Jayant Narlikar: Cosmic visionary who bridged chasm of science and society
Professor Jayant Narlikar, a pioneering Indian astrophysicist, profoundly influenced science and society, leaving a legacy of curiosity and inspiration.
It is a day heavy with grief — for Indian science, for those who were fortunate to know Professor Jayant Vishnu Narlikar, and for the generations whose lives were shaped, sometimes unknowingly, by his ideas, his clarity, and his refusal to ever stand at a distance from society.
For the world, he was a legendary astrophysicist, a founder of modern cosmology in India, and a fearless challenger of orthodoxies. But to those of us who had the good fortune to know him personally, his loss is intimate and painful. He was not just a scientist of rare brilliance — he was a presence, a mind, a teacher, a friend. And now, an absence that will take a long time to understand.
My own journey into science began with one of his books. I must have been in Class 8 or 9 when I was awarded a copy as a school prize. That slim book was the first glimpse into the universe I had, and it made everything else — every other ambition — seem pale. Years later, as a college student, I was fortunate to meet him — once during a college trip, and then again when he visited our campus. His presence left a mark. And over the years, I came to see that I was only one among hundreds across India who could say the same thing. That was his quiet revolution — turning young people toward science, not through slogans or grand gestures, but through example, generosity, and clarity.
Professor Narlikar was, above all else, a maverick, unafraid to question what the rest of the world seemed to accept without doubt. While most cosmologists embraced the Big Bang theory as the bedrock of modern astronomy, he held his ground with unwavering resolve. He began with the steady-state theory — then a mainstream idea — and stayed with it even as the scientific tide turned. When new evidence came in favour of the Big Bang, he responded not with denial, but with alternatives. He proposed the quasi-steady state model, a universe that contracts and expands, endlessly cycling rather than beginning in a single moment. He challenged the interpretation of the cosmic microwave background, suggesting it could arise not from the Big Bang but from interstellar dust. He refused to stop thinking, questioning, or reimagining.
To him, science was not about allegiance to dogma but about the relentless pursuit of questions. His work on Mach’s principle and critiques of relativity further cemented his reputation as a thinker unafraid to dismantle sacred cows.
That stubborn refusal to accept dogma — whether scientific or societal — defined his career. Most of us, eventually, fall in line with consensus. He never did. Not even when it cost him popularity, or when he stood nearly alone. He believed that science, to remain alive, must remain sceptical. He didn’t only question the universe’s beginning; he toyed with alternatives to Einstein’s relativity, and explored the deep philosophical foundations of cosmology with both rigour and imagination. His thinking was shaped by his mentor Fred Hoyle, but there was something deeply original in the way he pursued ideas long after others had given them up. He never did so to be contrarian. He did it because he believed there were still questions worth asking.
But Narlikar was never confined to the ivory tower. His genius lay in his ability to weave science into the fabric of society. When he founded the Inter-University Centre for Astronomy and Astrophysics (IUCAA) in Pune, he envisioned more than a research hub. He dreamed of a space where science would breathe, converse, and inspire. In the mid-1990s, when Indian research institutes largely ignored public engagement, he launched IUCAA’s school outreach programme. Under his guidance, the initiative grew to connect with over 500 schools, demystifying astronomy for countless students. Even in his final years, frail but resolute, he stood before hundreds of young minds, fielding questions in multiple languages, his eyes alight with the joy of shared discovery.
His crusade against pseudoscience was equally fierce. Long before “fake news” became a buzzword, Narlikar waged a quiet war against astrology and superstition. He wrote tirelessly, debunking myths with the precision of a scientist and the clarity of a teacher. His partnership with rationalist Narendra Dabholkar was not just ideological but deeply personal — a meeting of minds committed to freeing society from the shackles of ignorance.
Yet, to reduce Narlikar to his scientific persona would be to miss the essence of the man. He was a polymath who revelled in the interplay of science and art. His forays into science fiction— stories of all-female planets or cosmic paradoxes — revealed a mind unbound by discipline. When filmmaker Sai Paranjpye sought to capture his spirit, she adapted one of his tales into a folk performance, blending rural Maharashtra’s storytelling traditions with his cosmic imagination. The result was a poignant homage, a reminder that science, at its best, is a universal language.
Beyond the lab and the lecture hall, Narlikar was a man of passion. Cricket, for him, was more than a pastime. He dissected the game’s physics with the same zeal he applied to cosmology. In Cambridge, he and his mentor Ray Lyttleton would pore over letters from cricketer Don Bradman, debating the aerodynamics of a swinging ball. These conversations, whimsical yet profound, symbolised his belief that curiosity knows no boundaries.
Even the building of IUCAA carries his touch. He insisted that the institute not be housed in a typical government structure. He convinced UGC to let him choose his architect — and brought in Charles Correa. They designed a space where science breathed in every corridor. A black hole sculpture in the courtyard. Rooms centered around a Foucault pendulum. Statues of Newton and Einstein under trees. And then, in a moment that still feels like magic, we brought a cutting from the garden where Newton’s apple tree grew in Cambridge and planted it in Pune. It grew. It bore fruit. Apples, from the tree that inspired Newton, now in the red soil of Maharashtra. That was the kind of thinking he encouraged — playful, symbolic, real.
To speak of Narlikar’s legacy is to speak of the countless lives he touched. He was a teacher who refused to be a figurehead. “I will not cut ribbons,” he used to say to every such invitation. “Invite me only if I can speak to students.” And speak he did — to schoolchildren, undergraduates, and peers alike, his lectures punctuated with wit, wisdom, and the occasional cricket analogy. His door was always open, his time generously given. Mornings were reserved for writing; the rest of the day, for the world.
In private, he was a raconteur, a lover of Hindustani classical music, and a gracious host. IUCAA’s auditorium regularly echoed with the notes of Kishori Amonkar or the verses of a Pu La Deshpande play, for Narlikar believed science and art were kindred spirits. His conversations were journeys — one moment delving into quantum mechanics, the next pondering a Marathi poem’s metaphor.
It is impossible to summarise a life like his. I owe him my own life’s work, in many ways. And there are countless others who can say the same. That is his legacy. Not just his equations, not just his models. But the minds he opened, the lives he shaped, the questions he left us with.
Jayant Narlikar stood at the intersection of intellect and imagination, of science and society, of cosmos and conscience. He did not merely observe the universe. He belonged to it. And now, with his passing, a light has gone out — but the stars he pointed us to remain.
Somak Raychaudhury is vice-chancellor of Ashoka University and was previously director of IUCAA, Pune. As told to Vrinda Tulsian
(as told to Vrinda Tulsian)
