Seventy Years of Making India Book-Minded: Celebrating the National Book Trust

On August 1, 2026, the National Book Trust, India—better known to generations of readers simply as NBT—completed 70 years. Its purpose, from the beginning, was not merely to publish books but to create a nation of readers.

The country had just become independent barely a decade before. Literacy was expanding, education was becoming accessible to larger sections of society, and there was an urgent need for affordable, good-quality books in the many languages of India.

The answer, in part, was the National Book Trust.

Dr S. Radhakrishnan speaking at the Foundation Day of the National Book Trust, India, August 1, 1957, at Vigyan Bhavan, New Delhi. Also in pic, then-PM Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru and then- Union Education Minister Maulana Abul Kalam Azad

A Trust Born with a Simple but Ambitious Idea

The Government of India decided to establish the National Book Trust in 1957. Its foundation day is observed on August 1, and the Trust was inaugurated at Vigyan Bhavan in New Delhi by Dr Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan. The idea was closely associated with Jawaharlal Nehru’s vision of making knowledge and literature accessible beyond a small, privileged readership.

NBT was created with an unusually broad mandate: to encourage the production of good literature in English, Hindi and other Indian languages; make books available at moderate prices; prepare catalogues; organise book fairs and exhibitions; and, in the memorable language of its mandate, take steps to make people “book minded.”

That phrase—book minded—still captures the spirit of the organisation.

NBT was not conceived as just another government publishing house. It was intended to bridge the distance between the writer and the ordinary reader. It would publish classics and contemporary writing, encourage translations between Indian languages, bring important works from other languages to Indian readers, and popularise modern knowledge.

In other words, its ambition was democratic: good books should not be a luxury.

Seventy Years, Thousands of Books

Over the decades, NBT has built an extraordinarily wide and diverse catalogue. Its publications have ranged from fiction, poetry and biographies to science, social sciences, history, the environment, education and technology. It has published books for children and young readers, for neo-literates, and increasingly in tribal languages and popular dialects as well.

One of its most important contributions has been to India’s multilingual literary ecosystem. India is not one book market. It is many book worlds, linked by dozens of languages. A reader in Kannada, Malayalam, Bengali, Hindi or Assamese should not have to remain confined to literature originally written only in that language.

Translation, therefore, has been central to the NBT idea.

The Trust’s mandate specifically includes publishing outstanding works of Indian authors and facilitating translation from one Indian language into another, as well as bringing significant foreign works to Indian readers.

This is a contribution that can easily be underestimated. Translation does more than move words from one language to another. It allows a Bengali reader to discover a Tamil writer, a Hindi reader to encounter Malayalam literature, or an English-language reader to enter literary traditions that might otherwise remain invisible.

In a multilingual democracy, translation is cultural bridge-building.

From the Book Exhibition to the World Book Fair

Publishing books, of course, is only half the task. Readers have to find them.

Here too, NBT played a pioneering role. Its first book exhibition was inaugurated in 1964 by Dr Radhakrishnan. Then came one of its best-known and most enduring achievements: the first World Book Fair, organised in 1972.

The New Delhi World Book Fair has since grown into one of India’s major cultural events. The 2026 edition, organised by NBT, brought together publishers, writers and readers on a truly international scale. Government sources reported more than 1,000 publishers representing 35 countries and over 600 events involving more than 1,000 speakers.

Books for Children, and Readers Yet to Be Made

NBT has also paid sustained attention to children. It organised its first Children’s Book Fair in Calcutta in 1983, and its publishing programme today includes a substantial range of books for young readers.

Its current catalogue under the Rashtriya Bal Pustakalaya includes titles in English and many Indian languages, from picture books and stories to books connected with science, nature, history and culture. Recent additions include books by established names as well as new writers, with prices that remain strikingly accessible.

This commitment to affordability may be one of NBT’s most important achievements. At a time when beautifully produced children’s books can cost several hundred rupees, an ₹50, ₹70 or ₹100 book can make the difference between a book being an occasional gift and becoming an everyday part of a child’s life.

And that, surely, was always the larger objective: not simply selling books, but building the habit of reading.

NBT in a Changing India

Seventy years after its birth, the book world has changed beyond recognition.

There are e-books, audiobooks, online stores, independent publishers, self-publishing platforms and social-media book influencers. Yet the original NBT mission has not become irrelevant. If anything, the need to help readers navigate an overwhelming flood of information has become greater.

The Trust has moved into new initiatives as well. It continues to organise book fairs and literary events, support reading promotion, train publishing professionals, participate in international fairs and encourage Indian writing and publishing, young authors’ mentorship initiative and the expanding Rashtriya e-Pustakalaya ecosystem.

Meanwhile, its catalogue continues to grow, ranging from the National Biography series and books on India’s freedom movement and knowledge traditions to contemporary themes, children’s literature and new bilingual publications.

Where Can You Buy NBT Books?

The easiest place to begin is the official NBT website. Its online catalogue allows readers to browse by language, format, subject and series, while the official store enables online purchase of available titles.

Browse and buy directly from NBT: National Book Trust online catalogue and store

For children’s books: NBT’s Rashtriya Bal Pustakalaya catalogue

The official catalogue is worth browsing even if you do not have a particular title in mind. That is perhaps the most NBT-like way of buying a book: wander through the shelves, discover something unexpected and come away with more than you intended.

After all, for 70 years, the National Book Trust has been doing more than publishing books. It has been quietly pursuing a much larger project: making books affordable, accessible and visible in a country of immense linguistic and cultural diversity.

That is no small achievement.

So, as NBT enters its eighth decade, perhaps the best way to mark its 70th birthday is not with a ceremonial message alone.

Buy a book.

And read it.

Because somewhere in the founding vision of the National Book Trust was a wonderfully simple hope: that India would become a little more book minded.

And something that our PM Nehru said at the launch of NBT is still true today: ‘If people who go to cinema, give one-tenth of the money they spend on cinema to books, you would have enormous number of books sold in India.”

–Meena

Pic: Source: National Book Trust, India, NBT at a Glance.

A Passion for Pachyderms: R. Sukumar

August 12 is marked annually as World Elephant Day. It is a day dedicated to raising awareness about the urgent issues faced by elephants in the wild due to a number of factors including poaching for ivory, habitat loss and human-elephant conflicts. Initiated in 2012 as a plea to stop poaching, this day has grown into a full-scale movement linking scientists, rangers, and ordinary citizens with one goal: to keep elephants alive in their own habitats.

While this day brings together people from diverse areas of interest (perhaps for one day of the year), there are scientists who have dedicated their life to studying and understanding these majestic creatures. Research is an essential input for the management and conservation of elephants. In India, the scientific study on the ecology and the behavior of the elephant began as early as the 1970s. During this period a major study on elephants was carried out by the Centre for Ecological Sciences, Bangalore.

Following this, several scientific and research institutions in India have been studying various aspects of elephants in India.

One of the earliest scientists to study elephants in India has been Raman Sukumar. His jumbo journey began almost five decades ago. What sparked his interest, which grew into a passion, and led to significant contributions to the study of elephants?

Here is his story in his own words.

There was no hint during my early days of what I was eventually going to do. I was the usual city-bred child interested in games and various hobbies. I was very fond of books, an interest that I attribute to my maternal grandfather who was a bookseller. My maternal grandmother seems to have recognized a streak of the naturalist in me quite early on. I recall that for some reason she used to call me a vanavasi much before I ever went to a forest.

It was only when I reached high school that my eyes opened to the profound beauty of living creatures. At that time the world was also waking up to the crisis facing our environment—caused by pollution and the reckless exploitation of nature. The modern conservation movement was gathering momentum.

I had a passion for science and wanted to work in conservation. With this goal in mind I pursued botany at Loyola College and later at Vivekanand College in Madras. I was fortunate to have teachers who encouraged creative pursuits outside the framework of the regular syllabus.

I was also fortunate to be in Madras, which is almost unique in having a national park, the Guindy National Park, within the city. I spent most of my weekends at Guindy Park in the company of Selvakumar who was pursuing his studies in zoology. He had an amazing ability to describe anything, from an ant to a whale.

I still did not have the faintest idea of getting involved with elephants, although a passion for these pachyderms must have been latent in me. My first sighting of a wild elephant was not at all spectacular. In fact, I doubt if I saw an elephant at all. Our class was on a botanical tour of Mudumalai which is well known for its elephant population. I was talking to the Warden of Mudumalai when a rickety car rolled up and a familiar figure leaned out and boomed: “Hey boy what are you doing here?” It was Siddharth Buch, a naturalist-photographer and one of my earliest gurus in wildlife pursuits. He and some friends had driven from Madras in a rickety old jalopy. He enquired whether I had seen any elephants. I explained to him that we had only just arrived. He asked me to hop in as they were going for a drive along the Mayar river.

We had hardly gone a kilometer when Siddharth stopped the car and pointed towards a hillock and said “There is an elephant moving up the slope”. I strained my eyes but could not see any elephant. “Can’t you see the black shape moving through the bushes? That’s the back of the elephant.” It was midday and the jungle was a patchwork of light and shadow. I guess I did see something darker than a shadow but I could not see it moving. It may have been a rock but I nodded dutifully, meaning that I could indeed see a dark shape. “There my boy! I have shown you your first wild elephant!” announced Siddharth triumphantly. Whatever the true identity of that object, with the benefit of hindsight I must caution readers unaccustomed to the ways of wild elephants that it is always better to mistake a rock for an elephant than an elephant for a rock.

In August 1979 I joined the doctoral programme in ecology at the Indian Institute of Science in Bangalore. Madhav Gadgil had established the country’s first academic programme in modern ecology. When the time came to select a research topic for my thesis Madhav suggested some problems, among them a study of elephant-human conflict. My ears pricked up when he mentioned elephants. I had wanted to work on large mammals and what was better than studying elephants, although I must confess that such a thought had never occurred to me earlier.

Thus began my study of elephants in southern India in 1980, and which continues for the rest of my life. Over nearly five decades I have been studying them, photographing them, chasing them, and being chased by them. To even begin to understand this fascinating animal one has to spend several years in the field. Every month, every year, one learns some new facet of its character.

Elephants can be funny. Elephants can be frightening. They can be heartwarming and their study can be addicting. If the tiger is the spirit of the jungle, secret and elusive, the elephant is its body, large, majestic, making its presence felt with authority.

We at CEE were fortunate to have interacted with Dr Sukumar, and gained tremendously from his long experience and patient guidance. This piece by him, written at our request, was originally published in a CEE publication Walking the Wild Path. Dr Sukumar was also one of the reviewers of CEE’s NatureScope India for the special issue on Endangered Elephants.   

Raman Sukumar is Professor and Chairman at the Centre for Ecological Sciences, Indian Institute of Science, Bangalore, India, and Founder Trustee of the Asian Nature Conservation Foundation, Bangalore, India. He is the author of several books.

–Mamata

Championing Snakes: Romulus Whitaker

Slimy, sneaky, slithering, scaly, creepy, fanged and deadly, these are some words that are used to describe snakes. These members of the natural world are rarely bestowed with the more complimentary adjectives that their walking, leaping, swimming fellow members often are. Thus, snakes are universally feared, avoided, badmouthed, and when encountered, the first instinct is to eliminate them.

Fortunately, every snake has its day, and July 16 it is. This is celebrated as World Snake Day, a global observance which aims to reduce this negative stigma, dispel common myths, and highlight the ecological significance of these species. This day brings to mind my own journey of learning about snakes, and the person who sparked it. And to celebrate Romulus Whitaker who was one of the earliest champions of the snakes in India.

My snake story began probably in the first week that I started my career as an environmental educator. As part of our orientation, we went to Sundarvan, a small animal park with a collection of snakes. There we saw a Snake Show, as part of which, we were asked to touch a snake! The snake was a Red Sand Boa—a non-venomous snake. For someone who was, at that time, far from being a passionate wild-lifer, this was indeed an experience that served to dispel the many myths that one had grown up with. One of these were that snakes were “slimy”, and to be avoided at all costs. The skin of the sand boa felt dry and smooth, and we learnt that most snakes are in fact non-venomous.

And there began my long and fascinating journey in the natural world. A journey along which I had the most wonderful encounters with some of India’s best known naturalists and educators. One of these was Romulus Whitaker–the Snakeman of India.

Not so long after my induction by snakes, Romulus himself came to CEE and fascinated us with snake tales and the importance of breaking the myths that associated snakes with all things creepy and vile, and communicating the vital role of snakes in the ecosystem, especially as friends of farmers because they eat the rats that destroy crops.

A little later, Romulus graciously accepted to write a piece for a book that Meena and I were editing. In this he recounted how his early childhood years were spent exploring the fields and forests of northern New York State where he was born. Even as a toddler he was catching bugs and spiders, and soon graduated to catching snakes and keeping them in a terrarium in his room. At that point he was equally into dinosaurs and did not imagine that reptiles would one day become his passion as well as his profession. He was seven years old when his family moved to India. He recalled how “the snake charmers at Juhu Beach in Bombay were my first tutors but it wasn’t long before I outgrew their mixture of magic and nonsense.” His school days spent in Kodaikanal, amidst forests, gave him ample opportunity to roam in the wilderness. He returned to the United States for college studies, where he also worked at the Miami Serpentarium, then the biggest snake venom production lab in the world.

Romulus’s own journey is a testament to how a childhood fascination can grow into a not only a profession, but also a meaningful lifelong mission to champion the snakes. In his own words: So you see, that a child’s single-minded interest in creatures that most people think are slimy and scary can develop into a profession that is totally fulfilling. My own, very self-centred fascination with reptiles has grown by leaps and bounds and resulted in the Snake Park, Croc Bank and exciting educative films. These are ways of sharing a love and passion for the creatures that have given me such an enjoyable life.

When he returned to India, Romulus was determined to set up a serpentarium, and start a long-term study of reptiles. In the meanwhile, he also had to earn a living. He started writing articles for newspapers and magazines, often accompanied by a photo. He also started writing his first scientific notes on interesting things that he had observed about reptiles for the Journal of the Bombay Natural History Society. At the same time, he was also scouting around for a place to start a Snake Park; Madras (now Chennai) seemed to be the best choice. As he recalled: “To make a long story very short, I badgered and bothered people in the Forest Department and the Secretariat in Madras and finally got permission to set up India’s first Snake Park within beautiful Guindy National Park, the green heart of the city.” The Snake Park was attracted a lot of visitors who had the opportunity of observing snakes at close quarters, as well as knowing more about these usually maligned creatures.

Romulus’s real knowledge about snakes came from the Irula, an indigenous community of traditional snake catchers of Tamil Nadu. They became his friends and mentors, sharing their experience in every aspect of these reptiles—from finding and catching them unharmed, to snake bites. While studying incidents of snakebites in India, Whitaker discovered that numerous lives were lost due to inadequate production and distribution of anti-venom serum. That is when he mobilised the Irula community to form a snake catchers’ cooperative, who under licenses from the Wildlife Department, extract and freeze-dry venom from snakes and sell it to anti-venom producing laboratories before releasing the snakes back into the wild.

His passion to show and tell more people about reptiles led Romulus to start making documentary films. Rom was aware that films were a medium that could reach out to large audiences. Rom teamed up with two school friends John and Loise Riber, and a young filmmaker Shekar Dattatri to make a film on India’s snakebite problem. Made on a shoestring budget, the film Snakebite went on to win several awards. Later many of his films were supported by National Geographic Television, and have won international awards.

Romulus Whitaker has won many accolades including an Emmy Award, Whitley Fund for Nature Award, Rolex Award for Enterprise, Peter Scott Award for Conservation Merit, Salim Ali Award for Nature Conservation. In 2018 Romulus was awarded the Padma Shri for nature conservation.

In one of the interviews following the award Romulus said “I believe that touching a snake opens people’s minds and changes it forever.” I personally can totally vouch for that! 

Thank you Romulus Whitaker for helping to open a new world not just for me, but for generations of young people. And for being a lifelong champion of the snakes.

–Mamata

Kempegowda: The Visionary Who Gave Bengaluru Its Soul

Many cities have founders. Few have one whose vision continues to shape the city nearly five centuries later. As Bengaluru marks the anniversary (27 June) of its founder, Nadaprabhu Kempegowda, it is worth pausing to reflect not merely on the man, but on the remarkable administrator, planner and leader whose foresight laid the foundations of a city that would one day become India’s technology capital.

For most Bengalureans, Kempegowda is a familiar name. His statue greets travellers at the airport, major roads bear his name, and schoolchildren learn that he founded Bengaluru in 1537. Yet the true significance of his achievement lies beyond the simple fact that he established a town. What makes Kempegowda extraordinary is the quality of governance and urban planning he brought to his vision.

Born into a family of local chieftains under the larger framework of the Vijayanagara Empire, Kempegowda inherited responsibility for a region that consisted largely of villages, agricultural lands and trading settlements. Instead of merely ruling over existing territories, he imagined something larger—a thriving urban centre that could serve as a hub of commerce, culture and administration.

The Bengaluru he envisioned was not a city that grew by accident. It was carefully planned. Historical records suggest that he built a mud fort, established marketplaces, encouraged trade and developed infrastructure to support economic activity. In an age when rulers often focused on conquest, Kempegowda focused on creating conditions for prosperity.

Perhaps his most famous contribution to urban planning was the establishment of the four watchtowers that marked the city’s boundaries. Today, Bengaluru has expanded far beyond those limits, but the towers remain symbols of a leader who understood the importance of defining and managing urban growth. In modern governance language, we would call this spatial planning. Kempegowda practised it centuries before the term existed.

His administrative wisdom is equally noteworthy. Successful governance requires balancing multiple interests—farmers, traders, artisans, religious institutions and local communities. Evidence from historical accounts suggests that Kempegowda actively promoted trade and agriculture while ensuring public works were developed for the common good. Tanks and water bodies received attention because he understood a truth that remains relevant today: cities cannot flourish without secure water resources.

Indeed, one of the lessons modern Bengaluru can learn from Kempegowda concerns sustainability. Long before urban planners spoke of environmental resilience, he recognized the importance of lakes and irrigation systems. Many of the tanks developed during his period supported agriculture, groundwater recharge and community life. As Bengaluru grapples with water shortages and environmental challenges, Kempegowda’s approach offers a reminder that good governance means planning not only for today’s needs but also for future generations.

Another aspect of his leadership was inclusiveness. The markets and settlements he established attracted people from different communities and occupations. Bengaluru’s reputation as a welcoming city—a place where people from across India come to work, study and build new lives—can be traced back to these early foundations. The cosmopolitan spirit for which the city is celebrated today did not emerge overnight; it has deep historical roots.

What also stands out is Kempegowda’s ability to combine vision with execution. Many leaders dream of transformation, but fewer possess the administrative capability to turn ideas into reality. Founding a city required mobilizing resources, maintaining law and order, coordinating construction, encouraging settlement and ensuring economic viability. These are not merely political tasks; they are governance challenges. Kempegowda appears to have met them with remarkable effectiveness.

For citizens of modern Bengaluru, his legacy extends beyond monuments and commemorations. It is visible in the city’s enduring role as a centre of enterprise and innovation. Bengaluru’s global reputation as a hub for technology and entrepreneurship reflects qualities that Kempegowda himself valued: openness, opportunity and a willingness to build for the future.

Of course, no historical figure belongs entirely to the present. Kempegowda lived in a different era, under different political circumstances. Yet certain principles are timeless. Strategic planning, investment in public infrastructure, stewardship of natural resources and a commitment to creating opportunities for people remain the hallmarks of good governance today, just as they were in the sixteenth century.

As Bengaluru celebrates Kempegowda’s anniversary, the occasion should be more than a remembrance of the past. It should also be an invitation to reflect on the kind of city we wish to build. Rapid growth has brought immense opportunities, but also challenges of traffic, water, housing and environmental sustainability. Addressing these issues requires the same blend of vision and administrative competence that Kempegowda demonstrated centuries ago.

The founder of Bengaluru gave the city more than its beginning. He gave it a blueprint: plan thoughtfully, govern wisely and build for generations yet to come. That is why, nearly 500 years later, Kempegowda remains not just a historical figure, but a living presence in the story of Bengaluru.

Thank you, Kempegowda! Help us do justice to your vision!

–Meena

Pic: Courtesy The Hindu

Borim Kim: Climate Activist Every Action Counts

As we get ready to celebrate one more World Environment Day, for a few days, positive stories about actions to ‘save’ the environment will share space with the daily dose of gloom and doom that have become our daily fare. This week Meena wrote about how Governments are trying to make an impact, or measure the impact of global and national efforts to mitigate the overwhelming consequences of so many wrong steps.

While these are large-scale projects undertaken on large scales, throughout the history of environmental efforts, there have also been heart-warming stories of smaller efforts by small groups, communities, and even individuals, who have taken up causes and worked relentlessly for these. Most of these do not make the headlines, but they do make a difference in their own time and space. And some of these receive recognition.

One of these recognitions is The Goldman Environmental Prize. It was founded in 1989 by San Francisco civic leaders and philanthropists Richard and Rhoda Goldman as a way to demonstrate the international nature of environmental problems and draw public attention to the global need for action.

The Goldman Prize recognizes grassroots environmental champions for significant efforts to protect and restore the natural environment. It considers those leading campaigns locally, and effecting positive change through community participation as ‘grassroots leaders’. It is a recognition of “People of ordinary backgrounds doing extraordinary things to save our Earth”.

The Prize believes that a strong environmental movement requires diverse talents, perspectives, and leadership. Often referred to as the Green Nobel, the awards are conferred every year to outstanding environmental advocates from each of the world’s six inhabited geographic regions: Africa, Asia, Europe, Islands and Island nations, North America, South and Central America.

The 2026 Goldman Environmental Prizes were announced on Earth Day this year. A unique feature of this year’s prizes is that all the six winners are women!

Let us celebrate these women this month. Starting with Asia, and young blood

BORIS KIM

Activist Boris Kim and her organization Youth 4 Climate Change won the first youth-led climate litigation in Asia.

It was the summer of 2018, and South Korea was in the throes of a record-breaking heat wave. Borim Kim had just graduated from college and was working on energy conservation in a self-sufficient community in Seoul. The heat wave took a heavy toll as people struggled in buildings with no air conditioning. Borim realized that people, as individuals, could not escape the impacts of climate change. In her search for a way to become safer in the face of climate crisis, Borim found that many young people had similar concerns, but no solutions. This led her to start Youth 4 Climate Action (Y4CA).

Y4CA wanted to move the conversation away from individual solutions to the crisis, and work toward a fundamental transformation in society. The group started by organizing climate strikes and setting up meetings with decision-makers, including South Korea’s minister of education and minister of climate, energy, and environment. But the group soon realized that that just by demanding change, their safety in the face of the climate crisis was not guaranteed.

So in 2020, Borim decided to turn to the judiciary, which could require the legislature to act. Along with Y4CA, she organized a group of 19 youth who sued the South Korean government in the country’s constitutional court. Their suit, the first of its kind in Asia, made the case that the government was violating young people’s fundamental right to live in a clean environment by failing to adequately act on the climate crisis. Specifically, the plaintiffs contended that the government’s existing emissions reductions targets at the time — which sought to reduce emissions to 30 percent below 2020 levels by 2030 — were too weak. They argued that the absence of any additional planning past 2030 left future generations vulnerable. (Borim was not among the initial 19 plaintiffs, but she later joined the case, along with more than 200 others.)

In 2024, in a groundbreaking victory for the youth, the court agreed that the right to a clean environment includes protection from harms related to climate change. On that basis, it found that the government was violating youths’ rights by failing set emissions reductions targets for 2031 through 2049, in line with an existing national pledge to meet net-zero emissions by 2050. It ordered the Korean National Assembly to set such targets by February 2026.

Though the case represented the first youth-led national level climate victory outside of Europe, the plaintiffs didn’t win on all of their claims. Also due to political instability and inertia, the set targets were not achieved.

While the specific goal could not be achieved, the youth movement and the response from the judiciary were milestones in themselves. It was an affirmation that South Korean citizens had a basic right to “exist safely in the face of climate change”. As Borim Kim said, Ultimately, it created a red line from which the country’s climate policies would not go backwards.

Borim Kim continues to work to ensure that climate action moves forward in South Korea. Y4CA is also sharing lessons learned with other youth-led groups across Asia, including a group from Japan that is bringing a constitutional climate claim there. And she’s continuing to build the climate movement in South Korea. That includes making sure that youth and those who most directly face the inequalities of climate change have a voice in decision-making.

Borim Kim is the face of the future for the new generation that must bear the heavy brunt of climate change. A true ‘grassroots leader’ and deserving winner of the Goldman Environmental Prize.

Happy World Environment Day 2026.

–Mamata

Jack de Sequeira: The Man Who Helped Goa Choose Its Own Future

In the story of modern India, there are some leaders whose influence stretches far beyond the offices they held or the elections they won. They altered the direction of history itself. One such figure was Jack de Sequeira — often remembered as the “Father of the Opinion Poll” in Goa.

At a time when the newly liberated territory of Goa stood at a crossroads, Jack de Sequeira championed something radical for the era: the right of ordinary people to decide their political future directly. His efforts culminated in the historic Goa Opinion Poll of 1967 — the only referendum-like exercise ever conducted in independent India on a major political merger question. Its consequences continue to shape Goa’s culture, language, identity, and politics even today.

Goa After Liberation: A Question of Identity

When Indian forces ended Portuguese colonial rule in Goa in December 1961, the region entered a completely new political reality. Goa, along with Daman and Diu, became a Union Territory of India. But soon another question emerged: should Goa remain distinct, or should it merge with neighbouring Maharashtra?

The merger proposal was not merely administrative. It involved deeper questions of language, culture, identity, and history. Many leaders in Maharashtra argued that Goa’s Konkani-speaking population shared cultural ties with Marathi-speaking Maharashtra and should therefore be integrated into it.

But others feared that Goa’s unique identity — shaped by centuries of interaction between Indian and Portuguese traditions — would disappear within a much larger state.

This was the moment when Jack de Sequeira emerged as a defining voice.

The Rise of a Reluctant Hero

Born in 1915 in Portuguese Goa, Jack de Sequeira was not a fiery revolutionary in the conventional sense. He was measured, thoughtful, and deeply democratic in temperament. Yet beneath that calm exterior was remarkable political courage.

He founded and led the United Goans Party, which became the principal force opposing Goa’s merger with Maharashtra. At the time, this was not an easy or universally popular stand. Powerful political groups supported merger, including influential sections of the ruling establishment.

But Sequeira argued that Goa possessed its own cultural personality — expressed through Konkani language, local traditions, village institutions, architecture, cuisine, music, and social life.

Today this argument may sound obvious. In the 1960s, it was fiercely contested.

The Historic Opinion Poll

Rather than allowing politicians alone to decide Goa’s fate, Jack de Sequeira demanded that the people themselves should choose.

This was a bold democratic idea. Independent India had never before conducted a public vote of this nature on whether a territory should merge with another state.

After intense political campaigning and negotiations, the Government of India agreed. On January 16, 1967, Goa held the historic Opinion Poll.

Voters were asked a straightforward question:
Should Goa merge with Maharashtra, or remain a separate Union Territory?

The campaign was emotional, passionate, and deeply personal for many Goans. Villages debated the issue intensely. Families argued over it. Public meetings drew huge crowds.

Jack de Sequeira became the symbolic face of the anti-merger movement. His speeches often emphasised dignity, self-respect, and the importance of preserving Goa’s individuality.

When the votes were counted, the anti-merger side won decisively.

Goa would remain separate. The Opinion Poll permanently altered Goa’s trajectory.

Saving Konkani and Goan Identity

The Opinion Poll strengthened the long campaign for recognition of Konkani as a distinct language rather than merely a dialect of Marathi. Decades later, Konkani would gain official recognition in the Eighth Schedule of the Indian Constitution.

Equally important, Goa retained a political structure that allowed local culture to flourish on its own terms. Its distinctive blend of Indian and Lusophone heritage survived not as a museum piece, but as a living social reality. (BTW, Lusophone refers to any person, country, or community that speaks the Portuguese language. Derived from the ancient Roman province of Lusitania (roughly modern-day Portugal), the term is also used as an adjective (Lusophone Africa) or to describe the global Portuguese-speaking culture and community –the “Lusophone world”.)

Many Goans today — whether Catholic, Hindu, urban, rural, Konkani-speaking, English-speaking, or Marathi-speaking — continue to see the Opinion Poll as a foundational moment.

A Legacy Larger Than Politics

Jack de Sequeira later served in Parliament and remained respected across political divides. But his greatest legacy was not electoral success. It was helping a small territory articulate confidence in its own identity.

Interestingly, his leadership style contrasts sharply with modern political culture. He was not known for theatrical populism or aggressive rhetoric. Instead, he relied on persuasion, consensus-building, and democratic principle.

That may partly explain why his memory still carries unusual moral weight in Goa.

Today roads, institutions, and memorials honour him. Yet perhaps the most enduring tribute is Goa itself — a state that still retains a distinct cultural voice within India.Top of Form

Any time you visit Goa, don’t forget to give thanks to him—Goa is what it is today because of him!

And as the debate about the identify, administration and control of Ladakh are ongoing, it is a good time to remind ourselves of how we handled such situations in the past.

–Meena

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In the story of modern India, there are some leaders whose influence stretches far beyond the offices they held or the elections they won. They altered the direction of history itself. One such figure was Jack de Sequeira — often remembered as the “Father of the Opinion Poll” in Goa.

At a time when the newly liberated territory of Goa stood at a crossroads, Jack de Sequeira championed something radical for the era: the right of ordinary people to decide their political future directly. His efforts culminated in the historic Goa Opinion Poll of 1967 — the only referendum-like exercise ever conducted in independent India on a major political merger question. Its consequences continue to shape Goa’s culture, language, identity, and politics even today.

Goa After Liberation: A Question of Identity

When Indian forces ended Portuguese colonial rule in Goa in December 1961, the region entered a completely new political reality. Goa, along with Daman and Diu, became a Union Territory of India. But soon another question emerged: should Goa remain distinct, or should it merge with neighbouring Maharashtra?

The merger proposal was not merely administrative. It involved deeper questions of language, culture, identity, and history. Many leaders in Maharashtra argued that Goa’s Konkani-speaking population shared cultural ties with Marathi-speaking Maharashtra and should therefore be integrated into it.

But others feared that Goa’s unique identity — shaped by centuries of interaction between Indian and Portuguese traditions — would disappear within a much larger state.

This was the moment when Jack de Sequeira emerged as a defining voice.

The Rise of a Reluctant Hero

Born in 1915 in Portuguese Goa, Jack de Sequeira was not a fiery revolutionary in the conventional sense. He was measured, thoughtful, and deeply democratic in temperament. Yet beneath that calm exterior was remarkable political courage.

He founded and led the United Goans Party, which became the principal force opposing Goa’s merger with Maharashtra. At the time, this was not an easy or universally popular stand. Powerful political groups supported merger, including influential sections of the ruling establishment.

But Sequeira argued that Goa possessed its own cultural personality — expressed through Konkani language, local traditions, village institutions, architecture, cuisine, music, and social life.

Today this argument may sound obvious. In the 1960s, it was fiercely contested.

The Historic Opinion Poll

Rather than allowing politicians alone to decide Goa’s fate, Jack de Sequeira demanded that the people themselves should choose.

This was a bold democratic idea. Independent India had never before conducted a public vote of this nature on whether a territory should merge with another state.

After intense political campaigning and negotiations, the Government of India agreed. On January 16, 1967, Goa held the historic Opinion Poll.

Voters were asked a straightforward question:
Should Goa merge with Maharashtra, or remain a separate Union Territory?

The campaign was emotional, passionate, and deeply personal for many Goans. Villages debated the issue intensely. Families argued over it. Public meetings drew huge crowds.

Jack de Sequeira became the symbolic face of the anti-merger movement. His speeches often emphasised dignity, self-respect, and the importance of preserving Goa’s individuality.

When the votes were counted, the anti-merger side won decisively.

Goa would remain separate. The Opinion Poll permanently altered Goa’s trajectory.

Saving Konkani and Goan Identity

The Opinion Poll strengthened the long campaign for recognition of Konkani as a distinct language rather than merely a dialect of Marathi. Decades later, Konkani would gain official recognition in the Eighth Schedule of the Indian Constitution.

Equally important, Goa retained a political structure that allowed local culture to flourish on its own terms. Its distinctive blend of Indian and Lusophone heritage survived not as a museum piece, but as a living social reality. (BTW, Lusophone refers to any person, country, or community that speaks the Portuguese language. Derived from the ancient Roman province of Lusitania (roughly modern-day Portugal), the term is also used as an adjective (Lusophone Africa) or to describe the global Portuguese-speaking culture and community –the “Lusophone world”.)

Many Goans today — whether Catholic, Hindu, urban, rural, Konkani-speaking, English-speaking, or Marathi-speaking — continue to see the Opinion Poll as a foundational moment.

A Legacy Larger Than Politics

Jack de Sequeira later served in Parliament and remained respected across political divides. But his greatest legacy was not electoral success. It was helping a small territory articulate confidence in its own identity.

Interestingly, his leadership style contrasts sharply with modern political culture. He was not known for theatrical populism or aggressive rhetoric. Instead, he relied on persuasion, consensus-building, and democratic principle.

That may partly explain why his memory still carries unusual moral weight in Goa.

Today roads, institutions, and memorials honour him. Yet perhaps the most enduring tribute is Goa itself — a state that still retains a distinct cultural voice within India.Top of Form

Any time you visit Goa, don’t forget to give thanks to him—Goa is what it is today because of him!

And as the debate about the identify, administration and control of Ladakh are ongoing, it is a good time to remind ourselves of how we handled such situations in the past.

–Meena

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

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/

The Lady at the Helm: Sumati Morarji

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

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

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

The Matilda Effect: When Women-Scientists are Written Out

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