When Allegations Replace Evidence: Defending Scientific Integrity and National Interest

 

In recent days, sections of the Indian media  have carried reports (links given at the end of the essay) that insinuate so called wrongdoing by one of India’s respected nuclear scientists synonymous with integrity, institutional leadership, and national service. The reports, drawing tenuous links between a US-based thorium start-up company – Clean Core Thorium Energy (CCTE) - and an Indian scientist with a long public association with India’s thorium programme, suggest impropriety without producing any substantive evidence. This is deeply disturbing, not merely because of the individual involved, but because of what such reportage does to the ecosystem of science, public trust, and national interest.

I write this note not as a distant observer, but as someone who has known and observed the concerned scientist very closely and has experienced first-hand the intellectual rigour, transparency, and personal modesty with which he has conducted himself over decades. Those who know him—across governments, scientific institutions, and political divides—will attest that his reputation for honesty is not constructed by public relations, but earned through a lifetime of principled work, unparalleled.

Thorium, Long-Term Vision, and Misplaced Suspicion

India’s interest in thorium is neither new nor accidental. It is embedded in Homi Bhabhi’s – founding father of Indian Nuclear Programme - three-stage nuclear programme and has been pursued patiently and persistently over seven decades by many scientists at BARC and DAE, precisely because thorium-based energy is complex, long-gestation, and capital intensive. That CCTE claims a technological breakthrough in thorium utilisation does not automatically translate into Indian failure, nor does it imply that Indian scientists have been negligent, compromised, or deceitful.

History reveals in abundance that any scientific progress does not follow nationalist timelines or media cycles. It evolves through cumulative global knowledge, incremental breakthroughs, and cross-border intellectual exchange—much of which is openly published. Therefore, to insinuate that CCTE named their product “ANEEL” by their founder - who has publicly expressed his admiration for an Indian scientist in whose honour the name has been given - points to ethical lapses is to stretch conjecture into accusation, perhaps aimed at something sinister.

Anyone who is in the business of science will know that admiration is not appropriation. Association is not complicity. And innovation elsewhere is not evidence of betrayal at home.

Due Process, Not Trial by Headline

If there exists even any evidence that any public figure—scientist, bureaucrat, or industrialist—has compromised national interest, then the law must take its course. No individual, howsoever eminent, should be above scrutiny. But scrutiny must be grounded in facts, not framed through ill-conceived insinuation.

What is troubling about these reports is not inquiry per se, but their tone and timing—suggesting guilt while outsourcing proof to implication. This is not investigative journalism; it is narrative construction. Such “trial by headline” damages reputations built over lifetimes and discourages precisely the kind of public-spirited scientific expertise India needs in strategic sectors, more so in the current times.

It also risks chilling effects: why would accomplished scientists advise governments, mentor start-ups, or participate in international knowledge forums if every engagement can later be retrofitted into suspicion?

A Pattern Worth Noticing

This episode also brings to mind recent insinuations against Sridhar Vembu, founder of Zoho - another individual who has built global excellence from Indian soil, invested deeply in domestic capability.  In his case, personal matters and perceived political sympathies were dragged into public discourse to cast aspersions on professional credibility.

The common thread in both cases is not ideology, but independence. Individuals who do not neatly align with pre conceived narratives—corporate, political, or media—often become soft targets. When success cannot be ignored, motives are questioned. When integrity stands firm, insinuation is deployed.

This is not healthy dissent. It is reputational sabotage.

On Timing and National Interest

It is also impossible to ignore the timing of these insinuations. At a moment when India’s nuclear and clean-energy sector is poised for significant expansion—potentially involving billions of dollars in long-term investment, global partnerships, and strategic technology collaboration—the casual sensationalisation of unproven accusations risks doing collateral damage to national credibility. Reckless narratives in sensitive sectors do not merely tarnish reputations; they can deter investment, adversely impact collaboration, and inadvertently undermine the very national interests they claim to defend.

Who Benefits from these Narratives?

It is legitimate to ask: who gains when India’s most credible scientific voices are undermined? Who benefits when long-term, strategic technologies like thorium are portrayed as national “failures” just as global interest in them accelerates? And why do such stories surface without parallel examination of India’s institutional constraints, international regulatory regimes, or the deliberate choices made to prioritise safety and sovereignty over speed?

If there are vested interests—commercial, geopolitical, or ideological—hostile to India’s strategic autonomy in energy and technology, then weakening public confidence in its scientific leadership is an effective tactic. Therefore, it is necessary that, journalism which carries power must be responsible in its writings. It is essential to remember that power without responsibility corrodes democracy. Freedom of the press does not necessarily include freedom from facts. India needs fearless journalism—but also fair journalism.

Besides, it is also crucial to remember that parallel innovations must never be misread as failure.

Science does not progress in a vacuum. Nor does it move at the pace of headlines. Breakthroughs emerge through decades of cumulative effort, often followed by faster applied developments that draw upon earlier foundational research – I could see   further by standing on the shoulders of giants, a statement of Isaac Newton, paraphrased. To misunderstand this is to misunderstand science itself.

Parallel Progress is Not Proof of Failure

The central argument -  falsely assumed conclusion - advanced in the report of the media in subject is that ANEEL, thorium-based nuclear fuel somehow exposes India’s decades-long thorium effort is a “flop”. This conclusion is logically flawed and historically ignorant.

A powerful counter example lies in the Human Genome Project (HGP). Launched in 1986 as a publicly funded programme under the US Department of Energy and the National Institutes of Health, the HGP was deliberately methodical, transparent, and slow by design. Led by Francis Collins, it took nearly 17 years to sequence the human genome, ensuring accuracy, reproducibility, and open access.

Contrarily, in the late 1990s, Celera Genomics, a private company founded by Craig Venter, entered the field, using faster technologies (whole genome shot gun sequencing method), advanced computation, and—crucially—the vast body of publicly available data, and completed the genome sequencing in quick time. In April 2003, both, Human Genome Project and Celera published their results simultaneously—one in Nature on 14 April 2003, the other in Science, 15 April 2003.

What followed is instructive. No one accused the US, DOE HGP project of failure. No one alleged that scientists from the HGP had secretly colluded with Celera. Instead, the scientific community acknowledged an obvious truth: private innovation had climbed on the shoulders of a massive public scientific foundation. The two efforts were seen as complementary, not conspiratorial.

The story of thorium is perhaps no different.

India’s interest in thorium was never a short-term commercial gamble, like the HGP. It was conceived as a strategic, sovereign, and long-horizon programme, rooted in Homi Bhabha’s three-stage nuclear vision, tailored to India’s resource constraints and energy security needs. Thorium fuel cycles are scientifically complex, regulator-intensive, and unforgiving of haste.The programme prioritised safety, non-proliferation, and indigenous capability over speed. Much of its output—reactor physics, materials science, fuel behaviour—has been openly published and has contributed to global knowledge. This is precisely how foundational science is meant to function.

That a foreign start up today claims progress in thorium-based fuel does not invalidate decades of Indian research. It validates it.

To portray ANEEL has somehow “beaten” India’s nuclear programme is misleading. Nuclear fuel development unfolds over decades, not funding cycles. If anything, the current progress reflects the maturity of global thorium knowledge—much of it generated by public programmes like India’s.

India’s nuclear decisions are not shaped by individuals acting alone; they are an outcome of layered oversight, regulatory scrutiny, and collective scientific judgment. Reducing such a programme to a morality tale centred on one individual does not illuminate truth—it distorts it.

There is nothing wrong with asking hard questions. But there is a world of difference between inquiry and insinuation. Science journalism demands knowledge, especially in domains such as nuclear energy, where timelines are long, risks are real, and trade-offs are unavoidable.

India’s thorium programme is not a failure because others are building upon it. The scientist’s integrity is not diminished because he is admired globally. And science does not stand discredited because it advances through parallel paths.

The Human Genome Project was not a failure because Celera arrived later and moved faster. Bell Labs did not fail because the integrated circuit blossomed elsewhere. Nor did the Digital Camera fail because the company which invented it could not to recognise its potential. Similarly, India’s thorium journey does not collapse because applied innovation has entered a new phase.

What fails, instead, is journalism when it mistakes the rhythm of science for scandal.

Links to the two media reports cited in the article:

Image : Courtesy Wikicommons

(https://www.businessworld.in/article/india-s-big-nuclear-flop-how-a-crown-jewel-slipped-away-585953

and 

https://www.dnaindia.com/india/report-70-years-of-india-s-thorium-research-breakthrough-comes-from-us-startup-what-role-did-barc-s-anil-kakodkar-play-at-private-firm-3196067/amp)

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Somnath at 1000: From Ruin (1026) to Remembrance (2026)

 

A thousand years before, on 8 January 1026 CE, the temple of Somnath, home to the famous Jyotirlinga, in Saurashtra, was attacked, plundered, and desecrated by Mahmud of Ghazni. Exactly one thousand years later, Somnath once again occupied the national gaze —this time as the site of a Shaurya Yatra (11 January 2026). The ‘Shaurya Yatra’ - a ceremonial procession organised in memory and honour of innumerable warriors who laid down their lives defending the Somnath Temple - was led by the Prime Minister, Shri Narendra Modi. This procession was a culmination of a three-day event, organised in a festive-like spirit, in the presence of a massive crowd. The procession was marked by the symbolic presence of 108 Kathia wadi and Marwari horses - belonging to the Gujrat mountain Unit, and the event was broadcast live across the country. The event reminded the citizens that it carries with it millennia of civilisational ethos to preserve the religious and cultural traditions and ethos of the nation.

Few places in India so starkly embody the long arc of history as Somnath—an arc that began a thousand years before and runs across centuries of repeated loot and destruction to regeneration, from trauma to resilience.

The history of Somnath begins with that infamous day, 8 January 1026 CE, when the loot, destruction, and desecration of the revered Shivalinga unfolded at the Somnath Temple. This destruction was led by the invading marauder from Afghanistan, Mahmud of Ghazni, who undertook around fifteen major expeditions into the Indian subcontinent, many aimed at prosperous cities and religious centres. This history now completes its millennium with the grand Shaurya Yatra, which must serve the nation as an act of collective remembrance—honouring the trials endured by generations of Indians who withstood repeated onslaughts, only to rise again—and as a celebration of civilisational continuity, affirming that what was once sought to be erased has instead endured, renewed and remained resolute.

A telling anecdote from India’s diplomatic history further illuminates the asymmetry of historical memory surrounding Somnath. When Atal Bihari Vajpayee served as India’s External Affairs Minister and visited Afghanistan in 1978, he requested that his counterpart take him to Ghazni—the seat of power from which Mahmud of Ghazni launched repeated raids into India, including the devastating attack on Somnath. The Afghanistan minister reportedly responded with surprise, noting that Ghazni no longer occupied any special place in Afghanistan’s historical consciousness, nor did Mahmud figure prominently in popular memory there. Vajpayee later reflected on this exchange to observe that while conquerors may fade from the lands they once ruled, the wounds they inflict often remain etched in the memory of those who endured them—certain scars, he remarked, endure for a lifetime. The episode captures, with quiet poignancy, how Somnath lives not as a footnote of conquest elsewhere, but as a lasting chapter in India’s civilisational experience.

Some of my friends may find this post of mine out of place, since my posts are normally confined to science and history of science, the subject in which I spent my 35 years of service with NCSM - working as a curator and science communicator with different the science museums and centres. However, for the past four years, following my retirement from science museums, I have been working as a Senior Advisor at the Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Vastu Sangrahalaya (CSMVS), formerly the Prince of Wales Museum, which engages deeply with art, culture, history, sociology, and religious traditions of India’s extraordinarily rich civilisational past. This transition—from a science museum ecosystem to an art and cultural institution—has been intellectually enriching and has motivated me in attempting this post.

In January 1026, Mahmud of Ghazni led a brutal expedition from Afghanistan, marching through harsh deserts to reach Prabhas Patan in Gujarat. It took three days for the ruthless Ghazni army armed to their teeth to overcome the resistance raised by the common men who resisted the conquest even as their king had retreated to a safer place. Ghazni’s forces attacked the temple, shattering the sacred jyotirlinga (Shiva lingam), slaughtering thousands of defenders, and looting treasures —gold, jewels, and even the temple's famed sandalwood gates, which were carted back to Ghazni. Contemporary sources describe the Shivalinga being broken into pieces, with fragments embedded in mosque steps as a symbol of Islamic conquest. Yet, this was no isolated tragedy; Somnath, one of Hinduism's holiest Jyotirlingas, became a target for invaders seeking to assert dominance over India's spiritual heart.

The temple's brief history of destruction continued across centuries:

• In 725 CE, Arab governor Junayd ibn Abd ar-Rahman al-Murri first ravaged it during early Islamic expansions into Sindh and Gujarat.
• In 1299 CE, Alauddin Khilji's general Ulugh Khan demolished it again, reportedly taking the lingam to Delhi to be trampled underfoot—though Rajput legends in texts like Kanhadade Prabandha speak of heroic recoveries by warriors like Kanhadadeva.
• 1395 CE saw Muzaffar Shah I (Zafar Khan) destroy it and establish a mosque on site.
• In 1451 CE, Sultan Mahmud Begada desecrated it during his Gujarat campaigns.
• The Mughal emperor Aurangzeb ordered its obliteration in 1665 and again in 1706, converting the ruins into a mosque and forbidding repairs "beyond possibility."

What lends particular historical weight to the episode is its documentation by Al-Biruni, the 11th-century scholar, who was associated with the Ghaznavid court who chronicled the conquest stories of Ghazni. In his description of the site of Somnath, Biruni writes “The location of the Somnath temple was a little less than three miles west of the mouth of the river Sarasvati. The temple stood on the coast of the Indian Ocean so that at the time of high tide the idol was bathed by the sea’s water.”

Al-Biruni confirms the destruction of the temple and attributes Mahmud’s raids to both plunder and what was presented as religious iconoclasm. Significantly, he also reflects on the broader consequences of these campaigns, observing that they ruined the prosperity of India, deepened hostility toward foreigners, and caused scholars of Indian sciences to flee regions “conquered by us.” This acknowledgement of cultural and intellectual loss sets Al-Biruni apart from more triumphalist chroniclers.

Later Persian narratives embellished the story further—claiming that fragments of the shattered Shivalinga were carried to Ghazni and placed at a mosque entrance as a symbol of victory. While some modern historians debate the literal accuracy of such details, there is little doubt that Somnath became a powerful symbol in medieval imagination. As historian Jamal Malik has argued, the destruction of Somnath played a crucial role in constructing Mahmud as an “icon of Islam” in Persianate histories.

Somnath did not vanish after 1026. It was attacked and rebuilt multiple times over the centuries. Each reconstruction was more than architectural; it was cultural defiance. Reflecting on this recurring cycle, Swami Vivekananda observed in 1897: “Somnath of Gujarat and temples like it will teach you volumes of wisdom… continually destroyed and continually springing up out of the ruins, rejuvenated.”

Each time, the temple rose from the ashes through the devotion of Hindu rulers and communities. After Ghazni's raid, Chaulukya king Bhimdev I began repairs, with full reconstruction under Kumarapala in 1169 CE using exquisite stone and jewels. Post-Khilji, Chudasama king Mahipala I rebuilt the temple in 1308. Legends abound of the idol's salvation: priests hiding fragments in secret underground shrines (as in the 1783 era under Ahilyabai Holkar), or even casting it into the sea to evade desecration. In one account from the 1299 invasion, the lingam was spirited away and reinstated, symbolising faith's defiance. By 1783, Maratha queen Ahilyabai Holkar constructed a new shrine nearby to preserve worship, ensuring the sacred flame never extinguished.

This cycle of destruction and rebirth culminated in independent India's era. In 1947, just months after Partition, Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel visited the site and vowed reconstruction of the Somnath temple as a symbol of national unity. With Mahatma Gandhi's blessing (who insisted on public funding over government money), the Somnath Trust—led by K.M. Munshi—raised funds from devotees nationwide to construct a grand Somnath temple. The new temple, built in the traditional Chalukya style, was completed by 1951 referring to the archaeological excavations and using skilled craftsmanship.

On May 11, 1951, President Dr. Rajendra Prasad consecrated and inaugurated the new temple, installing the jyotirlinga amid Vedic chants. It is said that, in his inaugural speech (unfortunately blacked out by All India Radio), President Rajendra Prasad hailed Somnath as a beacon of India's enduring faith and prosperity. He called the Somnath temple the "Temple of Human Welfare." This did not please the Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru, who opposed the project as "Hindu revivalism" and had written multiple letters advising Prasad against attending, fearing it would undermine secularism. Yet, Prasad stood firm, declaring that true secularism embraces all faiths without erasing heritage.

Today, as we commemorate the Shaurya Yatra, we must remind ourselves that Somnath isn't just another temple—it's a testament to Bharat's resilience. Over 1,000 years, invaders shattered it six major times, but devotion rebuilt it again and again, seven times. Today, as we reflect on this millennium, let's celebrate that unyielding spirit. The spirit of Somnath, which inspire the nation as a symbol of cultural endurance.

 

National Science Centre, Delhi: An Institutional Memory

 National Science Centre, Delhi: An Institutional Memory from Conception to Consolidation.

As the National Science Centre, Delhi (NSCD) commemorates another anniversary today – 9 January, having been associated with this institution for 16 plus years and served this centre in two spells, the second as its third Director – March 2007 to December 2010, I am honoured to chronicle the Centre’s own institutional history—not merely through dates and milestones, but through memory, context, and experience.

Since I was one among the early people who were associated with NSCD from its formative years - I joined NSCD in 1988, on transfer from National Council of Science Museums (NCSM) Calcutta (now Kolkata) -  and served this centre in multiple professional capacities between 1988 and 2001, and later had the honour of leading it as Director from March 2007 to December 2010, I feel honoured to write this piece. I also had the honour to be present when the Centre was dedicated to the nation on this day, 9 January 1992, by then Prime Minister Shri PV Narasimha Rao and even before that, when the building itself was taking shape—physically and conceptually, under the guidance of the founder Director General of NCSM, Dr Saroj Ghose and the hands on man at the heart of the NSCD, Mr PK Bhaumik, under whom I served for 13 years.

The Genesis: Vision Before Infrastructure

The origins of NSCD are inseparable from the perseverance and conviction of its Founder Director, Shri P. K. Bhaumik, who was transferred from BITM, Kolkata to serve as the Project officer of National Science Centre, Delhi, a project which was to be developed on the recommendations of the Planning Commission report. Mr Bhaumik started his assignment on 1^st January 1980, with the mandate to establish a national level science centre in Delhi. At that stage, there was no land, no building, and no institutional infrastructure—only a vision, and a mandate for NCSM, which had been formed as a separate autonomous body detached from CSIR, under which two museums, BITM, Calcutta and VITM Bangalore, were established and the third museum, the Nehru Science Centre, Mumbai was planned.

Mr Bhaumiks early working conditions are rarely recorded in the history of NSCD. Those were the days of trials and tribulations for not just Mr Bhaumik but also for NCSM, which was passing through periods of unrest, strikes by staff who were opposed to a separate NCSM that was carved out from CSIR. Both NCSM and Mr Bhaumik and others passed through period of trials and tribulations and this was more a challenging one for Mr Bhaumik who had been transferred to Delhi under these trying circumstances.

Mr Bhaumik, within a month of his arriving in Delhi as Project officer, managed to scout a office space - one rupee-a-month – that was available on rent from the New Delhi Municipal Council (NDMC) in Chanakyapuri at the Swimming Pool building on the Nehru Park. He also managed to obtain five small residential units from NDMC at 1 Rs per month as rent to accommodate early staff members and also to provide a dormitory space for touring officials from NCSM. In his interview with Dr Sthanapati, former DDG of NCSM, Mr Bhaumik has spoken about his early challenges and has also mentioned that the residential quarters he took from NDMC were originally meant for washermen, who had declined to accept these tiny shelters. It was from these humble hutments like residential shelters that Mr Bhaumik and his colleagues began the work for the NSCD, in those early days.    

It was from the make shift office in from a municipal swimming pool complex, and residential accommodation in dhobi quarters, that the foundation for the NSCD were laid by Mr Bhaumik. Mr Bhaumik has recalled in his interview to Dr Sthanapati that for four years 1980-84 he and his small team scouted for many places but it was only in 1984 that they made a break through.

By then Mr Bhaumik had many stalwarts - associated with NCSM - who were helping and advising him for identifying a proper site for NSCD. Although he had identified some places but then those places were not approved by Dr Saroj Ghose, who was the Director Museums of NCSM. A breakthrough came when, with support from Prof HY Mohan Ram the founder Chairman of the Executive Committee of NSCD, Mr Bhaumik was able to establish contact with the Prime Ministers office. Prof Mohan Ram’s elder brother was Mr. HY Sharada Prasad, who was the Press Secretary to Mrs Indira Gandhi. With their support Mr Bhaumik could impress upon Md. Yunus, Chairman of India's erstwhile Trade Fair Authority (now India Trade Promotion Organization) to spare some land inside the Pragati Maidan complex for the development of NSCD.

Since Mr Bhaumik had come with a backing from PMO, and supported by Mr Yunus, he was offered 2.5 acres of plot of land inside Pragati Maidan, on the Mathura Road, and this offer came in the form of a formal offer letter. However, the joy of this prime piece of land for NSCD was short-lived since the offer was withdrawn and this piece of land was given to Appu Ghar builders.

Finally, a plot of land on Bhairon Marg, where the NSCD is now situated, was allotted by TFAI to NCSM for the development of NSCD. This allotment was a result of many meetings and discussions with higher authorities that were supported by late H.Y. Mohan Ram, his brother, HY Sharada Prasad, Dr S. Varadarajan, the then G.B. Chairman of NCSM and Dr. (Mrs.) Kapila Vatsyayan, the then Additional Secy. Dept. of Culture, and others, who deserve to be credited and for the allotment of the land.

Incidentally, before the work could begin at Pragati Maidan plot of land for NSCD, there was another plot of land – an abandoned stone quarry - that was allotted at Timarpur, old Delhi area at the North end of the city limits. It was a large plot of land (16 Acres), which had many challenges since the land was undulated with rocky structures, and had many water bodies. Make shift office was therefore shifted from the Swimming Pool area to another makeshift office in a shed that was created at the new site at Timarpur. NCSM decided to convert this large plot of land into a science park. Accordingly, a large Science Park was developed in this plot of land, which served as a precursor to NSCD. The science park and the nature of its interactive and participative type of exhibits appealed to the people and incidentally, this was overwhelmingly supported by politicians like Dr Harsh Vardhan, who served as a Cabinet Minister. However, this land had to be later surrendered for the development of the Delhi Metro.

Architecture and Identity of NSCD: Achyut Kanvinde’s Vision

The architectural identity of NSCD is integral to its institutional character. Designed by Achyut Kanvinde, one of India’s most respected architects with international standing, the building was consciously modelled on the nearby Purana Qila, lending it a castle-like form that symbolically connects India’s past with its scientific future.

I had the privilege of interacting with Kanvinde during the construction phase—an experience that reinforced the idea that architecture itself can be an educational medium. NSCD’s building is not merely a container for exhibits; it is part of the narrative.

Dedication to the Nation and Early Milestones

When NSCD was dedicated to the nation on 9 January 1992, with three main galleries – Our Heritage, Fun Science and Information Revolution - it represented a new paradigm in science communication—interactive, experiential, and inclusive. From its earliest galleries to iconic installations such as the Energy Ball at the entrance escalator, the Centre sought to make scientific concepts accessible and engaging to diverse audiences.

NSCD also emerged as a technological pioneer. It became the first science centre to host NICNET connectivity in 1992, with a satellite antenna installed atop the building. In July 1996, less than a year after the Internet arrived in India, NSCD launched Intel Cyberskool, inaugurated by Dr Craig Barrett, then Chairman of Intel. This initiative provided email and internet access to the general public at a time when such access was rare. I was directly involved in conceptualising and implementing this programme.

Global Recognition and Institutional Growth

One of NSCD’s most significant achievements was the Information Revolution Gallery, which earned the prestigious Dibner Award, making NSCD the first and only science centre to receive this honour—placing it among the world’s leading science and technology museums. I was among the team of curators who were involved in curating and developing this gallery.

During my tenure as Director (2007–2010), focused efforts were made to broaden NSCD’s social reach—engaging with a wide audience madrassas, underserved communities, and non-traditional audiences—while also strengthening the connect of the centre with its main target audience, the school and college students. We also established international collaborations including organising an exhibition from the Nobel Museum, Sweeden. These efforts resulted in sustained growth in visitor engagement and institutional relevance. From the highest ever visitor to the NSCD of around 2 Lacs per year, since its inception in 1992 to the year 2007 – except during the year when Dinosaur exhibition was held in NSCD -  the centre managed to more than double its visitors in the financial year 2007-08 and I had the honour to lead this dedicated team, which achieved this success.

Continuity and Change

Today, with new galleries such as the Digital World Gallery, NSCD continues to evolve while remaining anchored in its founding ethos. The Centre stands as a living institution—one that has adapted to changing scientific, technological, and societal contexts without losing sight of its core mission.

Concluding Note

Institutions endure because of people—visionaries, administrators, educators, designers, and countless staff members whose contributions often go unrecorded. As NSCD’s in-house magazine begins the important task of documenting its own history, it is hoped that this account will serve as an initial reference point for a more comprehensive institutional archive.

For readers interested in a more detailed public chronicle of NSCD’s journey, including my reflections with this centre, you may like to read the following two blogposts :

https://khened.blogspot.com/2023/01/national-science-centre-new-delhi-turns.html

https://khened.blogspot.com/2022/01/national-science-centre-new-delhi-turns.html

As we look ahead, it is worth remembering the ideals articulated by Dr Saroj Ghose, under whose mentorship NSCD took shape: that science centres must belong to the people, nurture curiosity, and serve as bridges between knowledge and society. Those ideals remain as relevant today as they were at the Centre’s inception.

Wishing NSCD all the very best on its anniversary.

Madhav Gadgil, Nature Vindicated Ecologist & Scientist, Passed Away, aged 83.

 

Madhav Gadgil, Nature Vindicated Ecologist & Scientist, Passed Away, aged 83.

The passing of Prof. Madhav Dhananjaya Gadgil, on 7 January 2026 – brings to a close an illustrious chapter in Indian ecological science. His passing was announced by his son, Siddhartha Gadgil, who in a brief statement said; "I am very sorry to share the sad news that my father, Madhav Gadgil, passed away late last night (7 January) in Pune after a brief illness,"

Even as tributes from across the globe continue to flow in, on the passing of Prof Gadgil, in a grim irony,  the Western Ghats — the very landscape to which Prof Gadgil devoted a lifetime — continue to witness the cost of ignoring science based findings and warnings, which Prof Madhav Gadgil, who had spent most part of his scientific life in studying the ecology of the Western Ghats, had predicted and suggested what we need to do to avoid natural disasters.

In August 2018 and July 2024, we witnessed an unprecedented flood in Kerala as a result of landslides and an ecological collapse, particularly in the Western Ghats area, which took away large number of lives and livelihoods. These disasters were not unforeseeable disasters. They were, as Gadgil repeatedly warned, man-made tragedies. Prof. Gadgil was not merely an ecologist who studied forests, species and landscapes, he was among the first Indian scientists to rigorously demonstrate that ecological fragility, governance failure and developmental excess are inseparably linked. His work on the Western Ghats stands today as one of the most comprehensive scientific assessments ever undertaken for a major mountain system in the tropics.

Prof Gadgil played a pivotal role in many of the policy related matters pertaining to ecology. His profound influence on public policy goes back to his crucial role in the Save Silent Valley Movement in the late 70s and early 1980s. Prof Gadgil was among those who gave shape to a new direction to the Botanical Survey of India and the Zoological Survey of India.

Among his many contributions to the safeguarding of ecology in India, his decades of scientific work at the western ghats have received global recognition.  Designated a global biodiversity hotspot, the Western Ghats of India harbour extraordinary endism, and the ghats regulate peninsular India’s monsoon systems, and sustain millions through water, agriculture and ecosystem services. Gadgil understood that this was not merely a wilderness issue but a civilisational one.

Born on 24 May 1942 into a family dedicated to scholarship — his father, D. R. Gadgil, was a noted economist — Madhav Gadgil charted a unique path in ecological science that blended rigorous research, deep field observation, and a penetrating understanding of how environments and societies interact. He pursued scientific training at globally respected institutions and quickly emerged as a leading voice in ecology.

He studied biology at Harvard under E. O. Wilson, “who had been hailed as Darwin’s Heir”. Although inspired by Wilson, Madhav Gadgil - unlike most others who went to study abroad - came back to India to build its own research capacities and capabilities, guide students, engage with local communities, and make a difference to policy. Fortunately, Prof Gadgil was able to publish a memoir “A Walk Up the Hill”, which is said to chronicle his life and works and is truly educative, entertaining, and enlightening.

Gadgil’s scientific career spanned over five decades, during which he transformed ecology from an academic discipline into a framework for national policy and conservation practice. His work emphasized that humans are integral to ecosystems, challenging conservation paradigms that treated people as separate from or destructive to nature.

One of Gadgil’s most enduring legacies is the Centre for Ecological Sciences (CES) at the Indian Institute of Science (IISc), Bengaluru, which he founded in 1983. Under his leadership, CES became one of India’s foremost research hubs for ecology, conservation biology, environmental policy and biodiversity science, training generations of scientists and influencing ecological research nationwide.

Through CES, Gadgil helped shape ecological curricula, research priorities and scientific discourse in India. His work spanned topics from animal behaviour and landscape ecology to human-environment interactions and biodiversity documentation. Among his major contribution include the Western Ghats Ecology Expert Panel (WGEEP) a committee, which he chaired

As Chairman of the Western Ghats Ecology Expert Panel (WGEEP), constituted by the Ministry of Environment and Forests, Government of India, Prof Gadgil led a multidisciplinary team that produced the 2011 report, grounded in: high-resolution ecological sensitivity mapping, long-term rainfall and hydrological data, land-use change analysis, biodiversity assessments, and extensive consultations with local communities. The report, which later came to be known as the Madhav Gadgil report, classified the Western Ghats into Ecologically Sensitive Zones (ESZ-I, II and III), recommending graded regulation, not blanket prohibition.

Prof Gadgil, in his preface to the report, says “the report embodies among other things (i) categorisation of the Western Ghats into three zones of varied ecological sensitivity, based upon careful analysis done by WGEEP, (ii) broad sectoral guidelines for each of these zones, and (iii) a broad framework for establishment of the Western Ghats Ecology Authority”.

Crucially, the report called for prohibition of mining, quarrying and sand extraction in the most fragile zones. It recommended strict regulation of large dams and linear infrastructure, decentralised decision-making through gram sabhas, respect for traditional ecological knowledge, and transparent environmental governance among other recommendations. His report evidenced what was precautionary science, not ideological environmentalism, yet it did not get the due respect and recognition that such reports mandate and therefore it was ignored or overlooked.

Gadgil report was submitted to the Union Ministry of Environment and Forests in 2011. The report recommended that the Government must stop all existing mines in Zone 1 by 2016 and it must also stop illegal mining activities immediately. Unfortunately, no action was taken on the report since the recommendations in the report were considered as a bitter pill, which no Government would wish to swallow, particularly because the implementation of the report would hurt the powerful mining lobby of South West India with deep pockets and high-level political connections. The report therefore was gathering dust and the ministry also did not release this report to the media for public discussion.

 An RTI activist from Kerala learnt of this report and sought for the report from the union Ministry under the RTI. The government did not furnish the information citing security concerns. Undeterred, the applicant agitated the matter right up to the CIC and finally the CIC ordered the government to make the report public, which the Ministry earnestly followed.

The Gadgil committee report sparked much controversy in Kerala especially as the opposition CPI-M accused the report of being too environment centric. This resulted in no action by the Government. The Supreme Court intervened in the matter and directed the government to act on the report. The result was formation of another committee, the Kasturirangan committee, which was set up to review the Gadgil committee report and suggest changes so that the states can implement the recommendations of the Gadgil report, keeping in mind the welfare of the inhabitants as well.

Kasturirangan led-High Level Working Report (HLWG) submitted their report with some modifications to the recommendations of Prof Gadgil report. The Ecologists say the HLWG is a dilution of Gadgil report and, therefore, unacceptable. There were agitations and protests even against the Kasturirangan report by quarry owners and farmers specially in the Idukki and Wayanad districts, the very districts that were the worst affected in the 2018 and 2024 flooding in Kerala. Political leaders and mining companies too joined hands to fight against the report resulting in hardly any sizable action on either of the reports.

Prof. Gadgil was deeply hurt that his report was not considered/accepted— not for personal reasons, but because he saw what lay ahead. In multiple public lectures, essays and interviews, he warned that unchecked quarrying, deforestation, hill cutting, river encroachment and unregulated construction in the Ghats would destabilise slopes, alter drainage patterns and amplify extreme rainfall impacts. He specifically cautioned that Kerala, with its steep slopes, lateritic soils and dense human habitation, was particularly vulnerable.

From the catastrophic floods of August 2018, to the one that occurred in July 2024 in Kerala, the region has witnessed repeated landslides. Intense rainfall alone does not explain these events. Comparable rainfall occurred in earlier decades without such scale of destruction. What has changed was land use: Quarrying on unstable slopes, roads and buildings cutting across natural drainage lines, deforestation and conversion of mixed forests into monoculture plantations, river floodplains encroached upon in the name of development.

Gadgil on his reaction to loss of lives in the 2024 floods, stated with painful clarity that these deaths were avoidable. They were not “natural calamities” but ecological failures of governance. Each landslide, each washed-away village, was — in effect — a footnote to an ignored scientific report.

What distinguished Madhav Gadgil was not just his ecological insight, but moral courage. He insisted that conservation cannot be imposed from above. He said development without ecological literacy is self-destructive. He therefore suggested that communities must be partners, not victims, of environmental policy His insistence on People’s Biodiversity Registers, decentralised governance, and locally informed decision-making anticipated today’s global discourse on sustainability, climate resilience and nature-based solutions.

Long before climate change became mainstream policy language, Gadgil understood that ecological resilience is the first line of defence against climate extremes. The Western Ghats report was, in essence, a climate adaptation blueprint — ignored at immense human cost.

History is often unkind to those who speak inconvenient truths. Prof. Gadgil lived to see his warnings repeatedly validated — a vindication that brought no satisfaction, only sorrow. He once remarked that the tragedy was not that his report was rejected, but that its rejection would be paid for by the poorest and most vulnerable.

Madhav Gadgil’s legacy is not confined to the institutions he built, papers he published, or awards he received. It lies in a question he leaves behind for policymakers and society alike. In his passing we must remind ourselves of his contributions to the Indian ecology and rededicate to serving the cause which he so painstakingly and with great passion pursued all his life, safeguarding the ecology and biodiversity.

Honors, Awards, and Global Impact

Madhav Gadgil’s contributions earned him some of the highest accolades in science and society:

National Honors

• Padma Shri (1981)
• Padma Bhushan (2006)

International Recognition

• Volvo Environment Prize
• Tyler Prize for Environmental Achievement
• Champions of the Earth — the United Nations Environment Programme’s highest environmental award, received in 2024 in recognition of his lifetime impact on conservation and sustainability.

He was also elected a Fellow of India’s three premier science academies — the Indian National Science Academy (INSA), the Indian Academy of Sciences (IAS), and the National Academy of Sciences, India (NASI) — and held honorary memberships in several international scientific societies. 

Long live his legacy.

 

 

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Dr R. Chidambaram: Scientist, Strategist, Nation Builder — A Personal Tribute on His First Punyatithi.

Today, as we mark the first Punyatithi of Dr. R. Chidambaram, I feel compelled to place on record a tribute that goes beyond formal obituaries and official citations. This is both a remembrance of a towering scientist and a deeply personal reflection on a man whose life and work profoundly shaped India’s scientific, strategic, and intellectual landscape.

Dr. R. Chidambaram—Padma Vibhushan, one of the principal architects of India’s nuclear programme, and a scientist intimately associated with Pokhran-I (1974) and Pokhran-II (1998)—passed away on 4 January 2025 at the age of 88. With his passing, India lost not merely a physicist of rare brilliance, but a quiet nation-builder whose contributions were foundational to India’s strategic autonomy and self-reliance.

Architect of India’s Strategic Scientific Capability

Dr. Chidambaram’s professional journey spanned over six decades of India’s post-Independence scientific evolution. After completing his postgraduate studies at the Indian Institute of Science, Bengaluru, he joined the Bhabha Atomic Research Centre (BARC) in 1962, at the invitation of Dr. Homi Bhabha, working initially in the Neutron Crystallography Group. From these early years as a young scientist, his ascent was marked by intellectual rigour, institutional leadership, and unwavering national commitment.

He went on to serve as:

Director, BARC

Chairman, Atomic Energy Commission (AEC)

Secretary, Department of Atomic Energy (DAE)

Principal Scientific Adviser to the Government of India for a record 17–18 years, working closely with at least five Prime Ministers, including Prime Minister Narendra Modi

Few individuals in independent India have exercised such sustained influence at the highest levels of science policy and strategic decision-making.

His leadership during Pokhran-II was not merely technical; it was emblematic of India’s resolve to safeguard its sovereignty in an uncertain geopolitical environment. Under his stewardship, India demonstrated that scientific excellence, strategic restraint, and national responsibility could coexist.

“India Rising: A Memoir of a Scientist” — A Chronicle of Purpose.

My last professional association with Dr. Chidambaram was during the launch of his autobiography, India Rising: A Memoir of a Scientist, co-authored with Suresh Gangotra, at the Nehru Science Centre, Mumbai. I had the honour to be in conversation with him, engaging him in a freewheeling discussion on the book and the ideas beyond its pages.

It was deeply symbolic that Dr. Chidambaram chose the Nehru Science Centre—a space that attracts over eight lakh visitors annually and is mandated to take science to the people—as the venue for the book launch. This decision reflected his lifelong belief that science must not remain confined to laboratories or elite circles, but must inspire society at large, especially young minds.

The book’s 18 chapters trace a remarkable professional journey, with particularly compelling chapters on Pokhran-I and Pokhran-II, and a fascinating chapter on his interactions with various Prime Ministers. Released at a time when public interest in scientists had been reignited globally by the film Oppenheimer, the memoir provided an Indian counterpoint—rooted in restraint, responsibility, and nation-building rather than personal tragedy.

I remain deeply honoured that my name finds mention in the acknowledgements of this book—a gesture that speaks volumes about Dr. Chidambaram’s graciousness and generosity of spirit.

A Scientist Committed to Science Communication.

Beyond his formidable scientific stature, Dr. Chidambaram was a passionate advocate of science communication. He was a frequent visitor to science centres and museums, often accompanying his grandchildren to the Nehru Science Centre, Mumbai. He took keen interest in how science was communicated to the public and often expressed his conviction that the National Council of Science Museums (NCSM) should function under the Department of Science & Technology, rather than the Ministry of Culture—a point he raised with characteristic persistence whenever we met.

He believed that nurturing scientific temper was as critical as advancing frontier research.

A lesser-known but endearing facet of his personality was his deep love for cricket. He greatly appreciated the “Cricket Connects” exhibition catalogues - three exhibitions catalogs, India South Africa, India England and India and Australia - that I had curated, chronicling the history of Indian cricket, including one of his favourite moments—the 1971 series victory. These conversations revealed a man who was as comfortable discussing neutron diffraction as he was reminiscing about Indian cricketing triumphs.

The Silence That Spoke Volumes: Reel Heroes vs Real Heroes.

In the days following his passing, what disturbed me deeply—and prompted a subsequent reflection titled “Real Heroes Versus Reel Heroes”—was the near-total absence of television media during his state funeral. This silence stood in stark contrast to the wall-to-wall coverage accorded to incidents involving film celebrities during the same period.

This was not an argument against coverage of unfortunate events involving public figures from cinema, but a plea for balance and introspection. When the passing of a scientist who helped secure India’s strategic autonomy receives less attention than celebrity gossip or crime, it raises troubling questions about the narratives we privilege as a society.

How will young Indians aspire to become scientists if the media fails to celebrate those who dedicated their lives to building the nation quietly, resolutely, and without glamour?

A Legacy That Must Endure

Dr. R. Chidambaram embodied the finest traditions of Indian science—rigour without arrogance, authority without authoritarianism, patriotism without jingoism. He believed deeply in an India that was “economically developed, scientifically advanced, and militarily strong”, not for domination, but for dignity.

As someone who has spent nearly four decades in science communication, I can say with conviction that his life offers lessons far beyond nuclear physics or strategic policy. It teaches us about institutional integrity, humility in leadership, and the moral responsibility of knowledge.

India has lost one of its brightest minds, but his legacy—etched into the foundations of our scientific institutions and strategic capabilities—will continue to guide us.

Rest in peace, Dr. R. Chidambaram.

You will be deeply missed, but your light will continue to inspire.

Om Shanti.

Jai Hind. Jai Vigyan.

The ‘Super fast’ Surcharge on My Scientific Temper.

Yesterday my wife and I boarded the A1 coach of Chennai Express, 22157, for travelling to my home town, Raichur from  Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Terminus (CSMT). My wife reminded me of the significance of this train, made famous by the popular 2013 Bollywood film, Chennai Express, starring Shah Rukh Khan and Deepika Padukone. The experience however was real and not reel.

While our train departed at 22.50 (10.50PM) from CSMT on 1 Jan 2026,  incidentally, a relative of mine was travelling to Raichur with his daughter by another train - Nagarcoil express 16339, from CSMT to Raichur, which had departed at 8.35 PM yesterday, 1 Jan 2026. As of now, 9 AM we are still 200 plus Kms away from our destiny and my relative has already  reached Raichur, 8.10 AM.  This is what has motivated me to write this piece with the heading - “Super-fast’” Surcharge on My Scientific Temper, which I hope will interest readers. 

When the Indian Railways is busy launching the sleek Vande Bharat series truly super fast trains, the pace of institutional thinking seems to be stuck in a reverse-throttle.

As someone who has spent four decades in science communication working for the science museums and centres and now serves the National Centre for Science Communicators, as its Vice Chairman, my professional life is meant to be dedicated to the "Spirit of Inquiry." Yet, sitting in Train 22157, my scientific temper is being tested by a spreadsheet that defies the laws of physics.

My train, Chennai Super fast Express, enjoys  a legal status that allows the Railways to levy a "Superfast Surcharge. However, a quick comparison with my relatives journey on Train 16339 (a "Standard" Express) reveals a mathematical anomaly, which the science communicator in me finds it hard to make sense.

My "Superfast" train, 22157, officially is supposed to take, 12 hours and 40 minutes and stops 19 times en route, before its scheduled reaching time of 11.20 AM at Raichur. As of now the train is running late by 40 minutes. Contrarily, train 16339, the “Standard" train, by which my relative travelled, has already reached Raichur, taking 11 hours and 45 minutes and stopped at only 12 stations on its route. For the privilege of travelling an hour extra or may be more since my train is running late, and stopping at  seven extra stations en route, I paid ₹3,166 for two tickets—exactly ₹102 more than my relatives so called "slower" (but actually faster) train, for which they paid Rs 3064.

In the world of science, velocity/Speed = Distance / Time. However, in the world of the rail-Babu, Speed is apparently an intangible "vibe" for which one must pay extra, regardless of the clock - time it takes.

This brings us to the profound irony of Article 51A (h) of our Constitution. This article, which commands every citizen to develop a "scientific temper," was added during the 1976 Emergency, through the 42nd amendment to the constitution. It was a time when the Preamble was being re-decorated with “Social and Secular” drapery when many of the leading opposition leaders were forced in to the “resting" in state-sponsored lodgings, Prisons.

The genius of this constitutional addition of fundamental duties including scientific temper enshrined in Article 51A (h) is that it is non-justiciable, unlike the fundamental rights, which we all enjoy. It is a "Fundamental Duty" that the State expects us to perform, while the authorities remain exempt from its rigours. Since their pricing methods aren’t justiciable, the Railways can charge a "Speed Surcharge" for a train that is objectively slower without ever having to justify the math in a court of law.

The Babus sleep peacefully, while we, the science communicators, are left to explain to the public why a "Superfast" label is being used as a decorative adjective to extract revenue rather than a promise of velocity. We are living in an era of "Mission Raftaar," yet we are billed for a "Slowness Premium." If we are to truly inspire a scientific temper in our youth, the institutions of our state must lead by example. A "Superfast" surcharge should be a performance guarantee, not a legacy tax.

Until then, I shall sit here in my "Super" seat, inquiring into the spirit of a system where the faster you want to go, the more you pay to slow down. After all, in the grand station of Indian bureaucracy, logic is often the last passenger to board—and usually, it doesn’t even have a confirmed ticket.

Yours truly, a humble science communicator

Shivaprasad Khened

Vice Chairman, National Centre for Science Communicators.

Celebrating New Year: An Outcome of a Calendar that Holds the Globe Together

 

Happy New Year

At the dawn of the New Year, while wishing you all a very happy new year greetings, I am reminded that every new year ritualistically people exchange greetings, make resolutions for the new year, replace diaries and refresh digital calendars, to welcome the new year.

The familiarity of this ritualistic path often obscures a deeper truth: the very idea of a “new year” — its beginning, its end, and its internal divisions — is not a given, but a constructed human artefact, Calendars. Though omnipresent, they remain among the lesser examined foundations of civilisation.

At their core, calendars are systems of temporal coordination. They allow societies to synchronise actions, economies to function predictably, cultures to preserve continuity, and states to govern coherently. Like language or currency, calendars operate as shared infrastructure — invisible when functioning smoothly, but deeply disruptive when they fail, as seen in history.

At the heart of the calendar lies humanity’s earliest scientific endeavour: the observation of nature’s – celestial - constants. The alternation of day and night, the phases of the Moon, the cycle of seasons, and the apparent motion of the Sun across the sky. This motivated early humans to organise time and calendar. This was not an abstract pursuit, but an accurate ‘scientific’ method practiced across civilisations to determine when to sow seeds, when to harvest, when rivers would flood, and when religious and ritual observances should occur. A calendar out of sync with seasons was not merely inconvenient — it could be catastrophic.

Calendars have held sacred status across all regions. Its origin comes from the Latin word calendarium / kalendarium - account book or register – used for recording debts. It comes from the word kalendae/ calendae that refers to the first day of each month in the Roman Calendar. While all early civilisations have used one or other forms of time keeping /calendars, the Roman influence of calendars has perpetuated. The Indian calendars/time keeping — based on Panchanga —was fundamentally different from Romans. Indians used Lunisolar observations in their Pachanga, which determined their calendar.

Of the several calendars of antiquity, the Egyptian and the Roman calendars evolved into the Julian calendar, which remained in vogue for 1500 + years. The Roman calendar, introduced around 600 BC, was a lunar calendar and it fell short by 10.25 days of a Solar/ Tropical year. By around 50 BC, notwithstanding the introduction of the extra intercalary month, every two years the calendar had fallen eight weeks behind the Tropical year, leading to Romans to be out of Sync with seasons. There was total confusion when Julius Caesar came to power as the Roman’s 355-day year lunar calendar was 80 days out of sync with seasons.  

With the advice of the famous Greek Egyptian astronomer, Sosigenes, Ceaser made major changes to the extant calendar by abandoning lunar and adopting the solar system of measurement with fixed month lengths making 365 days in a year and an intercalary day every fourth year in February.  To sync the calendar back with Christmas, Ceaser added nearly three extra months to the year 46 BC, making it 445 days long ('the year of confusion'). This led to the new Julian calendar - named after Ceaser - which began on 1st January 45 BC.

The next major correction to the calendars occurred in 1582. Pope Gregory XIII was confronted with a similar situation of the calendar not in sync with the religious season. He therefore, suggested skipping ten days, to the Julian Calendar. This resulted in redefining of the leap year, a year which is a multiple of 4. An exception was added that if the year is a multiple of 100 it is not a leap year. However, if the year is a multiple of 400 it is a leap year.  Applying these principles Pope Gregory XIII, decreed that the day after October 4, 1582, would be October 15, 1582. Adoption of this change was not easy and most European countries took their own time to adopt this new Gregorian calendar with the loss of eleven days.

There was much unrest in the US in adopting to the new Gregorian Calendar, which they adopted in 1752.  'Give us back our eleven days' was a popular campaign slogan.  Many other countries were slow to adopt it and it was not until the early twentieth century that the entire world finally adopted this calendar. The Gregorian calendar is now recognised worldwide although there are still many other calendars running alongside it, for religious purposes. Although the British used the Gregorian calendar in India, Indians continued to use their own regional calendars.    

Use of multiple - regional - calendars in India led to an administrative chaos in independent India. Festivals fell on different dates across regions; official records lacked uniformity. Recognising this problem, independent India undertook a historic exercise in scientific rationalisation of calendars. The Government of India - Council of Scientific and Industrial Research, (CSIR) - appointed a Calendar Reform Committee, in November 1952, under the chairmanship of Dr. Meghnad Saha, “to examine all the existing calendars followed in the country and after a scientific study of the subject, submit proposals for an accurate and uniform calendar for the whole of India". The committee after close examination, recommended a uniform all-India calendar for both civil and religious use. The Government of India accepted the proposal and introduced it as the Indian national calendar with effect from 22nd March 1957.

As another year ends and a new one begins, it is worth pausing before sending that familiar greeting. The turning of the year is not a natural inevitability; it is a human agreement, refined over millennia, shaped by astronomy, mathematics, religion, politics, and social need.

Calendars do not merely tell us what day it is. They tell us who we are as a species — observers of nature, builders of systems, and seekers of synchrony. In recognising the calendar’s quiet power, we acknowledge one of civilisation’s most enduring and least celebrated achievements.

So this New Year, let us celebrate not just the passage of time, but the extraordinary human ingenuity that allows us to measure it — together.

Season’s greetings and a thoughtful New Year.

https://khened.blogspot.com/2021/12/new-year-2022-spare-thought-for.html

Happy New Year.