How Science In Kashmir Moved From Discovery To Display

Some of my earliest memories of science come from faces rather than formulas.

In the corridors of my school and the classrooms of my college, portraits of Rutherford, Dalton, Archimedes, Faraday, Newton, Mendel, and Fleming seemed to watch us closely from the walls, and those faces stayed in my mind long after lessons ended.

As students, we first reacted with amusement, noticing their heavy beards, untidy hair, and eyes that always looked tired.

At that age, these features seemed odd, even funny. But over time, a different understanding took hold.

Those faces told the story of lives fully absorbed in thinking, observing, experimenting, and returning again and again to questions without answers.

They were people whose attention never strayed from nature, leaving almost no space for self-presentation.

Back then, science felt serious and demanding. It asked for long stretches of solitude, respect for evidence, and years of work that went mostly unseen.

It asked for dedication without celebration, effort without recognition, and offered meaning instead of attention.

That understanding feels distant now.

Alexander Fleming captured this distance with a single remark that continues to echo.

While inaugurating an advanced laboratory, he observed with dry irony that penicillin would never have been discovered in such a place.

His words carried no hostility toward modern tools. They spoke instead about the conditions that allow discovery to surface.

Penicillin came from a messy lab, a chance contamination, and a scientist alert enough to notice something others would have ignored. Discovery grew from careful observation and a free mind, rather than from polished floors or formal ceremonies.

Today, laboratories gleam with precision and order, but curiosity often takes a back seat.

Science has moved into an era of visibility, where work happens in public view and success is measured more by presentation than by discovery.

Scientists share images of daily routines, mark celebrations, track reactions, and curate an online presence that can speak louder than years of careful research.

I have watched colleagues receive cakes to mark promotions, appointments as heads of divisions, and administrative roles presented as major achievements. These moments come with balloons, staged photographs, practiced smiles, and carefully chosen captions.

Each time, I find myself asking what these celebrations really honour.

MENAFN22012026000215011059ID1110634231