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This biography only skims the surface of the man that was C.V. Raman

Written by V Shoba

December 3, 2011 12:07 AM IST

4 min read

C.V. Raman: A Biography begins with the disclaimer that it is not a history of his scientific work,but an attempt to record his life. This record,then,is reasonably exhaustive and intractably faithful to the events that catapulted Raman,a precocious physicist who asked the right questions and went on to answer some,into the larger scientific renown. We learn that his most celebrated research sprang from the sincerity of his reaction to nature its colours,shapes and sounds and that he was invested not just with the spirit of scientific inquiry but also the exalted worldview of a visionary. What the book never fully fulfils,however,is its promise of delving into the personal vision,idiosyncrasies and struggles of this Nobel laureate.

Uma Parameswaran reconstructs his family tree of which she is a peripheral part bowed by the weight of numerous siblings and their children,and paints Raman as an obsessive scientist with a loud voice who has little time or patience for domestic life. Other than the hansom cab rides and evening walks in Calcutta with his wife Lokasundari or Lokam as she was known Raman,who moved to the city on posting in the finance department and devoted all his evenings to research,seems to have resolutely denied himself any leisure. The capital of British India,so far from the beaches of the South he had walked as a student,became Ramans scientific habitat for the years to come,till the less academically heralded and their scheming ways drove the Madrasi out of the Indian Association for the Cultivation of Science (IACS),the very institution he had lovingly fostered. He would later take the reins of the Indian Institute of Science in Bangalore,before retiring to build his own Raman Research Institute,where in his last years he gave grand tours to students culminating in a display of his famous collection of diamonds. Ramans work on the scattering of light by liquids,inspired by the blue of the Mediterranean Sea,came to be known as the Raman Effect and won him the Nobel Prize in Physics in 1930,but he wasnt one to chew the cud of contentment. His fascination with colours lasted a lifetime,and he quickly went from admiring the plumage of birds to studying the luminescence of diamonds.

There are agonisingly linear narratives of his early years and rambling longueurs on his loyal domestic staff at his Bangalore home Panchavati. Ramans keen mentorship of ten-kilowatt brains,the furious pace of his work,and his propensity to promptly publish experimental results are recurring set-pieces in his endless pursuit of scientific truths. Now and then,Parameswaran offers us scrappy accounts of his brush with politics: Raman worshipped Gandhi,had a love-hate relationship with Nehru indeed,he is said to have shattered a bust of Nehru at his home in Bangalore and was disdainful of the ways of the government. We also get a rare glimpse into his vanity: Sir Raman,as he liked to be addressed,was prone to poetic flourish,famous for his extemporaneous speeches and loved being garlanded. From the number of anecdotes we have,we can surmise Raman was obsessed with the Nobel. In 1924,when congratulated on being made FRS and asked What next?,he is said to have replied,The Nobel Prize,of course. Parameswaran writes.

The book alludes often to his humour and irreverent wit,but we only get to sample a handful of these dazzling kernels. When offered a glass of champagne on one of his travels abroad,Raman purportedly replied,Sir,you have seen the Raman Effect on alcohol; please do not try to see the alcohol effect on Raman. If such was the texture of his life,this biography only skims the surface of the man that was Raman.

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