Genes, Adda and Other Inheritances

  I have often wondered whether one really needs a well-heeled laboratory to do innovative work. Having seen labs at both ends of the spectrum, I am still not quite sure. But my two-and-a-half years at the Indian Institute of Science, gave me plenty to think about. I had moved from Banaras Hindu University (BHU) to the Molecular Biophysics Unit (MBU) at IISc - colloquially called the Tata Institute - and joined the laboratory of  Dr. Samir Brahmachari. He was Samir or SKB to many, but simply “BOSS” to us. During my PhD, I had visited CCMB, perhaps the only “five-star” research institute of those times. That visit had helped me build a rather dazzling picture of what IISc would look like.  Then I walked into Lab 108. It was quite basic. There was one large laboratory with workbenches, no air-conditioning and large windows that usually remained open. In one corner, BOSS held court, gently swinging on a Godrej chair sometimes puffing away at his cigarette. A small air-condit...

 I googled “how to choose a name for your newborn” and was overwhelmed by the number of websites, books and expert suggestions available. Apparently, naming a child today requires almost as much research as choosing a career. In our parents’ time, things were probably simpler. On my maternal side, most boys’ names began with Ram—Ramanand, Ramanuj, Ramasheesh and so on—in reverence to my maternal grandfather, who was a wise and much-loved man and a true Ram bhakt. The old-fashioned kind, I must clarify, not the present-day variety. I escaped the Ram prefix because I was not in the direct line of descent. I was named Pradeep. Once, I asked my mother why she had chosen that name. She had no clue. She did tell me that Pradeep meant a lamp—perhaps someone expected to light up the darkness. My younger brother was named Sandeep. I am fairly certain this was simply because it rhymed. I looked up its meaning today and found conflicting explanations. Some sites say “ablaze”; others say “a li...

  Today, I lie in the dark with tubes running out of my belly, pumping fluid from inside me from time to time. My insides are covered with mould, fungus, and microorganisms. The biologists who once moved through me would understand this well: when a body is abandoned, microorganisms arrive quietly to return it to its elements. Perhaps that is what is happening to me now. But do not mistake this for my whole story. Once, I was alive — full of footsteps, arguments, experiments, failed gels, growing cultures, humming machines, and students rushing in and out with the faith that something important might still happen before evening. Today, as mould writes its slow obituary on my walls, I feel the need to speak. This is my story. I was born around circa 1991, not as a grand building, not even as a proper room, but as an underground space lying quietly between two structures that would later house the Bachhawat Block and Plant Molecular Biology. I had two large halls, a narrow corridor, ...

 When I joined the University in June 1993, the building that we now know as the Bimal K. Bachhawat Block was still an unfinished promise. We called it the Life Sciences Block. Three-fourths complete perhaps, if one wanted to be generous. The walls stood, and if my memory serves me right, the windows had already been fitted. But inside, the building was still waiting to become what it was meant to be. It was less a building and more a promise waiting for people to believe in it. Only a small part of the ground floor had come alive. At the far left end was a large room that served as the office of Prof. Bimal Bachhawat and Prof. U.N. Singh. In many ways, that room was one of the power centres of  life sciences. It was usually filled with the thick smoke of pipes — those were still the days when smoking inside official buildings was not frowned upon, let alone banned. Important people came and went, discussions flowed, and decisions were perhaps made over tea, smoke, and food. M...

 This day, 33 years ago — 3rd June 1993, at 9 a.m. — I walked into South Campus for the first time, through the front gate. It did not look quite as splendid then as it does now. I had taken an auto from NII. Getting one was itself an achievement, because nobody seemed particularly keen to come this way. The auto took its own sweet time, stopping at what felt like every possible red light in Delhi, before finally turning into Benito Juarez Marg. There was not much splendour, nor much hustle and bustle. I got down at the gate and asked for directions to the Department of Genetics. A guard in khaki pointed me towards the Arts Faculty Building. The campus looked rather deserted, perhaps because it was the summer holidays. I crossed S P Jain Centre and walked up to the Arts Faculty Building, climbed three floors, and reached the right-hand corner where the department was then housed behind a series of blue-coloured doors. There was nothing fancy about it. Everything was closed, and not...