toll on her mental and physical health. By 1904 she was so spent and weak that she was admitted to a military hospital in Ain Sefra. Some weeks later she discharged herself, against medical advice, to meet with her husband who she hadn’t seen for almost a year. The very next day the town where they had rented a mud house was struck by a flash flood. Isabelle was missing. General Lyautey ordered a search; Isabelle’s body was found later, pinned under a beam of the house, and surrounded by the soggy pages of her latest manuscript. Isabelle was buried in Aïn Sefra with a marble tombstone with her adopted Arabic name and her birth name in French. Isabelle was only 27 years old; an untimely end to a short and tumultuous life.

The General tried to collect as many of Isabelle’s unpublished writings as he could manage to find. These were later published. Her first published story after her death, Dans l’Ombre Chaude de l’Islam (In the Warm Shadow of Islam), was highly praised in 1906. This book made Isabelle famous as one of the best writers about Africa. Streets were named after her in Béchar and Algiers.

Today Isabelle is perceived as an early feminist and anti-colonialist. In her own time, she was simply a woman ahead of her times—adventurer, chronicler, gender bender, and one who lived on her own terms.

–Mamata

The Matilda Effect: When Women-Scientists are Written Out

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As appropriate to the month when we mark International Women’s Day, our pieces have revolved around women, their achievements and barriers to their growth. This week, we look at an uncomfortable historical pattern: how many of the contributions made by women have been ignored, minimized, or credited to men. This phenomenon has a name — the Matilda Effect.

The term was coined in 1993 by historian of science Margaret W. Rossiter, who used it to describe the systematic denial of recognition to women-scientists whose work was often attributed to male colleagues. Rossiter named it after the 19th-century American activist Matilda Joslyn Gage, who had earlier observed how women’s intellectual achievements were routinely erased from public record.

In simple terms, the Matilda Effect refers to the tendency for women’s scientific or scholarly contributions to be overlooked while men receive the credit.

Why the Matilda Effect Matters

Recognition is not just about credit; it shapes opportunity.

Academic promotions, research funding, leadership roles, and history are all tied to who gets acknowledged. When women’s contributions are under-recognized, it creates a cycle in which fewer women are visible as role models for the next generation.

Young girls interested in science, technology, engineering, and mathematics often search for people who look like them in positions of intellectual authority. When those figures are missing from textbooks and public discourse, aspirations can quietly narrow.

The Matilda Effect therefore operates not only as a historical injustice but also as a structural barrier to gender equity in knowledge systems.

History’s Striking Examples

Consider Rosalind Franklin’s whose X-ray crystallography images were critical to understanding the structure of DNA and enabled the breakthrough model proposed by James Watson and Francis Crick. Yet when the Nobel Prize was awarded in 1962, Franklin — who had already passed away — received little recognition for her role.

Another well-known case is of Lise Meitner, the Austrian physicist who played a key role in explaining nuclear fission. The Nobel Prize for the discovery went solely to her collaborator Otto Hahn.

India’s own intellectual history reflects similar patterns.

Take Janaki Ammal, the pioneering botanist and cytogeneticist whose work significantly advanced plant breeding and biodiversity studies in India. Despite her groundbreaking research, she remained far less publicly known than many of her male contemporaries.

Or Anna Mani, the pioneering physicist and meteorologist whose work laid the foundation for modern meteorological instrumentation in India. She played a crucial role in standardizing weather measurement systems and advancing research in solar radiation and wind energy, contributing significantly to India’s renewable energy potential. Despite the far-reaching impact of her work, she remained relatively under-recognized outside scientific and policy circles.

(MM blogs on these two amazing ladies are linked below)

Similarly, Asima Chatterjee, one of India’s foremost organic chemists, made pioneering contributions to the chemistry of natural products and anti-malarial drugs. Although widely respected within scientific circles, her name rarely appears in popular narratives of Indian science.

Signs of Change

Things are hopefully changing. An example is Tessy Thomas, often called India’s “Missile Woman.” As a senior scientist at the Defence Research and Development Organisation, she played a key role in the development of the long-range ballistic missile Agni‑V. Her journey from a small town in Kerala to leading strategic defence projects has made her an inspiration for many young women considering careers in engineering and defence research.

Another widely admired figure is Gagandeep Kang, a leading medical scientist known for her work on infectious diseases and vaccines. As the first Indian woman elected Fellow of the Royal Society in the field of biomedical science, she has become a powerful role model for girls interested in medical research and public health.

In the world of space science, Ritu Karidhal and Muthayya Vanitha gained national recognition for their leadership roles in India’s lunar mission Chandrayaan‑2 at the Indian Space Research Organisation. Their visibility during the mission helped reshape public perceptions about who leads complex scientific and technological projects.

Similarly, Nandini Harinath, another senior scientist at ISRO, became widely known after the success of the Mars Orbiter Mission, where she was part of the core navigation and mission design team.

Dr. Gagandeep Kang

What distinguishes these scientists is not only their technical expertise but also their public presence. Through lectures, interviews, and outreach programs, they actively encourage young girls to consider careers in STEM — science, technology, engineering, and mathematics.

Recognition is the first step. Structural barriers — from access to research funding to representation in leadership — still need attention.

Here is to women-scientists having their day and say in scientific research!

–Meena

Picture: Indian Academy of Sciences

​See Magnoila Lady Janaki Ammal https://millennialmatriarch464992105.wordpress.com/wp-admin/post.php?post=2994&action=edit

and Weather Woman Anna Mani at https://millennialmatriarch464992105.wordpress.com/wp-admin/post.php?post=3235&action=edit

The March to Freedom: Women and the Salt Satyagraha

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March is a significant month in the history of India’s freedom movement. On 12 March 1930 Mahatma Gandhi set out from the Sabarmati Ashram in Ahmedabad on a journey that was to cover many milestones, in more than one way.

On 2 March 1930 Gandhiji had written a letter to the Viceroy giving notice of his intention to launch a civil disobedience movement by symbolically breaking the Salt Law which in his opinion was “the most iniquitous of all from the poor man’s standpoint.” He was snubbed in return; which strengthened his resolve. He selected Dandi, a seaside village in Gujarat as the site for his symbolic gesture, and planned to walk the distance of 241 miles from his Sabarmati Ashram in Ahmedabad, along with a select band of co-workers. The date for setting off on the march was fixed for 12 March, and 6 April was the date set for the ‘breaking of the salt law” at Dandi. Gandhiji also vowed not to return to the ashram until the Salt Act was repealed, and Swaraj was won.

On March 12, 1930 at 6.30 a.m. Gandhiji, left the Ashram accompanied by 78 satyagrahis. These represented a cross-section of the people from all over the country: Andhra Pradesh, Bengal, Bihar, Bombay, Gujarat, Karnataka, Kerala, Kutchh, Maharashtra, Punjab, Rajputana, Sind, Tamil Nadu, U.P. Utkal, and even Nepal. The group included members of all communities. They fell in a wide age spectrum from 16-year-old Vitthal Liladhar Thakkar to 61-year-old Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi! The main criteria for the selection, that he personally made, was that the marchers were disciplined, and strictly adhered to the principles of ahimsa and satyagraha.

Despite so much diversity, there was one lacuna in the composition of the marchers.  The group did not include any women. One of the later historians attributed this to Gandhi’s concern that the British would taunt the marchers for being cowardly and “hiding behind the women” in the battlefield. But many women were eager to join the battle. Gandhiji was inundated with letters, telegrams and personal appeals from women to permit them to take active part in the struggle. Gandhiji had other plans for their engagement. In a piece published in Young India, titled To the Women of India Gandhiji wrote: “I feel that I have now found that work. …Let the women of India take up these two activities, specialize in them; they would contribute more than man to national freedom. They would have an access of power and self-confidence to which they have hitherto been strangers.”

Women in Bombay with sea water to make salt https://www.mkgandhi.org/articles/a-fistful-of-salt.php

At each of the 24 villages that Gandhiji and his yatris halted for the night enroute to Dandi, Gandhiji urged women to step out of their homes and make salt locally. He also encouraged women to participate and contribute to the struggle by taking up picketing of liquor shops and foreign cloth, and taking up spinning. Hundreds of women from the neighbouring villages came to see and hear Bapu. Many of these women were unlettered, and followed strictly subscribed traditional roles. But Salt struck a common chord in every one of them. It was the ingredient that linked the domestic with the national.  

Women from all walks of life took up Bapu’s clarion call with great energy and commitment. They related closely to the symbolic power of salt. As Kamaladevi Chattopdadhyay, who was on the forefront of the movement wrote: “The salt satyagraha must stand out as not only unique but as an incredible form of revolution in human history. The very simplicity of this weapon was as appealing as intriguing. So far as women were concerned it was ideally tailor-made for them. As women naturally preside over culinary operations, salt is for them the most intimate and indispensable ingredient”.

Kamlaladevi organized volunteers for a variety of programmes including prabhat pheris (dawn processions), gathering salt and brine on the beaches of Bombay, and moving across the city distributing small packages of illicitly made salt. Women in the hundreds came out onto the streets to take part in these activities. Once in the fray, women were not to be daunted nor afraid of police batons.

In the following months the movement spread across the country, as more and more women poured out of their homes to join the activities. Women started organizing prabhat pheris on the streets of Bombay and Ahmedabad, where they sang songs about the bounty of the motherland. They helped put together vanar senas, or monkey brigades, consisting of children who supported the activists in offering resistance to the British. As their presence grew, and activities expanded the police became less restrained. The women faced brutal lathi charges, and a record number ended up in prison for the first time in the history of the subcontinent.

Chroniclers of that period have noted that while the original Dandi March began with a troop of males, the subsequent events inspired an unprecedented movement of women from every walk of life to move out of the private spaces of their homes, and traditionally designated roles, and enter public spaces to join a national movement.

Jawaharlal Nehru wrote in The Discovery of India, “Here were these women, women of the upper or middle classes leading sheltered lives in their homes, peasant women, working-class women, rich women, poor women, pouring out in their tens of thousands in defiance of government order and police lathi.”

The Dandi March was a turning point not only in the history of India’s freedom  movement, but also in the participation of Indian women in a political cause. It was a catalyst for women to claim public spaces in large numbers, united by a common cause.

March 8 is celebrated as International Women’s Day. In the United States the month of March is marked as Women’s History Month to honour women’s contributions in  American history. In India too we must celebrate the month of March as significant, the month in which, several historic events brought the women of India into the public space, and a movement that saw the emergence of women as warriors in a non-violent war.

–Mamata

Superslueths: Lady Detectives

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Continuing Meena’s celebration of women in unconventional professions. While forensic scientists do a lot of their work in labs, there is a band of sleuths that follow clues on the ground. These are the women detectives. Crime fiction through the ages has had its share of popular female detectives. From Jane Marple, the gentle (but canny) epitome of an old English aunt, to Mma Ramotswe, the generously proportioned Botswana detective, these fictional detectives have a dedicated band of followers. Not many readers may even stop to wonder if such sleuths exist in real life. Indeed, they do! And the real lady detectives probably date back as far back as the fictional ones.

In Victorian England several stories of female detectives appeared in newspapers in the 1850s and 1860s. These ladies donned disguises to pursue thieves, and spy on adulterous husbands. Most of these ladies were initially part of male-led detective agencies, but by the 1880s women were beginning to set up their own agencies. Maud West was one of the most popular and well-known private detectives of her time in England. She was famous for her disguises. In 1905 she set up her own private detective agency. Over the next century such lady detectives were in demand especially as they were discreet, ingenious, and smart at surveillance.

But it took until the early twentieth century for a woman to join Scotland Yard as a detective. On December 27, 1922, Lilian Wyles became the first woman in the history of the Metropolitan Police to join the Criminal Investigation Department (C.I.D.) as an inspector. She was promoted to Woman Detective Inspector First Class on February 18, 1935.

Alice Clement: Queen of Dramatic Arrest

Meanwhile across the Atlantic, women were also entering what was considered to be a male domain. In 1856 a self-possessed young woman walked into the Chicago office of Pinkerton Detective Agency looking for a job, but not a job as a secretary. Kate Warne was hired, becoming the first female detective in the United States of America. She proved herself to be fearless, and adept at digging out valuable information. In one investigation she posed as a fortune teller to entice secrets from a suspect; in another she made friends with the murderer’s wife. The most defining case of her career was to foil an attempt to assassinate President Abraham Lincoln while on a train trip. She infiltrated the plotters by cultivating their wives and daughters. Her exploits encouraged other women to explore this field. Kate Warne rose to become the superintendent of the female bureau of the Chicago office of Pinkerton Detective Agency.  

While Kate was into private investigation, the official law and order agencies still had to engage women. In 1913, Alice Clement was the only woman in the class of almost 100 new police officers in Chicago’s police force. And Alice made no attempt to colorlessly blend in with the uniforms. She flaunted fashionable dresses, ropes of pearls, and a sophisticated haircut, even as she brandished a submachine gun, and practiced martial arts. She was passionate about her chosen profession, famous for her undercover work, and solving difficult murder cases. The Queen of Dramatic Arrest as she was called, was feared by even the most hardened criminals of the day. Alice Clement was a major advocate for women’s rights including the right to vote. She also travelled across the United States making a case for police departments to include policewomen, leading to several cities opening up this career for women. The substantial presence of women officers in the police dramas that we see on TV today, are not just reel characters but reflections of the real women who are integral to investigation of crime.

It took almost a hundred years after these pioneering PIs, for India’s first female detective to make her presence felt. Rajani Pandit the daughter of a CID officer, did some instinctive sleuthing while in college.  She tried to find out why one of her classmates was behaving out of character, unraveled the mystery; and informed the parents who were grateful. Rajani was now bitten by the bug, and began to pursue investigative work, more as a passion than profession. Her father was not too happy with his daughter’s choice of work. But news of Rajani’s successful investigations spread through word of mouth, followed by some media publicity. Cases started pouring in, and in 1986 she set up her own detective agency–Rajani Investigative Bureau. From a time when the idea of a female detective was met with disdain, Rajani and her bureau have solved 75000 cases. These cover a range, from extramarital affairs to corporate espionage, missing persons to murder.

Today more women are making a foray in this field. Perhaps the youngest female detective to set up her own agency is Tanya Puri. Still in her 20s she runs Lady Detectives India. The agency has half-a-dozen female investigators. They call themselves the Girl Squad, and usually work in pairs when out late on Delhi’s streets.

Female detectives nowadays carry out undercover operations, conduct surveillance, take charge of high-stakes investigations, cases of corporate espionage, and sensitive matrimonial investigations. Women in India can legally lead investigations.  

What makes women excellent investigators? As a veteran male detective observed: They are highly perceptive, they know how to get access locations and discussions that men can’t, and they’re very organized. Women communicate empathy which engenders trust.  

Mma Ramotswe summed this up neatly: Women are the ones who know what’s going on. They are the ones with eyes.   

On this Women’s Day celebrating the spunk in every woman—past, present and future!

–Mamata