Pressing Needs

When three major international academic publishers take a photocopy shop located in the Delhi School of Economics to court over copyright infringement issues, it does seem a trifle excessive, using a sledgehammer to swat a fly. But it is more than breeze in a teacup- the issues are germane to a wider audience, and that includes us.

The facts, such as they are, are simple enough. On the D’School campus, the Rameshwari Photocopy services provides ‘xeroxed’ course material, and that includes chapters from books, articles, notes, what have you. In the strictest sense of the phrase, there probably is copyright infringement. But this has been going on ever since photocopy machines became easily available, and generations of students will testify to the absolutely crucial role that photocopied material has played in their education, augmenting (or even bypassing!) taught material. Not to mention research…

But this post is not just about the controversy- Lawrence Liang has written very forcefully on it, as has Sudhanwa Deshpande, in response to a poorly argued opinion piece in The Hindu a few days ago, all of which is worth a read. And all also skirt around a somewhat more serious issue, that of academic publishing in India, particularly that of book and textbook publishing.

There are any number of reasons why it is absolutely necessary to used photocopied material when studying for a degree in India. The scarcity (and the high cost!) of books, the paucity of textbook copies in even the best libraries, the poor availability of journals… The list goes on. However there are two other reasons that any good student would need (rather than choose) to photocopy material, particularly from books.

1. Most textbooks written in India (and I mean most in the sense of the majority of) are of very poor quality. They tend to be extensively plagiarized and frequently are written by people who do not really seem to know the subject at all. There is an infamous series of books by an author, Sa*sh, who has written on essentially every topic in undergraduate and graduate physics. This versatility is not just impressive, it is impossible. Needless to say, all the books are unreadable cut and paste trash, even if they are much better than even worse tripe that other less ‘well-known’ authors are capable, of churning out.

Most of these books are also poorly produced- a step away from pulp, even when new!- and seem to be just money making vehicles. Given the large numbers we need to educate, this is a double tragedy.

2. Even well-known Indian scholars prefer to publish with publishers outside India. This is not just in journals (it is well known that selection committees ask candidates how many publications they have in international journals and how many in Indian ones) but also with respect to books. OUP, CUP, Sage, Harvard, Duke… All these publishers are typically seen as preferred and prestigious destinations for manuscripts. And since all these publishers will have Indian editions, the Indian market is not totally ignored, but still the books tend to cost a bit more than they would have, had the primary publication been with an Indian publisher.

To be sure there are good reasons for this, and one can understand an author’s position to some extent. The royalties with an international publisher sometimes work out to be more lucrative. On the matter of distribution, again the international publishers score, so that visibility, both at home and abroad is not compromised. A more serious reason is that the books tend to get better critiques and better reviews, so an author finds his or her work being taken more seriously. For the most part, that is.

But a given, as a consequence, is that most Indian students do not have access to high quality textbooks that are produced and published in India in most subjects. Many international publishers do have Indian editions, but the number of local authors who write good textbooks that are first published here? Rare.

There are exceptions, of course, but these only seem to reinforce the rule. Many of the boutique presses in India tend to have high production value, but they also are tied into co-publication with University presses abroad for their financial models.

Which brings me to the final point of this post: Why has the University Press culture in India died out so decisively? There was a time- when the world was younger- that textbooks from Andhra University Press or Madras University Press, for instance, were treasures. Bhagavantam and Venkatarayudu’s Theory of groups and its application to physical problems for instance. Most of these presses are now gone, but even if extant, for the most part they seem to churn out the most mundane bulletins and reports. The exceptions are few like the Calcutta University Press. Or that of the MS University in Vadodara, which has recently brought out the Gopinathasaptasali  for their Oriental Institute. But even their other activities are more along the usual lines- the printing of question papers, under conditions of very high level of secrecy, for the University Examination, Senate Proceedings, Minutes of the Syndicate Meetings, details of Establishment, Annual Accounts, Budget Estimates, Questionnaires, Magazines, Pamphlets, Certificates, General Forms, Prospectus, Admission forms, Examination forms, Letter heads, Receipt Books, and different kinds of job works of the different Faculties and Institutions of the University,  the University Diary, University Calendar and other publications. Is that all a University Press is set up for?

It’s time to change that now. What we need urgently is a University Press in India that will produce high quality books in both print and electronic form, written by academics with serious concern for pedagogy in the local context.

Why a University Press? Although one cannot guarantee it, we need a publisher who is not entirely governed by sales and one who can support purely academic imperatives. One who is not afraid to take a chance on a book because of poor markets, or because it ruffles some feathers… Or worse.

There is enough reason to have a local emphasis. Not every subject is context free, and although π  will always be irrational and will always be further away no matter where one is, some things are better taught with local references, and keeping the local backgrounds in mind. Furthermore, for many of the subjects that are taught here, some global international benchmark textbook is simply not available.

The fact of the matter is that there are remarkably few academics in the country who give serious thought to the production of serious textbooks in virtually any subject. At the tertiary level, the problem is worse than it is at the primary and secondary levels, for which there are excellent books- the NCERT series, for instance. But college and postgraduate books? The shelves are bare.

This deserves a longer discussion, so more on this, and on a reachable pipe-dream, the Golden Threshold Press, in a subsequent post…

Keeping one's Temper

Of the several meanings of the word temper when used as a noun, here are eight that I picked up from the Free Dictionary:

tem·per, n.

  1. A state of mind or emotions; disposition: an even temper.
  2. Calmness of mind or emotions; composure: lose one’s temper.
  3. A tendency to become easily angry or irritable: a quick temper.
  4. An outburst of rage: a fit of temper.
  5. A characteristic general quality; tone: heroes who exemplified the medieval temper; the politicized temper of the 1930s.
  6. The condition of being tempered.
  7. The degree of hardness and elasticity of a metal, chiefly steel, achieved by tempering.
  8. A modifying substance or agent added to something else.
  9. [Archaic] A middle course between extremes; a mean.

The fifth in the list is what Jawaharlal Nehru had in mind when he defined scientific temper  in his  Discovery of India (1946), as “a way of life, a process of thinking, a method of acting and associating with our fellow men“.

The immediate reason for writing about this is a letter I recieved from NISCAIR, the National Institute of Science Communication and Information Resources, approaching us (the University) to endorse the Palampur Statement, a resolution adopted at the International Conference on Science Communication for Scientific Temper in January 2012.

That scientific temper has not much, per se, to do with science or science communication is (or should be) self-evident so it is a little unusual that NISCAIR should be the only organization that is taking initiative in this matter. Several years ago, I was asked to speak at the release of the National Book Trust’s Angels, Devils and Science: A Collection of Articles on Scientific Temper by  Pushpa Bhargava and Chandana Chakrabarti, both prominent residents of Hyderabad. Prof. Bhargava, founder Director of CCMB and member of the National Knowledge Commission is an indefatigable spokesman for the scientific approach in all aspects of life, and with Chandana Chakrabarti, he has written a number of articles in the popular press, many of which are collected in that book.

The blurb that one can read on the NBT’s website says ” India is one of the ten most scientifically and technologically advanced countries in the world. Interestingly, it is also the only country where commitment to scientific temper is enshrined in the Constitution as a duty of its citizens. Juxtaposing the advancement in modern science with serious lack of scientific temper, the articles in the book make a plea that many superstitious beliefs still prevalent in society are founded on unscientific grounds. Arguing for the urgent need to promote scientific temper as a social asset, the book discusses the importance of scientific temper and its role in the country’s socio-economic as well as scientific & technological advancement. The book is a major contribution in understanding the importance of science and scientific temper.”

So given the importance,  what is the Palampur Statement? Its a fairly long and comprehensive document that delves into, among other things, the changing world order, the current state of science and technology, the spread of fundamentalism, and so on. It has to be read- even cursorily would be enough- to get a true sense of its potential impact in our lives. One fragment that summarizes the main gist of it goes: the thought structure of a common citizen is constituted by scientific as well as extra-scientific spaces. These two mutually exclusive spaces co-exist peacefully. Act of invocation of one or the other is a function of social, political or cultural calling. Those who consider spreading Scientific Temper as their fundamental duty must aim at enlarging the scientific spaces.

And it concludes: We call upon the people of India to be the vanguard of the scientific temper. This is a statement I endorse.

Anandibai's Quilt

On the third floor of the Kelkar Museum in Pune, in the corner of the room where articles of clothing are displayed, is a quilt. Presented to the museum by ‘Wrangler’ Paranjape, this quilt is possibly the only physical article known to have been in the possession of the remarkable Anandibai Joshee (1865-87).

The image on the right is from a photograph I took a few years ago when a friend told me about its existence. The description provided at the display says that the quilt was a community effort by Anandibai’s friends to mark her return to India. As one can see, it contains scraps of cloth that must have formed part of everyday objects and clothing- it was difficult to not be moved- one irregular piece has mirrorwork , while another contains the name of her husband, embroidered in what must surely be her hand. I have not been able to find much about this in what has been written about Anandibai’s life, both in the popular press as well as in scholarly journals. As things go, maybe quilts are not that important.

But as one of the first Indian woman to be trained in western science, her story is iconic and inspirational, and in its own way as remarkable and as tragic as that of Ramanujan. She was the first Indian woman to get a medical degree, in the Women’s Medical College of Pennsylvania. Upon her return to India where she hoped to practice, she died of tuberculosis at the age of 22.

Commenting on her life, the sociologist Meera Kosambi writes: Anandibai Joshee was a true pioneer…. she was the first Indian woman to qualify as a medical doctor. She was also the first Maharashtrian woman to leave these shores for higher studies abroad, at the young age of eighteen.

In March 1886, when she received an American medical degree, she was barely twenty-one — an astonishing achievement in an era that refused even simple literacy to most Indian women! Anandibai chose a medical career because she wanted to serve other women who had inadequate health care. She defended this choice publicly and against heavy odds. Her personal life, too, was a continuous struggle on many fronts. Given the dramatic and eventful nature of her life, it is difficult to believe that she died so tragically young, just before her twenty- second birthday. [She was] an intelligent woman who was dispassionately perceptive of herself and her society — one who had independent views on contemporary gender issues. She was fearless in pointing out the obstacles to women’s education in India, and yet was firmly anchored to an Indian cultural and nationalistic identity. Anandibai was not merely India’s first woman doctor: she was also a feminist and a nationalist at a time when women were a rarity in the public sphere. And though she was not a scientist in the proper sense of the term, Anandibai wrote and researched in the field of public health/ epidemiology while still a medical student.

As has often been underscored, there are multiple identities that each of us carries, and Anandibai’s life, short though it was, was a patchwork quilt, not unlike that with which this post begins. Married young, she learned to read and write, not just Marathi, but 6 other languages including English. She she had a child at the age of 14 and upon losing that child due to inadequate healthcare, she decided to become a doctor. A letter written by her in 1883 gives a glimpse into her determination and strength of character. It is not unlike letters that reach similar offices even today…

Dear Sir, she says, I beg to ask, if upon any terms pecuniarily consistent with my means, I may be allowed to enter the Women’s Medical College of Pa. for a thorough course of study. I have with me seventy dollars, and my husband expects to send me twenty dollars per month less the cost of sending.

I was eighteen years of age last March.

I am not quoting the entire letter which can be seen in the archives of Drexel University, in their collection on Women Physicians, but the arguments she makes find an echo even today!

Though I may not meet in all points, the requirements for entering College, I trust that as my case is exceptional and peculiar your people will be merciful & obliging. My health is good, and this, with that determination which has brought me to your country against the combined opposition of my friends & caste ought to go along way towards helping me to carry out the purpose for which I came i.e. is to render to my poor suffering country women the true medical aid they so sadly stand in need of, and which they would rather die for than accept at the hands of a male physician. The voice of humanity is with me and I must not fail. My soul is moved to help the many who cannot help themselves and I feel sure that the God who has me in his care will influence the many that can and should share in this good work to lend me such aid and assistance as I may need. I ask nothing for myself, individually, but all that is necessary to fit me for my work. I humbly crave at the door of your College, or any other that shall give me admittance.

I’ve included a piece on Anandibai’s in Lilavati’s Daughters, a collection of essays on and by women scientists that I co-edited some years ago. Her story while sad and complex is compelling, and a perpetual testimony to the value of higher education, and to the importance of a higher cause.