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PAST & PRESENT

An Indian institute

Photo: K. Gopinathan

A century of quality: The Indian Institute of Science.

On November 23, 1898, a great pioneering entrepreneur wrote a remarkable letter to a great spiritual leader. Here is the letter, in full:

Dear Swami Vivekanand,

I trust you remember me as a fellow-traveller in your voyage from Japan to Chicago [in 1893]. I very much recall at this moment your views on the growth of the ascetic spirit in India and the duty, not of destroying, but of diverting it into useful channels.

I recall these ideas in connection with my scheme of a Research Institute for India, of which you have doubtless heard or read. It seems to me that no better use can be made of the ascetic spirit than the establishment of monasteries or residential halls for men dominated by this spirit, where they should live with ordinary decency and devote their lives to the cultivation of sciences — natural and humanistic. I am of opinion that if such a crusade in favour of an asceticism of this kind were undertaken by a competent leader, it would greatly help asceticism in science, and the good name of our common country, and I know not who would make a more fitting general of such a campaign [than] Vivekanand. So you think you would care to apply yourself to the Mission of galvanizing into life our ancient traditions in this respect? Perhaps, you had better begin with a fiery pamphlet rousing our people in this matter? I should cheerfully repay all the expenses of publication.

With kind regards

I am dear Swami

Yours faithfully

Jamsetji N. Tata

Swami Vivekananda's answer to this letter is unavailable. He did not write the pamphlet asked for, but he does appear to have signalled his approval of the scheme. More crucially, Tata got the support of the Viceroy, Lord Curzon, and of the Maharaja of Mysore, who gifted some 370 acres of choice land in Bangalore for a new institute of scientific research. In July 1902, as the statutes were being drafted and the project finalised, Swami Vivekandana passed away. Jamsetji Tata himself died two years later. Inspired by the spiritualist, promoted by the industrialist, the Indian Institute of Science finally got off the ground only in 1909.

Known still in Bangalore as the “Tata Institute”, India’s finest centre of scientific research and teaching celebrates its centenary this year. My own first memories of the place date to the early 1970s, when my maternal grandfather — who had taken a Master’s degree there in the 1920s — was running some experiments in the Aeronautical Department as part of an “Emeritus Scientist” scheme. I was ferried to the Institute by my father, who had himself taken a Ph.D. there in the 1940s, in the department of Chemistry.

At that time, my admiration for the Tata Institute was aesthetic rather than intellectual. I loved the stone buildings and marvelled at the richness of the bird life. But I was determined not to follow my forefathers into the sciences. In school, my performance was passable in chemistry, tolerable in mathematics, and disastrous in physics. Apart from a conspicuous lack of talent, I had also a profound disinterest in the sciences, not least because practicals in the afternoon kept me away from the cricket field.

And so, in college — and much to my grandfather’s disgust — I studied economics. I later moved to sociology, a discipline even further away from the hard sciences. And yet, in the 1980s, I became the third generation of my family to be formally associated with the Indian Institute of Science. I had begun work on forest history in collaboration with the ecologist Madhav Gadgil, and had the honour of serving briefly on the faculty of the Institute’s newly established Centre for Ecological Sciences. In a year teaching at the I.I.Sc, I grew to admire the culture of disinterested scholarship that is the hallmark of the place. In two decades of further interaction, the admiration has only deepened.

So far as I know, the Indian Institute of Science is the only academic institution in the country that has maintained its standards for as long as a century. Most other institutes enjoy a brief period of glory, this associated with a particularly inspirational or charismatic director. When that man or woman retires or dies, the place lapses back into mediocrity. Somehow, the I.I.Sc. has managed to violate the iron law of Indian institutional decay. Some of its Directors have been brilliant; others, merely capable. Of the Directors I have personally known, one was the most self-effacing and selfless of men; another, one of the most egotistical (not to say megalomaniacal). But through these leaders of varying characters and temperaments, the Institute has continued to maintain an excellent teaching programme and conduct high quality research.

Some observers of the Indian Institute of Science think it should have done more — produce Nobel Laureates, for example. As a student of Indian institutions I would say that it has done quite enough. Most laboratories and universities in India carry much dead wood; here, on the other hand, at least eight in 10 faculty members are doing serious research. More remarkably, the I.I.Sc has managed to keep away the pernicious influence of caste and kin, and refused to bend its standards to accommodate politicians (including scientist-politicians).

I have now known Bangalore for more than four decades. In this time, much has changed in the city; not, however, the quality or the reputation of the Indian Institute of Science. Swami Vivekananda and Jamsetji Tata would have been proud of what it has done since it was established in 1909. So should we.

ramguha@hotmail.com

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