Birth Anniversary of Nelson Mandela: The Anti-Apartheid Struggle, and the Sporting Soul of India

Every year on the 18th of July, the world joins South Africa in celebrating the birth anniversary of Nelson Mandela—a man whose life became a masterclass in resilience, reconciliation, and the sheer power of human dignity. My career as a museum professional makes this day extra special, since it reminds me of the Cricket Connects: India South Africa, which I had the honour to co curated and design and develop and present the exhibition in South Africa. Hence Nelson Mandela’s birth anniversary deeply resonates with me.

 Back in 2018, during Madiba’s (Nelson Mandela’s) birth centenary, I had posted a tribute to Mandela on Facebook reflecting on my professional experience in co-curating the international exhibition “Cricket Connects: India-South Africa” alongside Suresh Menon and Prashant Kidambi.

 That exhibition, hosted at the iconic Wanderers Stadium in Johannesburg and Kingsmead in Durban in 2014, was ostensibly about cricket and how it resonates with both India and South Africa. But as our extensive archival research revealed, it was actually about a much larger, beautiful canvas—the profound, unbreakable connection between India and South Africa. Today, as we honour Madiba once again, I am tempted recall nostalgically those archives used in the exhibition, to dive deeper into how the legacies of Mandela, the horrors of racial discrimination, and India’s unflinching support to South Africa to change the course of history.

The Inhumanity of Apartheid Sport: From Basil D’Oliveira to the "Pencil Test"

To fully appreciate the euphoria of South Africa’s return to international sports under Nelson Mandela, one must first look into the dark, painful depths of the system that preceded it. Under the white-minority apartheid regime, sport, cricket in particular, was weaponised as a tool of absolute racial segregation. Non-white players, regardless of their genius, were barred from representing their country - South Africa.

The global turning point came with Basil D’Oliveira, a brilliantly talented Coloured cricketer of Indian and Portuguese descent. Blocked from playing first-class cricket in his homeland - South Africa - due to his skin color, D'Oliveira fled to England. His talent was undeniable, and he was eventually selected to play for the England national team.

The crisis exploded in 1968 when England was scheduled to tour South Africa. When the English selectors named D'Oliveira to the squad, the South African Prime Minister B.J. Vorster banned the team from entering the country, refusing to let a non-white man take the field against white South Africans.

The “D’Oliveira Affair" shocked the international community, becoming a global symbol of racial discrimination and triggering the formal isolation of South Africa from the ICC and the broader sporting world.

Behind this sporting ban lay daily, systemic humiliations that non whites faced in South Africa. Among the most dehumanizing bureaucratic tools used by the white regime was the infamous “Pencil Test." Used to classify individuals under the Population Registration Act, white officials would push a pencil into a person's hair. If the person shook their head and the pencil slid out, they were deemed to have passed (classified as white or coloured); if the pencil remained stuck in the curls, they "failed" and were classified as Black, stripping them of fundamental rights, fracturing families, and crushing sporting dreams.

India’s Sacrifice in the Davis Cup

India’s opposition to this institutionalised racism was fierce and uncompromising. Decades before it became globally fashionable, India had severed diplomatic and trade ties with the apartheid state. Nowhere was India’s moral conviction more powerfully demonstrated than on the tennis courts of 1974.

That year, a golden generation of Indian tennis—led by the brilliant Amritraj brothers, Vijay and Anand, alongside Jasjit Singh—pulled off a fairy tale run. They defeated heavyweights like Australia and the Soviet Union to reach the Davis Cup Final. Their opponent was South Africa. India was on the cusp of its first-ever World Title in tennis. Yet, Prime Minister Indira Gandhi’s government made a historic decision: India would forfeit the final.

South African authorities tried to compromise, even offering to treat the Indian players as "honorary whites" so they could play under their segregation laws. India flatly refused to validate such an absurdity. By giving a walkover, India sacrificed a guaranteed shot at global sporting glory to send an unmistakable message to the world: Human dignity is non-negotiable. As Vijay Amritraj later reflected: “As a sportsman, I was disappointed, but as an individual, I took pride in the fact that my government made the right call."

Gandhi, Mandela, and Non-Violent Defiance.

India’s unwavering support to South Africa was rooted in a shared philosophical lineage. It is one of history’s greatest ironies that India sent Mohandas Gandhi to South Africa as a young lawyer, and South Africa sent him back to India as a Mahatma. Mandela viewed Gandhi as a local revolutionary ancestor. In his early political years with the African National Congress (ANC), Mandela actively employed classic Gandhian tactics of non-cooperation and civil disobedience. The “Defiance Campaign of 1952” was essentially a massive South African Satyagraha, where Mandela led thousands of volunteers to deliberately and peacefully break apartheid laws, filling the prisons to stretch the regime's infrastructure to its breaking point.

While the sheer brutality of the apartheid state later forced the ANC to adopt armed struggle, Mandela never abandoned the ultimate Gandhian objective: Reconciliation. When Mandela emerged from 27 years in prison without any malice, embracing his former captors to build a "Rainbow Nation," he was channelling the very highest form of Gandhian soul-force.

The Redemption: Kolkata, 1991

Because India had stood so firmly at the vanguard of the anti-apartheid boycott, it was only poetic justice that India became the bridge for South Africa's re-entry into the civilized world in the Cricketing world. When the apartheid regime fell and Mandela was elected President, the sporting isolation finally ended. In November 1991, within just four months of South Africa re-joining the ICC, a historic moment unfolded. India became the very first country to host South Africa for an international cricket series.

When Clive Rice’s South African team landed in Kolkata for a three-match ODI series, the city erupted. A simple bus journey from the airport to the team hotel—which should have taken thirty minutes—spanned over four hours. Tens of thousands of Indians lined the streets simply to shout, *"Welcome back to the world."* Banners reading *"Long live India-South Africa Friendship"* waved through the crowds. A young Allan Donald wrote in amazement about the thousands gathered outside their hotel windows just to catch a glimpse of the team.

The following year, in 1992, India returned the gesture, embarking on the historic "Friendship Tour" to South Africa—the first official tour by a non-White team to that country, met with matching, unforgettable euphoria on the streets of Durban.

 A Lasting Heritage

Curating the Cricket Connects exhibition—which later travelled to Australia in 2016 and England in 2017—was an exercise in preserving these exact histories. Sifting through archival images of Mandela smiling alongside Indian leaders, studying the newspaper clippings of the 1974 Davis Cup sacrifice, and documenting the emotional 1991 Kolkata tour remains one of the greatest highlights of my professional journey.

Today, as we look at a world still fractured by divisions, Madiba’s life reminds us that walls do eventually fall, that sports can heal what politics breaks, and that the ties that bind India and South Africa are anchored not just in geography, but in the eternal human pursuit of freedom.

Long live Madiba.

Images : Courtesy Nehru Science Centre

Key Words : Nelson Mandela,  Cricket, Birth anniversary of Nelson Mandela, Racial Discrimination, Mahatma Gandhi 

From Mohenjo-daro to CERN: The Bronze Thread of Indian Civilization.

 

Authors Note: This piece has been accepted for publication by the Firstpost, a prestigious online media. Unfortunately, due to scheduling delays, it is being published here - on my blog (Authors bog) - first to maintain the timeliness of the ongoing discourse on heritage and education. 

From Mohenjo-daro to CERN: The Bronze Thread of Indian Civilization.

The Journey from Dancing Girl of Mohenjo-Daro to the Nataraja of CERN is not merely an art-historical journey; it is the story of India’s long engagement with material science, metallurgy, art, aesthetics and the philosophical search for understanding of the cosmos.

There is an old proverb about "missing the forest for the trees." The recent debate surrounding the image of the Harappan Dancing Girl in an NCERT textbook brought intense attention to questions of representation, propriety and pedagogy. Yet, amid the noise, an extraordinary larger story risked being overlooked.

The tiny bronze figure from Mohenjo-daro is not merely an archaeological artefact or a textbook illustration. It is among the earliest surviving testimonies to India's metallurgical genius, a legacy of craftsmanship and scientific knowledge that stretches across millennia. From the bronze-casters of the Indus Valley Civilization to the master sculptors of the Chola age, and ultimately to the installation of Nataraja at CERN in Geneva on June 18, 2004, one can trace a remarkable metallurgical civilisational continuum, which evidentially stands tall even today at the national capital, Delhi as the rust less wonder, the Delhi Iron Pillar.

Therefore, the real significance of the Dancing Girl, the earliest surviving testimonies to India's mastery of metallurgy, craftsmanship and artistic imagination, must transcend beyond the controversies of its representation in text books to the enduring story she tells about India's ability to imagine, innovate and create.

The bronze figurine, Dancing Girl of Mohenjo-daro, barely eleven centimetres tall, has captivated scholars and laypersons alike since her discovery over a century ago. Standing with one hand on her hip and radiating confidence across four millennia, she remains one of the most iconic images of the ancient world.

What is often forgotten is that this small bronze figure represents the beginning of a civilisational journey that would eventually produce some of the finest metal sculptures ever crafted by human hands — the Chola bronzes of South India. In a remarkable twist of history, the installation of a majestic Chola Bronze Nataraja at CERN in Geneva, the world's premier laboratory for frontiers of fundamental research in particle physics has brought a full circle to the remarkable story of the metallurgical heritage of India. 

The story of Indian bronze is therefore is not merely an art historical narrative. It is also a story of science, technology, philosophy and continuity.

The bronze-casters of the Indus Valley Civilization possessed sophisticated knowledge of metalworking. The lost-wax casting process used in creating the Dancing Girl was a highly advanced technique requiring precise control over materials and temperatures. It demanded not only artistic skill but also a practical understanding of materials and metallurgy. Long before modern laboratories emerged, ancient artisans had mastered complex processes through observation, experimentation and accumulated knowledge.

The significance of this achievement becomes even clearer when viewed across the longue durée of Indian history and through the collections of India's great museums. Visitors to the Bronze Gallery of the National Museum in New Delhi, the celebrated Chola Bronze Gallery of the Government Museum in Chennai, or the Decorative Arts Gallery at the Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Vastu Sangrahalaya (CSMVS), Mumbai, encounter remarkable examples of a metallurgical and artistic tradition that evolved over millennia. At CSMVS, a majestic Nataraja and a replica of the iconic Dancing Girl—currently welcoming visitors to the exhibition “Networks of the Past: A study gallery of India & the Ancient World” (https://networksofthepast.csmvs.in/) symbolically frame this extraordinary journey. Civilisations rise and fall; artistic traditions often disappear. Yet India presents a remarkable example of continuity. Across centuries and changing dynasties, knowledge systems evolved, adapted and flourished, leaving behind a bronze legacy that continues to inspire admiration across the world.

By the ninth century, under the Cholas, bronze casting had reached extraordinary levels of refinement. The Chola sculptors transformed metal into art, aesthetic and poetry. Their bronzes were not static images but embodiments of movement, grace and spiritual energy. Among them, the image of Shiva as Nataraja emerged as one of humanity's greatest artistic achievements.

The Dancing Nataraja is a sculpture, philosophy and cosmology combined.

In the circle of flames surrounding the dancing figure, one encounters the rhythm of the universe itself. Shiva dances creation into being, sustains existence and dissolves it, only for the cycle to begin anew. Every gesture carries meaning. Every movement speaks of cosmic order amidst apparent chaos.

What makes the Nataraja especially remarkable is that it emerged from a civilisation that did not see art and science as separate domains. The same culture that developed sophisticated metallurgical techniques also contemplated profound questions about time, matter, energy and existence.

It is perhaps for this reason that the image found an unexpected home in the twenty-first century at CERN, an international premier scientific institution.

On 18 June 2004, a bronze Nataraja, gifted by the Government of India, was installed at CERN in Geneva. To many observers, the installation appeared surprising. How could an ancient Hindu deity find a place at the world's leading centre for research in particle physics?

Perhaps, apparently, for its symbolism. Modern physics reveals a universe that is dynamic rather than static. At the subatomic level, particles constantly interact, transform and disappear. Matter and energy engage in ceaseless movement. The universe is not a fixed machine but a dance of relationships and transformations.

The Nataraja at CERN is often explained as a metaphor for the dance of subatomic particles, an interpretation popularised by physicist Fritjof Capra and acknowledged on the plaque accompanying the sculpture. That explanation tells only part of the story.

For decades, scientists and thinkers have been intrigued by the parallels — metaphorical rather than literal — between this scientific understanding and the imagery of Nataraja. The statue at CERN does not imply that ancient India anticipated particle physics. Such claims neither serve history nor science. Rather, it acknowledges that different cultures have sought, in their own ways, to comprehend the underlying rhythms of existence.

The Nataraja statue at CERN represents one of humanity's most enduring traditions of metallurgical excellence. It belongs to a tradition whose roots extend back thousands of years.

Between the Dancing Girl of Mohenjo-daro and the Nataraja of CERN lies an unbroken chain of knowledge, skill and creativity. The furnaces may have changed. The patrons may have changed. The contexts certainly changed. Yet the underlying capacity to imagine, innovate and create endured.

This continuity acquires special significance today as India witnesses the return of numerous stolen antiquities from abroad.

Many of the recovered objects are Chola bronzes that had been illicitly removed from temples and communities over decades. Their repatriation represents more than the recovery of valuable artworks. It is the restoration of cultural memory.

For too long, discussions about heritage were often confined to museums, specialists and collectors. Increasingly, however, Indians are beginning to view cultural heritage as an integral component of national identity and confidence. The return of a stolen bronze is not merely a legal or diplomatic achievement. It is a reaffirmation that the creations of previous generations continue to matter.

This renewed appreciation of heritage coincides with a broader national conversation about development. Too often, societies are encouraged to choose between pride in the past and aspirations for the future. One is portrayed as nostalgic, the other as progressive.

India's experience suggests that this is a dishonest choice.

The phrase "Virasat and Viksit Bharat" captures a more balanced vision. A nation does not become modern by forgetting its past. Nor does it honour its heritage by remaining trapped within it. Progress emerges when a society draws strength from its civilisational foundations while engaging confidently with contemporary challenges.

The Nataraja at CERN embodies precisely this synthesis.

The Dancing Girl of Mohenjo-daro, the Chola bronze masters and the physicists of CERN all belong, in different ways, to this larger human story.

Perhaps that is the deeper lesson hidden beneath recent controversies. The significance of the Dancing Girl does not lie merely in how she is depicted in a textbook. Her true importance lies in what she represents: a civilisation capable of transforming metal into art, technique into beauty and knowledge into enduring cultural achievement.

When we look beyond the immediate debates, the forest comes into view.

From the ancient bronze traditions of the Indus Valley to the Chola Bronzes; from the recovery of stolen antiquities to the frontiers of modern physics in Geneva; from Virasat to Viksit Bharat — a single bronze thread runs through the story.

It is a thread woven from creativity, craftsmanship, scientific curiosity and cultural confidence.

And it continues to connect India's past with its future.

Key Words : Dancing Girl, NCERT Text Book, Chola Bronze, Nataraja at CERN, Philosophy, Metallurgical Heritage, Nataraja Bronze

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From Vaad to Samvaad: What Indian Democracy Must Relearn.

 Democracy thrives on disagreement. Yet disagreement alone does not make a democracy healthy. Indian civilisation understood this distinction long before the emergence of modern democratic institutions. It bequeathed to us two profound ideas: Vaad and Samvaad, central to any healthy democracy.

Vaad is debate—the assertion of competing viewpoints, the right to challenge, criticise and oppose. Samvaad is dialogue—the willingness to listen, engage, persuade and seek common ground despite differences. A healthy democracy requires both. Without Vaad, there is conformity. Without Samvaad, there is only confrontation.

India today appears to have an abundance of Vaad and an alarming deficit of Samvaad.

An ongoing episode offers an interesting lesson and reflection for India. When US President Donald Trump publicly claimed that Italian Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni “begged” and sought a photograph with him to boost her popularity, Meloni firmly rejected the assertion, declaring that neither she nor Italy would ever beg for such favours. What followed was not merely a clash of personalities on social media but a matter of national dignity. Significantly, all of Meloni’s supporters stood by her statement and, more importantly, many of her political opponents too stood in her support and did not rush to weaponise the controversy for partisan gain. The political class in Italy recognised a larger principle: while governments may change and parties may differ, the honour of the nation belongs to everyone and must be upheld.

What individual leaders’ personal positions on this episode are, or whether the opposition agrees with Meloni’s politics, is beside the point. The episode raises a larger question for democracies everywhere, and more particularly for India. Have we reached a stage where every issue, regardless of its implications for national interest, must be viewed through the prism of partisan one-upmanship?

While the current state of India’s polarised polity often seems to treat political advantage as the ultimate mantra, India’s own democratic journey offers richer historical lessons.

For much of the post-Independence period, Indian politics was characterised by the dominance of a single party. The coalition era that emerged in the 1990s required a different political culture—one built not on command but on consensus. It demanded negotiation, accommodation and mutual respect among parties with vastly different ideologies and aspirations.

It was in this environment that Atal Bihari Vajpayee came into his own. Admired even by many of his political opponents, Vajpayee earned the rare distinction of being regarded as an Ajatshatru—a person without enemies. The term did not imply an absence of political rivals. Rather, it reflected his ability to disagree fiercely without allowing disagreement to become personal hostility.

His political philosophy found expression in a simple but profound observation: “Matbhed ho sakte hain, Manbhed nahin hone chahiye”—differences of opinion are natural, but differences of heart should never be allowed to take root.

 Few statements better capture the spirit of democratic coexistence.

Unfortunately, contemporary politics often appears to have inverted this principle. Differences of opinion have increasingly given way to differences of disposition. Political opponents are frequently portrayed not merely as rivals but as adversaries to be delegitimised. Every statement is interpreted in the worst possible light. Every disagreement becomes a battle. Every compromise is seen as surrender.

The result is an atmosphere of perpetual political warfare.

The consequences extend far beyond electoral politics. They affect the social fabric itself. Citizens increasingly find themselves divided into political tribes. Public discourse becomes polarised. Institutions are viewed through partisan lenses. Trust erodes—not only between parties but among people.

India’s political history, however, offers better examples. When Prime Minister P.V. Narasimha Rao needed India’s position to be articulated effectively on the international stage, he did not hesitate to draw upon the talents of opposition leader Atal Bihari Vajpayee. Rao understood that national interest sometimes transcends partisan boundaries. Vajpayee, for his part, rose above political differences to represent India’s perspective with distinction. Such episodes reflected confidence, maturity and an understanding that patriotism is not the monopoly of any political formation.

This is not to suggest that the opposition should become compliant or that governments should be shielded from criticism. On the contrary, robust criticism is essential to democratic vitality. But criticism must aim to improve governance rather than merely intensify division. Equally, governments must recognise that electoral mandates confer the responsibility to govern, not the licence to disregard dissent.

Tags : Indian Philosophy, Public Discourse, Vaad vs Samvaad, Cultural Renaissance, Constructive Dialogue, Media Ethics, India, Debate vs Dialog

Image : Courtesy Gemini AI

Jai Hind

 

Alan Turing: A Precious Loss to Prejudice & Social Stigma – India’s Quiet Revolution of Dignity

 

June 7, 2026, marks the 72nd death anniversary of Alan Mathison Turing, the mathematical genius, World War II hero, and a visionary universally regarded as the father of modern computing and Artificial Intelligence (AI). Turing’s extraordinary intellect helped shape the modern world, which is now inextricably linked to our day today lives. Yet Alan Turing’s life was cut tragically short, at a young age of 41, due to the cruel discrimination and archaic laws that criminalised his homosexuality. 

 

His story must serve as a powerful reminder - and not merely find a historical footnotemention - of the heavy price societies pay when prejudice triumphs over rationality and humanity. As we remember Alan Turing today, in the month of June which happened to be the month of his birth and death (b.23.06.1912 and d.07-06.1954), India’s journey from the colonial-era stigma to a relatively better social inclusion offers hope and underscores the need for continued reform.

 

Born in London on June 23, 1912, Alan Turing was a prodigy whose prophetic ideas transcended his time. His seminal 1936 paper, “On Computable Numbers, with an Application to the Entscheidungsproblem”, introduced the concept of the universal Turing machine. This theoretical foundation laid the groundwork for programmable computers and the algorithms that now power everything from smartphones and servers to advanced AI systems today. During World War II, at the historic Bletchley Park — the very site that hosted the inaugural Global AI Summit in 2023 — Turing led a team that cracked the formidable German Enigma codes using a electromechanical machine, Bombe, which they built. 

 

The success of the Bombe machine helped the British military top officials to advocate that mechanising the code breaking process was highly effective. Historians estimate this the Bombe breakthrough shortened the war and saved millions of lives. Turing’s wartime service was nothing short of heroic. The effectiveness of Bombe in cracking “German Enigma Codes” created an institutional confidence for further funding the war activities in Bletchley Park and to greenlight building automated machines for cracking the German Lorenz Cipher – used in transmitting, strategic military orders at the top level generals. The result was the development of arguably the world’s first programmable electronic computer – Colossus. Notwithstanding his monumental contributions, Turing was not spared of his dignity. 

 

In 1952, British authorities prosecuted Turing for “gross indecency” following a consensual relationship that he had with another man. Faced with the stark choice between prison and chemical castration through hormone treatment, he opted for the latter to preserve his ability to continue his scientific work. The humiliation, loss of security clearance, and unrelentingsocietal stigma proved unbearable for Turing. On that fateful day, June 7, 1954, Turing was found dead from cyanide poisoning, with a half-eaten apple lying beside him. Whether his death was deliberate suicide or accidental poisoning remains debated, but the role of state-sanctioned prejudice is undeniable. That half-eaten apple - lying by his bedside at the time of his death - has since become symbolically linked - perhaps unwittingly - to the iconic Apple Inc’s logo, a poignant memory of both loss and enduring technological inspiration.

 

Turing’s personal connection to India adds a profound layer of resonance. His father, Julius Mathison Turing, served as an Indian Civil Service officer in the Madras Presidency from 1896. His mother, Ethel Sara Turing, was the daughter of Edward Waller Stoney, chief engineer of the Madras Railway Company, who constructed notable infrastructure projects, including the sprawling bungalow “The Gables” in Coonoor in the Nilgiris. Turing’s elder brother, John, was born there, and it is widely believed that Alan himself was conceived in India (then part of the Madras Presidency) before his birth in London while his parents were on leave. Decades later, Nandan Nilekani — co-founder of Infosys and the architect of Aadhaar — purchased that same Coonoor bungalow. The symbolism is striking: from Turing’s foundational contributions to computing to Nilekani’s digital identity revolution that empowered 1.4 billion Indians through the JAM Trinity (Jan Dhan, Aadhaar, Mobile), enabling unprecedented financial inclusion and direct benefit transfers.

 

This legacy is vividly alive today, in 2026. India hosted the fourth edition of the Global AI Impact Summit at Bharat Mandapam in New Delhi earlier this year, following the 1st, inaugural event, at Bletchley Park. The Indian AI ecosystem is exploding, with generative AI alone projected to grow at an estimated staggering growth of 42% CAGR, and the broader market expected to reach $126 billion by 2030. From AI-driven crop prediction for farmers and personalised healthcare to climate modelling and India’s strategic security requirements,Turing’s vision is powering India’s digital transformation. Yet the man who first embedded logic into machines that could “think” was himself denied the freedom to live with dignity. Incidentally, in the year 2018, the Nehru Science Centre, Mumbai, which I then headed, we had opened a new exhibition “Machined to Think” - on the eve of National Technology Day – in which Turing’s beautifully sculpted Sculpture reminded visitors of his contributions. 

 

The discriminatory laws of the British that hounded Turing also manifested in India as Section 377 of the Indian Penal Code, 1860. This law criminalised “carnal intercourse against the order of nature.” For generations, this colonial relic, coupled with deep-rooted societal prejudices, silenced LGBTQ+ individuals, shamed divorced women, ostracised those struggling with mental health, and pushed countless young people facing academic or professional failure to the brink of despair. The pervasive fear of “log kya kahenge” (what will people say?) paralysed families and stifled individual liberties. 

 

A historic turning point came on September 6, 2018, when a five-judge Constitution Bench of the Supreme Court of India, led by then Chief Justice Dipak Misra, unanimously struck down the application of Section 377 to consensual adult same-sex relations. The Times of India captured this historic judgment with its front-page banner: “INDEPENDENCE DAY – II.” In landmark observations, the court described members of the LGBTQ+ community not as aberrations but as natural “variations” of humanity. Senior advocate Dr Menaka Guruswamy, who argued passionately before the court alongside her partner Arundhati Katju, played a pivotal role in this victory.

 

It is heartening to witness India’s quiet revolution of dignity. In April 2026, Dr Guruswamytook oath as a Rajya Sabha MP, becoming the country’s first openly queer parliamentarian — a full-circle moment of justice and visibility. Around the same time, a retired judge in Meerut, Gyanendra Kumar Sharma, welcomed his divorced daughter home with a full band-baaja, garlands, sweets, and matching “I Love My Daughter” T-shirts. He declared that her dignity mattered more than societal gossip. These events are incremental yet transformative sociocultural milestones, signalling a shift from stigma and silence to public acceptance. 

 

As someone who has spent over four decades communicating science through museums and public platforms, I have witnessed first-hand how prejudice masquerading as tradition erodes the scientific temper, humanism, and spirit of inquiry enshrined in Article 51A(h) of the Indian Constitution. Parents of children with mental health challenges still face whispered ostracism. Students who fail exams or drop out are often pushed towards despair. The same social poison that once targeted Turing and generations of LGBTQ+ Indians continues to claim young lives in subtler forms.

 

Turing’s tragic end, abetted by societal prejudice and outdated laws, reminds us of what societies lose when they weaponise morality against difference. His story compels us to reflect on the preventable loss of genius and potential. Yet, the progress we witness today — legal, constitutional, and increasingly social — is slow but heartening. From the 2018 judgment to recent milestones of acceptance, India is slowly embracing a more inclusive ethos.

 

On this solemn anniversary, let us honour Alan Turing not only for his monumental contributions to computing and AI but also for the resilient human being he was. His half-eaten apple symbolises both profound loss and an enduring call to inspiration. We must remember the precious price paid due to discrimination and commit to ensuring no future innovator or citizen faces such barriers.

 

Appreciating the societal changes underway, we must nevertheless solicit and accelerate more. True inclusion requires fuller legal protections in areas such as marriage, adoption, and workplace equality; robust mental health support systems; and everyday acts of empathy that dismantle the lingering “log kya kahenge” mindset. Education, policy reform, and cultural dialogue are essential to nurture a society where every individual — regardless of sexuality, marital status, gender identity, or personal setbacks — can contribute fully without fear.

 

Turing’s legacy, intertwined with India’s digital ambitions and its evolving social landscape, lights the path forward. Let us draw strength from his brilliance and resolve to build a more humane, just, and scientifically tempered future — one where dignity is not a privilege but a fundamental right for all.

Images : Courtesy Wikipedia

Admiral Krishna Swaminathan, CNS, and the Promise of Sainik School Bijapur

Admiral Krishna Swaminathan and the Promise of Sainik School Bijapur : In the Reflected Glory of an Ajeet: 

Today, as the nation welcomes our fellow Ajeet, Admiral Krishna Swaminathan as the new Chief of the Naval Staff of India, a profound sense of pride sweeps across thousands of us who proudly call ourselves "Ajeets" — the alumni of Sainik School Bijapur.

For India, this is the appointment of a distinguished naval officer as the Chief of the Naval Staff at a time of immense strategic importance in the Indian Ocean and beyond. For Sainik School Bijapur, and its alumni, however, it is profoundly more special. It is history created for our school.

For the first time since the founding of our school in a make shift venue in the premises of the Vijaya College in Bijapur in 1963 that an Ajeet has risen to become the Chief of one of India's Armed Forces.

That single achievement carries within it decades of dreams, discipline, sacrifice and nation-building.

Our school has produced an extraordinary galaxy of military leaders over the years – besides other Ajeets, who have excelled in their own respective areas of professional career. We have seen our alumni rise to become Lieutenant Generals, Vice Admirals, Air Vice Marshals and commanders of some of the most prestigious institutions of the Armed Forces. Our own class buddy of 1977 batch, and a dear friend, Vice Admiral Srikant, went on to become the Commandant of the National Defence College, one of India's foremost institutions of strategic learning. Incidentally, he visited the Nehru Science Centre, Mumbai in this official capacity – on our invitation – for opening of a new facility.

Yet, despite this remarkable legacy, we the Ajeets had never before witnessed one of our own reach the very apex of military leadership.

Today that glass ceiling has been broken and hopefully will be the beginning of more to come in the years ahead.

Admiral Krishna Swaminathan's journey itself embodies the vision with which Sainik Schools were established in India. Born into a family of educators and joining the Sainik School Bijapur in 1977 as a young cadet at age 10, he represents the transformative power of an institution that was conceived to identify talent from ordinary Indian families and provide them with extraordinary opportunities to serve the nation. Admiral Krishna, has often acknowledged that the values, discipline and character forged in Sainik School Bijapur laid the foundation for his remarkable career. In fact, he had recently visited the school to motivate young cadets.

Commissioned into the Indian Navy in 1987, Admiral Swaminathan befittingly earned an exceptional career, spanning nearly four decades. A specialist in Communication and Electronic Warfare, he commanded some of the Navy's most important fighting platforms, including INS Vidyut, INS Vinash, INS Kulish, INS Mysore and the aircraft carrier INS Vikramaditya. He has also held several critical leadership appointments including Vice Chief of Naval Staff, Chief of Personnel, Flag Officer Commanding Western Fleet and Flag Officer Commanding-in-Chief of the Western Naval Command. He is a also the recipient of the Param Vishisht Seva Medal, Ati Vishisht Seva Medal and Vishisht Seva Medal.

Yet what makes this moment particularly special for many of us who know him is not merely the impressive list of appointments or decorations.

It is his humility.

In an age where achievement often comes wrapped in self-promotion, Admiral Krishna Swaminathan remains remarkably humble and grounded. Despite reaching the highest levels of military leadership, he has never hesitated to acknowledge the role of his school, teachers and institutions in shaping him. Every interaction with him leaves one struck not by rank, but by the warmth and his humility.

I have personally experienced that generosity on several occasions.

When he served in Mumbai as the Flag Officer Commanding-in-Chief of the Western Naval Command, I had the privilege of hosting some of his distinguished guests at the CSMVS museum. On another memorable occasion, my wife and I had the honour of being invited as his guests at a naval commissioning ceremony of INS Kaundinya, a cherished memory that remains close to our hearts. I also vividly remember meeting him in his office, where despite the weight of responsibility he carried, he received me with extraordinary warmth and grace. The treasured memento he presented during one such meeting remains one of my most cherished possessions.

What I remember even more than these moments, however, is the effortless dignity with which he interacts with people, his fellow Ajeets and his junior colleagues in Navy. There was never any need to remind anyone of his rank; his character spoke far more eloquently than his high rank and uniform.

As I join fellow Ajeets, naval veterans, serving officers and citizens across the country in wishing Admiral Krishna Swaminathan every success in his new responsibility, I must confess that today I too wish to unapologetically bask in a little reflected glory of his achievement which all Ajeets are basking on and talking about in most school group chats.

 Not merely because he is an Ajeet.

 Not merely because he is the first Chief from our school.

 But because his journey validates an idea.

 The idea that inspired the creation of Sainik Schools.

 The idea that talent exists everywhere in India, in the hinterland of the country.

 The idea that leadership can emerge from ordinary homes.

The idea that institutions built on discipline, merit and service to the nation can transform lives and strengthen nations.

 Today, one of those young boys who entered Sainik School Bijapur in 1977 has become the Chief of the Indian Navy.

And through his achievement, he has reminded every young student sitting in a Sainik School classroom anywhere in India or those young boys aspiring to join Sainik Schools, that no dream is too distant.

Congratulations, Admiral Krishna Swaminathan and wish you all the very best.

Congratulations, Sainik School Bijapur.

And congratulations to every Ajeet who feels a little taller today.

Today, as I bask in the glory of Admiral Swaminathan’s achievement, permit me to share my blog on Sainik School Bijapur and also two other blog tributes which I pad to our class buddies.

 – Lt Col Ajit Bhandarkar Shaurya Chakra who made supreme sacrifice in service of our motherland.

https://khened.blogspot.com/2019/10/lt-col-ajit-bhandarkar-25-rr-to-brave.html

Vice Admiral Srikant, who most unfortunately passed away during Covid times.

https://khened.blogspot.com/2020/12/eulogy-for-our-school-buddy-and-jewel.html

 Blog on Sainik School Bijapur, and our batch Ajeets, a badge that we all wear with immense pride. A school that helped Ordinary Families Produce Extraordinary Leaders for the Nation.

https://khened.blogspot.com/2020/02/sainik-school-bijapur-nostalgic.html

 Ajeet Hain Abheet Hain

Jai Hind

Images: Video grab pictures courtesy DD and Wikipedia