World Anaesthesia Day: A Journey through History, Science, Curiosity and Compassion

 

One of my class buddies from Sainik School Bijapur (SSBJ), Dr Gurunath Suryavanshi – Gurrya to us – is a doctor specialised in Anaesthesia and as expected his morning message in our Tigers 77, buddies’ group – friends whose friendship date back to the year 1970, when we all joined the SSBJ and stayed together in the residential school until 1977 – was Happy World Anaesthesia Day”. This post of mine, as a science communicator, ​therefore is courtesy my buddy Gurrya and as a mark of respect to him and his profession.

Let me therefore, start my write up on this occasion wishing you all specially Dr Guru, a Happy World Anaesthesia Day. This is a day. which we must remember not just as a medical milestone, but a turning point in medical science and human empathy. It marks the moment when science and its application in medicine stepped into the space of suffering and said — pain need not be endured.  World Anaesthesia Day commemorates the birth of anaesthesia on 16 October 1846, when doctors at Massachusetts General Hospital demonstrated the use of ether for the first time on a patient.

Despite nearly 180 years having passed since that first anaesthetic procedure, and the countless breakthroughs that have followed, according to the World Federation of Societies of Anaesthesiologists, nearly 5 billion people still lack access to safe anaesthesia practices. It is therefore necessary that we create global awareness days like World Anaesthesia Day with a hope that they serve as powerful advocacy tools to mobilise political will, educate the general public, and reinforce the achievements of the global anaesthesia community.

Each year, for World Anaesthesia Day, the WFSA focuses on a different aspect of anaesthesia care and this year 2025, ‘Anaesthesiology in Health Emergencies’ has been chosen as the theme for World Anaesthesia Day.

On October 16, 1846, in the Ether Dome of the Massachusetts General Hospital, a young dentist, William Morton, administered ether to a patient undergoing surgery, thus became the first person to use what we now call anaesthesia. When the operation ended, surgeon John Warren turned to the crowd and said, “Gentlemen, this is no humbug.” Thus began the age of anaesthesia. But, as with most great achievements in science and its applications for human benefit, the roots of this great moment reach far deeper into the soil of curiosity, courage, and communication. The success of use of Anaesthesia in Surgery for the first time in history by William Morton was, an outcome of his understanding on he could see further “by standing on the shoulders of giants”, a profound statement of Newton.

This journey begins with the 18^th century, an age when air itself was being discovered. Chemists like Joseph Priestley and Antoine Lavoisier were revealing that air was not one element but many — oxygen, hydrogen, and other invisible gases. Among them was one that could make us laugh — the nitrous oxide. Incidentally, the intellectual genealogy of anaesthesia from its proto-ideas began with pneumatic chemistry. One of its early practitioners was a young, brilliant experimenter — Humphry Davy.

In the year 1799, Humphrey Devy inhaled and analysed gases in pursuit of their effects on the human body and he did this experiment at Dr. Thomas Beddoes’s Pneumatic Institution in Bristol, UK. Devy meticulously recorded his experiences of “euphoria, exhilaration, and a curious absence of pain”. In 1800, he published his findings in a work titled “Researches, Chemical and Philosophical; Chiefly Concerning Nitrous Oxide.” In his book, Davy wrote a prophetic sentence — and I quote: “As nitrous oxide appears capable of destroying physical pain, it may probably be used with advantage during surgical operations.” This statement done in 1800 — forty-six years before Morton’s demonstration, foretold the future of painless surgery, that William Morton would go on to perform nearly fifty years later in 1846. I am concentrating slightly more on Devy, primarily because of his conviction that science should be seen, felt, and shared, a Mantra for any science communicator, my tribe.

​Davy’s genius was not confined only to the laboratory.  At the Royal Institution in London, where he worked, he transformed chemistry into Public Demonstration Lecture theatre — with sparks, flames, and poetry. He was a big draw. People flocked to see him, not merely for what he discovered, but for the wonder he inspired and the way he communicated his findings to the people. He was one of the first true science communicators — a pioneer of public engagement long before the term was coined.

​Among those captivated by Davy’s lectures was a young bookbinder’s apprentice named Michael Faraday. Inspired by Davy’s demonstrations, Faraday took notes, wrote to him, and was taken on as his assistant. From that relationship bloomed one of the most inspiring mentorships in the history of science. Faraday went on to revolutionise our understanding of electricity and magnetism — yet he always credited Davy for teaching him not just how to experiment, but how to communicate the wonders of science to the people, the end users of the applications of science.

​Davy’s compassion, too, found expression in invention. In 1815, faced with the tragedy of miners dying in methane explosions, he devised the Davy Safety Lamp — a simple flame shielded by wire gauze that prevented the ignition of flammable gas. It saved countless lives during the Industrial Revolution. Here again, knowledge became kindness.

​The story of anaesthesia follows a similar arc — science serving humanity. After Davy’s observations, others followed: Crawford Long in 1842 with ether, Horace Wells in 1844 with nitrous oxide, William Morton’s public demonstration in 1846, and James Young Simpson’s introduction of chloroform in 1847.

​Each built upon the works of the other to shed new insights to arrive at what we now call anaesthesia - a wonder outcome of chemistry which could subdue or nullify pain, with the understanding of nature’s chemistry.

Speaking of surgery as an Indian, and that too a person who had the honour to curate Our Science and Technology Heritage exhibition, I am reminded of a story of ingenuity that predates the Ether Dome by over two millennia. For an Indian audience, who constitute most of my readers, and also to the science communicators among my readers, the journey to painless surgery must also acknowledge our own pioneering Sushruta - the 'Father of Surgery,' who performed complex operations—including rhinoplasty and cataract removal—in ancient India millennia before Ether Dome. In an era where a single inhalation of ether was unimaginable, it is inconceivable as to how did Sushruta and his contemporaries cope with the extreme pain of surgery?

​Sushruta’s approach, detailed in the Sushruta Samhita, was a brilliant, pre-scientific effort to harness nature's pharmacy. Sushruta was not seeking to eliminate consciousness entirely, but to alleviate suffering and induce temporary sedation. This coping mechanism relied heavily on the knowledge of naturally available herbal extracts (like those from the cannabis plant, Indian Hemp), potent alcoholic drinks (madhya or fermented wines), and, significantly, compounds from the poppy plant, or opium (ahiphena). These substances were believed to be combined and administered to the patient prior to the procedure, dulling the senses just enough to make the agonizing experience bearable. We have artistically recreated a diorama of Sushruta performing his surgery in the exhibition at National Science Centre, New Delhi. This ancient practice, using empirical observation to achieve human compassion, underscores a vital point for us today: the yearning to relieve pain has always been humanity's oldest instinct, and science—whether modern pharmacology or ancient herbalism—has always been its most refined instrument.

​Today, as we stand in a world shaped by data, artificial intelligence, and digital revolutions, Davy’s spirit feels close. His belief that knowledge must reach people, not remain confined in journals, must echo through every science museum and science centre and must be told by every science communicator, every museum exhibit, every digital platform that strives to make discovery public and participatory.

​Perhaps, if Davy lived today, he might stand not behind a wooden lecture bench but before a camera or AI screen — still explaining, still inspiring, still connecting curiosity to compassion.

​So, on this World Anaesthesia Day, let us celebrate not only the physicians and scientists who banished pain, but also the communicators who made their discoveries part of human culture. Science is not only about understanding the world; it is about improving it. From laughing gas to the light of the Davy lamp, from ancient herbs to neural networks—it is the same story, told in new languages.

​Every discovery, when shared, becomes a gift, which I am happy to share with my blog readers, courtesy Dr Guru, my buddy.

Images: Courtesy Wikipedia 

International Day of Scientific Culture (IDSC) - India’s Scientific Culture: From Harappa to Chandrayaan

 

International Day of Scientific Culture (IDSC) - India’s Scientific Culture: From Harappa to Chandrayaan

Today, September 28, the world observes the International Day of Scientific Culture (IDSC). It is an occasion not only to celebrate the scientific research inventions, and discoveries that is conducted in research laboratories, but also to reflect on the mindset that fuels progress—rationality, observation, critical inquiry, and openness to evidence. For India, this day has a special resonance. I had the honour to be a part of this commemoration this year as one of the speakers at the Gurunanak College of Arts and Sciences, Mumbai, which commemorated this event yesterday. Before I delve on what I spoke yesterday - “India’s Scientific Legacy Rooted in Antiquity” - let me begin with the genesis for commemorating this day-IDSC and how important it is to mark this day, more so in the current context of geopolitical conflict which we are witnessing in the world today.

On 28 September 1980, an American television aired the first episode of Carl Sagan’s “Cosmos: A Personal Voyage”, on the Public Broadcasting Services(PBS). It was a new public conversation aired on TV about who we are and how we know. Cosmos became an instant hit, appealing to its audience and over the years’ millions of people around the world enjoyed this serial, and for many that serial was the first time science was spoken to them in a language which they could connect with. It was a human story — grand, poetic, moral. Cosmos was a classic example of how science can be communicated to the people in a language which could connect with them and for science communicators, yours truly included, Cosmos remains an inspiration.

Sagan taught us that science is a way of seeing. He wrote and spoke as if to remind humanity that “we are a way for the cosmos to know itself.” That phrase, simple and humble, captures why the anniversary of Cosmos matters beyond nostalgia: it marks the moment when scientific knowledge was framed as part of culture, not apart from it.

One enduring image associated with Sagan carries that message more sharply than the Pale Blue Dot. When Voyager 1, far beyond the outer planets, turned its camera back toward Earth, the planet shrank to a speck in a sunbeam — a “pale blue dot.” For Sagan, that image was humbling showing our insignificant yet profoundly singular position in the vast cosmos. It showed us that no other cradle of human life exists in the cosmos. The sight of Earth as a solitary, fragile point revealed our relative smallness in the vast universe, and an overwhelming uniqueness of the world that sustains us.

The core message of Carl Sagan's "Pale Blue Dot" is a profound and direct response to the kind of land conflicts and geopolitical divisions we see today. In his famous passage from the book Pale Blue Dot: A Vision of the Human Future in Space, he writes: "Look again at that dot. That's here. That's home. That's us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every 'superstar,' every 'supreme leader,' every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there—on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam."  

Sagan's objective was to challenge our sense of self-importance and the "delusion that we have some privileged position in the Universe." He explicitly connects this cosmic insignificance to human conflicts, saying:  "Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that, in glory and triumph, they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of this pixel on the scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner, how frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds."  

Therefore, the concept of the "Pale Blue Dot" is not just about our insignificance; it is a direct and powerful appeal for peace, unity, and a focus on our shared home. By presenting a grand, humbling perspective, Sagan's message advocates that the petty conflicts that consume us are rendered absurd when viewed against the backdrop of an endless cosmos. It calls for a shift from fighting over "a fraction of a dot" to preserving the one and only place we have to make a living in this vast cosmos. This message is more relevant than ever today in encouraging a global focus on sustainability and shared humanity. 

The International Day of Science Culture (IDSC), observed since 2020, helps us remind ourselves of this singularity of our position, even as it exemplifies our uniqueness and encourages us to reach out to schools, colleges, museums, media and civic institutions to treat science as a cultural resource: one that sharpens citizenship, inspires creativity, and equips societies to make better choices. In an age of rapid technological change and contested truths, celebrating science as culture is not an optional nicety — it is a civic necessity.

India’s Scientific Legacy Rooted in Antiquity

Scientific culture is not new to India. The Sindhu Sarasvati (Harappan) Civilisation, which flourished nearly 4500 years ago, displayed remarkable scientific achievements: urban planning with underground drainage, standardised baked bricks, advanced water management, and—most impressively—precision in weights and measures across a vast geography. This standardisation reflects not just craft, but a rational, systematised approach to daily life.

Mathematics and astronomy flourished in the following centuries. The Baudhyayana Sulba Sutras demonstrated geometrical reasoning, including principles akin to the Pythagorean theorem. Aryabhata in the 5th century CE described the Earth’s rotation and offered models of planetary motion. The modern day decimal place value system including the profoundly significant number Zero originated from India and travelled to the world through the Arabs. The Kerala School of Astronomy pioneered infinite series expansions, antedating aspects of calculus long before Newton.

In medicine, the Charaka Samhita and Sushruta Samhita laid the foundations of Ayurveda. Sushruta, often hailed as the father of surgery, detailed surgical instruments and techniques still admired today. Metallurgy was equally advanced—the Delhi Iron Pillar stands rust-free for 1,600 years, and large-scale zinc smelting at Zawar, Rajasthan, points to industrial-level chemical engineering. These achievements were not isolated. They were evidence of a culture where rational thinking, systematic documentation, and practical application of knowledge were respected and transmitted.

This trajectory of growth, however, faced severe interruptions. Centuries of invasions, colonial exploitation, and the dismantling of indigenous institutions weakened India’s scientific pursuits. By the time of Independence, India was portrayed as a land of superstition and poverty, rather than knowledge and innovation.

Yet, India’s scientific culture never fully disappeared. It resurfaced in modern times, when our founding leaders recognised science as central to nation-building. Jawaharlal Nehru famously called industries and academic institutions the “temples of modern India.” The creation of TIFR, IITs, CSIR labs, ISRO, and agricultural research institutes built the foundations for a modern scientific nation. Importantly, our Constitution enshrined the development of a “scientific temper” as a Fundamental Duty—a powerful acknowledgement that rationality is not alien to India but intrinsic to its identity.

In 2017, the London Science Museum showcased this story in its landmark exhibition “Illuminating India: 5000 Years of Science and Innovation.” I had the privilege of contributing to this exhibition as the Nodal Officer. This exhibition offered the world a panoramic view of India’s scientific legacy. It was a reminder that India has always been a source of scientific ideas that shaped human progress—whether the concept of zero, metallurgy, or medical traditions or more recently its success at frugal costs in its successful space endeavours – Chandrayan and Mangalyaan.

Seventy-five years after Independence, India’s scientific culture has once again placed it at the forefront of global science and technology. Our space programme has captured global imagination: the Mars Orbiter Mission succeeded on its maiden attempt at a fraction of the cost of comparable missions; Chandrayaan-3’s soft landing on the Moon’s south pole made history. In digital innovation, India leads the world in developing scalable platforms like Aadhaar and UPI.

During the COVID-19 pandemic, the scientific temper of the nation was put to the test. Despite early challenges, India not only developed indigenous vaccines at record speed but also rolled out the world’s largest vaccination drive. Importantly, the acceptance of vaccines by the Indian public—at a time when hesitancy plagued many Western countries—reflected trust in scientific solutions deeply rooted in cultural attitudes toward health and community.

Yet, the picture is not without concern. Pseudoscience, misinformation, and superstition continue to challenge rational discourse. Social media amplifies unverified claims, eroding trust in evidence-based thinking. To truly honour our civilisational heritage, we must defend scientific culture from these threats.

As we celebrate the International Day of Scientific Culture, let us remember: science in India is not an imported value. It is our inheritance. The world recognised this in London in 2017. Our Constitution enshrines it. Our achievements in space and medicine prove it.

The challenge before us is to ensure that this culture of rationality, inquiry, and innovation is not undermined by misinformation or complacency. If we succeed, India will not only rise as an economic power but also as a beacon of scientific culture for the 21st century.

That would be the true fulfilment of our heritage—and our responsibility to the future.

Blood Moon 2025: From Aryabhata’s Genius to Tonight’s Spectacle

 

Tonight (7–8 September, 2025), the skies over India and much of the world will stage a grand celestial spectacle — a total lunar eclipse, popularly called the Blood Moon, which is already being hyped across media. Though nit as spectacular as the Total Solar Eclipse, the Lunar Eclipse is special because of its longevity in its occurrence and also the fact that it comes with no risk of seeing with naked eye. Tonight, moon, the lone satellite of our planet earth, which has been so romanticised by the Bollywood movies in the past with soulful melodies sung in honour of the full moon, will be bathed in its coppery red hue for more than an hour – 82 minutes to be precise. The lunar eclipse, and the so called blood moon, will be visible to the naked eye across India and can be seen without any special eye protective wearables.

Courtesy wide publicity by the media and special arrangements made in most cities by science centres, and planetariums, this astronomical moment of awe and wonder is sure to attract many to look at the night sky to witness this celestial theatrical play between our planet earth its satellite, the moon and our Sun, whose movements unfold tonight’s celestial spectacle. Unfortunately, there will still be many, pressured by the astrologers, who may believe in age-old myths and rituals; but for science communicators, like yours truly, it is an opportunity to celebrate both nature’s precision and India’s scientific heritage.

Cosmic Clockwork: Geometry of Lunar and Solar Eclipses

What makes eclipses so enchanting is the delicate geometry of the Earth–Moon–Sun system. The Earth, nearly 12,742 km in diameter, is about four times larger than the Moon, which measures 3,474 km across. Yet because the Moon is so much closer — only about 3.84 lakh km from Earth — while the Sun, though 400 times wider than the Moon (about 1.39 million km across), is also about 400 times farther away (roughly 15 crore km), they appear almost the same size in our sky. This cosmic coincidence allows the Moon to neatly cover the Sun during solar eclipses, and lets the Earth’s much larger shadow engulf the Moon during lunar eclipses. All this is orchestrated by the steady motions of rotation and revolution: the Earth spinning on its axis once every 24 hours, the Moon circling Earth every 27 days, and the Earth orbiting the Sun once a year. Tomorrow’s total lunar eclipse is a direct outcome of this elegant celestial clockwork.

Blood Moon

·    Tonight’s, lunar eclipse will commence around 8.58 PM and end at 2.25 AM on 8 September.  The totality of the eclipse, called the blood moon phase will occur between 11PM to 12.22 AM. During the Totality of the lunar eclipse, the moon will not vanish into blackness but glows red. This blood red appearance is a result of the Rayleigh scattering — the same effect that makes our sunsets crimson. As sunlight passes through Earth’s atmosphere, the shorter blue wavelengths are filtered out, while the longer red wavelengths are refracted into the umbra, softly painting the lunar surface in shades of red and orange. Depending on atmospheric conditions — dust, pollution — the Moon will appear bright copper or an eerie dark maroon.

Tomorrow’s eclipse will be one of the longest of the decade. It provides a great opportunity for Mumbaikars and others from across the subcontinent, to gaze at the night sky and look up and marvel at natures wonders.

Supermoons, Blue Moons, and Media Hype

The media often headlines celestial occurrences under captivating headlines Supermoon, Blood Moon, Super Blue Blood Moon. These terms are media inventions — catchy labels designed to capture attention in an age of short attention spans. They are briefly described below.

• A Supermoon occurs when a full Moon coincides with the Moon’s closest approach to Earth, making it appear up to 14% brighter and 7% larger.
• A Blue Moon is simply the second full Moon in a calendar month.
• A Blood Moon is the reddish Moon during totality, which is happening tonight

When all three occur together, as in January 2018, it is hyped as a “Super Blue Blood Moon.” As Director of the Nehru Science Centre at the time, I remember how we hosted public viewing sessions for that rare trifecta — the first in 35 years. Crowds gathered, telescopes were trained, and for a moment, science and wonder blended seamlessly under the Mumbai night sky.

Similarly, on Buddha Purnima, May 26, 2021, amid the gloom of COVID-19 lockdowns, we live-streamed the Supermoon and lunar eclipse for thousands of viewers. Despite Mumbai’s cloudy skies, the brief glimpses we managed felt like precious gifts in dark times.

These past experiences remind me that while hype sells, it also brings people closer to science. Even exaggerated labels have their use — they make the public look up at the heavens.

Myths, Legends, and the Indian Tradition

For millennia, eclipses have evoked a mixture of fear and reverence. In Indian mythology, the demon Rahu is said to swallow the Sun or Moon, causing an eclipse. According to the Puranas, Rahu, having deceitfully consumed a drop of Amrit during the churning of the ocean, was beheaded by Vishnu. The immortal head became Rahu, and the body became Ketu, forever chasing the Sun and Moon across the sky. Such stories infused eclipses with ritual significance. Even today, many households in India observe Sutak, a period of fasting and ritual purity before and during eclipses. People avoid cooking, eating, or making important decisions. While these practices persist, it is also true that India has always nurtured a parallel, scientific tradition and the mythical beliefs and practices are gradually fading out from society, courtesy the public awareness programmes conducted by science communicators, science centres and planetariums.

Aryabhata: The First Indian to Demystify Eclipses

Nearly 1,500 years ago, ancient Indian mathematician and astronomer Aryabhata (476 CE) revolutionized our understanding of celestial mechanics. In his magnum opus, the Aryabhatiya, he:

• Asserted that the Earth is spherical and rotates on its axis once a day.
• Dismissed Rahu and Ketu as mythological constructs, explaining eclipses as shadows of the Earth and Moon.
• Provided mathematical algorithms to predict the timing and size of eclipses with remarkable accuracy.

Aryabhata’s ideas were bold, often ridiculed by contemporaries including Varahamihira and Brahmagupta, who clung to geocentric orthodoxy. Yet his insights endured. Later Indian astronomers like Lalla and Bhaskara I expanded his methods, and through translations, Aryabhata’s models influenced Islamic and European astronomy.

When we watch midnight Blood Moon, we are witnessing precisely the phenomenon Aryabhata described — shadows cast in celestial alignment. To think that such predictive knowledge was developed in India a millennium before Copernicus is a source of pride and inspiration for all Indians.

Long Journey of Eclipses in Science

Eclipses have long been scientific laboratories. The Total solar eclipse of 1868, observed in Guntur, India, led to the discovery of helium — the only element first identified outside Earth. The 1919 total solar eclipse famously confirmed Einstein’s theory of general relativity, as starlight was shown to bend around the Sun’s gravity.

Even today, astronomers study eclipses to better understand atmospheric conditions, both terrestrial and lunar. Each event is not just a spectacle but also an opportunity to test, measure, and learn.

From Fear to Celebration Change in Public Perception

What strikes me most is how India’s relationship with eclipses has transformed over time from fear to celebration. In earlier times, eclipses were feared as bad omens and roads were seen empty and people closed indoors during eclipses. But today, with rising awareness, they are celebrated as community events. Science centres, planetariums astronomy clubs, schools, and citizen groups organise watch parties, often with telescopes and live commentary. One of my school alumni, Dinesh Badagandi operates a fleet of mobile planetariums under the banner of Tare Zameen Par across Karnataka and adjoining states to create awareness on astronomy and space and an impact assessment study commissioned by the state Government of Karnataka has emphasises its positive impact across the schools in the state of Karnataka.

I am reminded of Prof. Yash Pal, whose live TV commentary during the 1995 Total Solar Eclipse helped millions shed superstition and embrace the eclipse as a natural wonder. His work, and that of countless science communicators, has turned eclipses from portents of doom into festivals of learning. I fondly recall that during an annular solar eclipse in Delhi, the National Science Centre, of which I was the Director had made special arrangement for viewing the solar eclipse and one of the arrangements included a free breakfast for all the visitors, main aim was to dispel the myth of food getting poisoned during eclipse. Almost every visitor, some of them after initial hesitation, joined us in taking food during the eclipse helping bust the myths associated with eclipses.

Tomorrow’s event gives us another chance to continue this tradition — to inspire young minds, to foster curiosity, and to remind ourselves of our place in the cosmos.

 A Midnight Invitation

As midnight approaches on September 7, 2025, step outside. Look up at the Moon as it turns red in Earth’s shadow. Think of the myths of Rahu, the genius of Aryabhata, the experiments of modern scientists, and be happy to be blessed to find our own unique place in this vast universe with billions of galaxies each having billions of their own solar systems with their own planets and their moons, yet as we know today we are perhaps alone in this universe and let us all be proud of our position and let us all join hands in protecting our planet.

The Lunar eclipse which we will witness is not just a spectacle for our eyes, but also for the mind and spirit. A reminder that the same Moon that inspired poets, puzzled ancient sky-watchers, and challenged mathematicians still shines (reflected light) upon us, timeless and unchanging.

So tonight, let us celebrate not fear. Let us observe not merely with our eyes, but with wonder and gratitude. For in the story of an eclipse, we glimpse both the poetry of myth and the precision of science — and the eternal human quest to understand the heavens.

Happy viewing

The Guru Shishya Parampara: From Shiva’s Guru Gita to India’s Science Labs, Guru’s teachings Endure

Every year on 5th September, we in India pay tribute to our teachers by celebrating the day as Teachers Day, in memory of Dr Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan, a renowned philosopher and the second President of India, whose birthday, 5^th September, was chosen to honour his belief that education is the bedrock of society and teachers are its architects. Dr. Radhakrishnan believed in the importance of education and the role of teachers in fostering education. When some of his students sought his permission to celebrate his birthday, Dr Radhakrishnan, suggested that instead of celebrating his personal birthday, he suggested that this day should be dedicated to the selfless service of all the teachers in India. Accordingly, 5 September 1962, his 77th birthday, marked the first observance of Teachers' Day and the tradition has continued ever since. This day provides us an opportunity to recognise the vital role the teachers play in shaping the lives and future of students.

This day also reminds us that in our ancient civilisation, teaching was never seen as a mere profession—it was a vocation, almost a sacred duty. This is evidenced by a masterpiece timeless invocation of a verse which captures this spirit:

“Gurur Brahma, Gurur Vishnu, Gurur Devo Maheshwara,

Gurur Sakshat Param Brahma, Tasmai Shri Gurave Namah.”

(The Guru is the Creator, the Preserver, and the Destroyer. The Guru is undoubtedly the Supreme Reality. To that illustrious Guru, I bow in reverence.) The above text is part of the Guru Gita of the Skanda Purana. This sacred text is presented as a dialog between Goddess Uma (Parvathi) and Lord Shiva, where Lord Shiva explains from the mount Kailasa to his consort the significance of the Guru in the path to Spiritual liberation.

Living up to this tradition of reverence for Guru was the brilliant physicist Nobel laureate, Sir C.V. Raman. In 1954, the first Bharat Ratna awards were announced in India. The illustrious list of the awardees included Dr. Radhakrishnan in whose honour we celebrate this day, C. Rajagopalachari, and Prof C.V. Raman. An anecdotal reference cited by Dr APJ Abdul Kalam, provides an insight on Prof Raman as a dedicated teacher. Dr Kalam recalls in many of his lectures, which has also been covered in Indian Express, that an invitation was sent to Raman by the Rashtrapati Bhavan to receive the nation’s highest civilian award, Bharat Ratna. Yet, Raman sent a polite letter of regret, informing that he would not be able to make it to the ceremony. The reason was not a prior international commitment which he had or ill health. It was a commitment that Raman - presumed he had, to one of his students, a devoted PhD student whose thesis submission deadline coincided with the Bharat Ratna receiving ceremony of Prof Raman. For Raman, his duty as the PhD guide of his student was paramount, even over a Bharat Ratna reception award for him.

This anecdote, chronicled by President APJ Abdul Kalam, is a story of dedication of Raman to his PhD student. Dr. Kalam called it the finest demonstration of Raman the teachers’ devotion to his student. For Raman, the truest award was not the medal which would be conferred to him in a monumental ceremonial hall, but the successful completion of a student’s work.

Subrahmanyan Chandrasekhar, Sir CV Raman’s nephew, carried forward the same ethos of commitment of the teacher to their students to another level in his own career as one of the twentieth century’s greatest astrophysicists. His scientific journey itself illustrates how brilliance can coexist with humility. In the 1930s, as a student barely in his twenties at Cambridge, Chandrasekhar worked out the physics of electron degeneracy pressure inside dying stars. He showed that above a certain critical mass—now immortalized as the Chandrasekhar Limit—a white dwarf could not support itself against gravity and must collapse further, ultimately giving rise to neutron stars or black holes.

When Chandrasekhar presented his profound work before the Royal Astronomical Society in 1935, his senior contemporary, Sir Arthur Eddington, one of the greatest astrophysicists of his time, ridiculed it publicly as “stellar buffoonery.” The humiliation in front of a distinguished audience coerced Chandrasekhar to leave the U.K. and take up a position in the United States at the University of Chicago. Chandra joined at the Yerkes Observatory, Chicago University in 1937 where spent more than a quarter of a century, a large part of his scientific career. Despite the personal humiliation, Chandra never spoke disrespectfully of Eddington, continuing to refer to him with regard and respect as his mentor and guru. It was an act of dignity rooted in the very ethos of Guru–Śhishya Parampara—to respect the lineage of knowledge even when wronged. It resonates with the epic story of reverence that Ekalavya had for his imaginary guru, Dhronacharya. The epic tale of Ekalavya, who offered his thumb as guru dakshina to Dronacharya, is the ultimate, albeit extreme, symbol of this commitment. It speaks to a reverence that places the Guru’s word above one’s own ambition. S Chandra coming from a background so deeply rooted in these Indian ethos, practiced and exemplified this ethos in his respect for Eddington, who literally had ended his career in Cambridge. Although the criticism of Eddington was a devastating blow that delayed recognition to Chandra for decades, yet Chandra never publicly expressed bitterness for Eddington. He continued to respect Eddington, acknowledging his debt to him. In this, he exhibited a grace that is the hallmark of a true shishya—understanding that the path of learning sometimes requires weathering a Guru’s imperfections.

S Chandrasekhar embodied the timeless reverence for Guru as seen in the verses Guru Gita of Skhanda Purana. Chandra’s biographer, Kameshwar Wali, based on an anecdotal reference – that has now become one of the great legends of Chandra, which President John T. Wilson loved to tell - chronicles the commitment of Chandra to his students. Prof S Chandrasekhar would drive over a hundred miles from the Yerkes Observatory to the University of Chicago every week, to teach an advanced class in astrophysics to a class of two students: T.D. Lee and C.N. Yang. His selfless investment as a Guru to his two students, honed their genius. Years later, they won the Nobel Prize in 1957 for overthrowing the fundamental law of parity—a true act of intellectual destruction of dogma, a lesson well-learned from their Guru. Lee and Young were just 32 and 37 when they won the Nobel Prize contrary to their Guru – Chandra, who had to wait for another 26 years to receive his coveted Nobel Prize, in 1983.

Dr. Kalam, a legend shaped by teachers, loved to narrate the story of his mentor, Prof. Satish Dhawan. In 1979, when the first Indian SLV-3 mission, headed by Kalam, failed it was Dhawan, the Chairman of ISRO, who faced the criticism including facing the combative press for its failure. Prof Dhawan, as a true Guru, shielded his team and his protégé Dr Kalam from criticism. A year later, when the very same mission succeeded, Dhawan credited Kalam for the success of SLV 3. In this act, Dhawan defined leadership not as command, but as service—the highest form of being a Guru.

Yet in today’s world—inundated with online tutorials, artificial intelligence, and instant information—it is fair to ask: do we still need the Guru? The answer, as India’s history and science both testify, is an unequivocal yes. The Guru has never been merely a transmitter of information. The Guru is creator, preserver, and destroyer—creator of knowledge, preserver of tradition, destroyer of ignorance and ego. The Guru is both timeless and timely, yet utterly relevant in an age of artificial intelligence.

Today, as we celebrate the Teachers Day, we are not just celebrating a profession. We are celebrating our national ethos, which continues to whisper, albeit attenuated largely, in the corridors of our premier institutes, where a professor stays back to guide a struggling student, motivates his students just as Prof MM Sharma did to one of his Shishya, Mukesh Ambani, who as a mark of his reverence to his Guru, pledged a whopping Rs 151 Crores to the ICT, where Prof MM Served. It echoes in the determination of a scientist who chooses a thesis submission over a national award.

The Guru-Shishya Parampara is India’s timeless principle for excellence. It exemplifies that the highest knowledge does not come from AI or from the vast digital resources; it must be transmitted, with compassion, integrity, and sometimes, immense personal sacrifice by the Guru to the students. From Kailash, the abode of Lord Shiva, from where he passed on his wisdom to Parvati, to the laboratories where Raman and Chandrasekhar nurtured their students and future Nobel laureates, the message is consistent: a civilisation that honours its teachers ultimately honours its own future.

On this Teachers' Day, we bow to them all—Tasmai Śrī Gurave Namaḥ.

110 Years On: Remembering Henry Moseley — The Brilliant Scientist Lost to War

 

 

War is the single most idiosyncratic, disgusting beastly human greed for conquest, which if not controlled can lead to disastrous consequences as evidenced in the two World Wars. One of those millions of soldiers who made the supreme sacrifice in service of their motherland, during the World War I, was the genetically gifted genius scientist, Henry Moseley.

Today, 10 August, 2025, marks 110 years since the death of one of science’s brightest young stars — Henry Gwyn Jeffreys Moseley. On this day in 1915, at just 27 years old, Moseley was killed by a sniper’s bullet in the trenches of Gallipoli during the First World War. His life, though brief, left an indelible mark on modern science — and his death stands as a poignant reminder of war casualties. Among the tens of millions of WWI casualties - Indian soldiers included - the ‘single most costly death of the war’ - in the words of Isaac Asimov - was that of a genetically gifted genius scientist, Henry Moseley.

Moseley’s contributions (Moseley’s Law) in the development of the modern periodic table is now legendary. In his untimely death aged 27, not just England but the whole of humanity was robbed of Moseley’s genius scientific contributions. His death is all the more poignant for what he might have achieved, had it not been for the WW1. In just 40 months of his scientific research career, Moseley laid out the basis for the modern periodic table, predicted the elements that would fill in the gaps and showed that x-rays could be a supreme analytical tool.

Henry Gwyn Jeffreys Moseley was born on 23 November 1887 in Weymouth, Dorset, into a distinguished lineage of scientists and scholars. His father, Henry Nottidge Moseley (1844–1891), was a celebrated naturalist who participated in the HMS Challenger expedition (1872–1876), authored Notes of a Naturalist on the Challenger, and was elected a Fellow of the Royal Society in 1879. Henry Nottidge himself was the son of a notable mathematician, Harry Moseley. On his mother’s side, Henry Moseley’s maternal grandfather was John Gwyn Jeffreys, a prominent biologist and conchologist, reinforcing a familial culture steeped in natural science. This intellectual heritage provided young Henry with early exposure to inquiry, field observations, and scholarly rigour. Harry, as a child, exhibited great interest in science and with his sister, painstakingly surveyed surrounding countryside to catalogue as much of the native flora and fauna as he could find. His childhood interest in science clearly foretold what great future of scientific research lies ahead.

 Education and Early Scientific Work

Moseley excelled academically in his school. A King's Scholarship led him to Eton, where he distinguished himself in mathematics and physics, before enrolling at Trinity College, Oxford in 1906, earning his BA in 1910. Following graduation, he joined Ernest Rutherford's laboratory at Manchester as a demonstrator and researcher. Rutherford’s lab was a “nursery of genius,” fostering future Nobel laureates. Under Rutherford's mentorship, Moseley explored radioactivity and then turned his focus to the nature of X-rays.

The Scientific Breakthrough: Moseley’s Law & the Modern Periodic Table

Since Mendeleev’s time, the Periodic Table (1869) relied on the concept of atomic weight. Mendeleev had examined the chemical properties of each element, and grouped those with similar properties together. However, in a few notable cases – such as that of argon and potassium – Mendeleev had to break the sequence of atomic weight to keep similar properties in the same groups. These ‘pair reversals’ raised questions on the principle of using atomic weight as the basis of the periodic table. It was not until the arrival of Moseley on the scientific scene that this problem was scientifically and rationally solved. 

Between 1913 and 1914, Moseley published pioneering papers titled The High-Frequency Spectra of the Elements in Philosophical Magazine. He employed X-ray spectroscopy to map characteristic X-ray frequencies across elements, discovering a linear relation between the square root of frequency and atomic number—a relationship now known as Moseley’s law. This provided the first empirical basis for ordering the periodic table by atomic number, which revealed gaps hinting at undiscovered elements, and resolved uncertainties such as rare-earth element placement.

Moseley law proved (what Bohr and others had suspected) that the frequency of x-rays is proportional to the atomic charge. The elements could now be ordered according to atomic number and the mystery of the ‘pair reversals’ was solved thus leading to the “Modern Periodic Table”.  the basis of which is based on the atomic number and not the atomic weight. This paved the way for seeing the gaps in the periodic table, where elements of a certain atomic number were missing. Peers immediately recognized the import of this discovery. Robert Millikan deemed Moseley’s work “one of the dozen most brilliant … in the history of science,” and it became central to early atomic models. In the process Moseley had laid the groundwork for a vast treasure hunt, which were to be discovered much later by the chemists after more than 30 years of searching for the missing elements his method had predicted.

Enlistment of Moseley in WWI and Death at Gallipoli

With the outbreak of World War, I, despite urging from his advisor Rutherford to remain in research, Moseley enlisted and joined the Royal Engineers. It was on 10 August 1915, as a Second Lieutenant and signals officer, he was killed by a sniper’s bullet in the battle of Gallipoli, while sending a message on 10 August 1915—just shy of his 28th birthday.

Moseley was touring Australia for a meeting of the British Association for the Advancement of Science, with his mother, when the news of the declaration of war reached Australia. Moseley felt it was his duty to join his soldier brethren’s to fight for his country. He did not heed to the advice of his mother, Henry Rutherford, friends and family who tried persuading him to change his mind. Unfortunately, Moseley’s patriotism prevailed and Moseley left Australia on a ship for San Francisco from where he caught the first train to New York. From there he went home to England and enlisted his name in the British Army and obtained a commission as lieutenant in the Royal Engineers. He was posted to Gallipoli to join ANZAC for the Gallipoli campaign.

It was during the curation of the “Cricket Connects: India Australia” exhibition that I had the honour to research about the historic connect that Indians shared with the Australians, particularly during the Battle of Gallipoli in WWI, where the Indian soldiers fought shoulder to shoulder as team ANZAC (Australia New Zealand Army Corps) with the Ottoman forces. It was during this research that I studied about involvement of Moseley in this battle. Second Lieutenant and signals officer Henry Moseley was part of ANZAC. While the battle itself was a defeat for the ANZAC, the ANZAC were relentless in their heroic gallantry and displayed incredible valour, courage and endurance in the most hostile environment in which this battle was fought.

The Battle of Sari Bair: August Offensive

The Gallipoli Campaign had devolved into a fierce stalemate by mid-1915. In early August, the Allies (Ottoman) launched the August Offensive—a collective push to seize the Sari Bair ridge and break the deadlock by capturing high ground suffocating ANZAC positions. Heavy fighting occurred from 6 August onward, including costly diversionary attacks at Lone Pine, The Nek, and Suvla Bay landings. Initial gains—such as temporary Allied holds on Chunuk Bair and Hill Q—were nullified by Ottoman counterattacks.

The Battle of Sari Bair ended in Ottoman victory and Allied withdrawal. Tactical errors, supply issues, miscommunication, and contested terrain undermined the offensive. At Hill 60, the final major assault from 21 to 29 August, Allied forces again failed to link Suvla and ANZAC positions, suffering heavy casualties throughout. It was during this fight that Moseley was killed on 10 August, 1915.

The archival record of Moseley’s short but luminous career—his notebooks, spectral plots, university correspondence, and battlefield telegrams—illustrate not just personal tragedy but the societal cost of war. His death triggered reflection in British scientific circles, prompting arguments that scientific talent should be shielded from frontline service. This influenced later policies in WWII, where scientists were mobilized for strategic innovation (e.g., radar, medicine, code-breaking) rather than combat.

Henry G. J. Moseley’s lineage, work, and death embody both profound creative promise and wartime sacrifice. His early demise at Gallipoli, during one of WWI’s defining failures, serves as a poignant “never again”—a plea that scientific genius should be protected, not lost. Moseley did not die in vain; his legacy endures in the atomic number, the modern periodic table, and our collective memory of what was—and what peace must preserve.