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By:

Rajendra Joshi

3 December 2024 at 3:50:26 am

Beyond Ethanol: The Bigger Story Is India's Innovation Journey

Ethanol is one of many stepping stones on the journey towards cleaner energy systems. Energy transitions are rarely linear. Every major technological shift begins as an alternative, matures through public policy and market acceptance, and is eventually challenged by newer innovation. The debate surrounding ethanol-blended petrol in India should therefore be viewed through this larger prism rather than through the narrow lens of partisan politics. Since the National Biofuel Policy was unveiled...

Beyond Ethanol: The Bigger Story Is India's Innovation Journey

Ethanol is one of many stepping stones on the journey towards cleaner energy systems. Energy transitions are rarely linear. Every major technological shift begins as an alternative, matures through public policy and market acceptance, and is eventually challenged by newer innovation. The debate surrounding ethanol-blended petrol in India should therefore be viewed through this larger prism rather than through the narrow lens of partisan politics. Since the National Biofuel Policy was unveiled in 2018, India's ethanol blending programme has expanded with little political resistance. Brazil's four decades of experience with ethanol as a transport fuel partly inspired the policy. It sought to reduce dependence on imported crude oil, improve energy security, curb vehicular emissions and provide an additional revenue stream for sugarcane farmers. Those objectives remain largely unchanged. Yet, in recent months, ethanol has unexpectedly become a subject of political confrontation. The irony is striking. At precisely the moment the country is debating the merits of one transition fuel, Indian scientists and engineers are demonstrating technologies that could redefine the next generation of clean mobility. The inauguration of India's first hydrogen-powered passenger train marks one such milestone. Flagged off by Prime Minister Narendra Modi on the 89-kilometre Jind-Sonipat route in Haryana, the train employs indigenous hydrogen fuel-cell technology to generate electricity, with water as the only emission. The project reduces the carbon footprint of rail transport and places India among a handful of countries experimenting with hydrogen-powered railway systems. Equipped with a 3,200-horsepower engine and ten coaches, it is also among the world's most powerful hydrogen trains. The significance of this development extends beyond railways. It signals the direction in which transport technology is headed. If July has been remarkable for clean mobility, it has been equally significant for India's space ambitions. Private space startup Skyroot Aerospace successfully launched its indigenously developed orbital launch vehicle, Vikram-1, under the mission Aagman. It marked the first successful attempt by an Indian private company to place a payload into orbit using its own launch vehicle. The achievement underlines the transformation underway in India's innovation ecosystem. Until recently, space exploration remained the exclusive domain of government agencies. Opening the sector to private enterprise has created opportunities that are already attracting international commercial interest. It is a reminder that policy reforms often create the conditions for technological breakthroughs. A similar story is unfolding in the electric vehicle sector. Bengaluru-based startup Vemag Labs has reportedly developed a technology that eliminates dependence on rare-earth permanent magnets used in electric motors. If commercialised, the innovation could reduce reliance on China's dominance of the global rare-earth supply chain—a longstanding strategic vulnerability for the automotive industry. These are not isolated success stories. They represent a broader pattern in India's technological evolution. Artificial intelligence is reshaping the global digital economy. Battery technologies continue to evolve. Hydrogen is emerging as the next frontier of clean transportation, while advanced nuclear technologies are receiving renewed attention. Scientific progress is compressing technological cycles so that today's breakthrough may become tomorrow's baseline. In this context, ethanol should be seen neither as the ultimate solution nor as a policy failure. It is a transitional technology—an important bridge between conventional fossil fuels and cleaner energy systems. It has helped lower crude oil imports, strengthened the rural economy through higher demand for agricultural feedstock and contributed to India's climate commitments. Equally, it has technological, economic and environmental limitations that future innovations may overcome. The real concern arises when scientific progress becomes captive to political narratives. Democratic scrutiny of public policy is both necessary and desirable. Governments must justify investments, evaluate costs and remain accountable for outcomes. But reducing every technological intervention to political binaries risks distracting attention from the larger national objective of building scientific capability and technological competitiveness. The trajectory of innovation suggests that tomorrow's public debate may no longer revolve around ethanol. It may centre on hydrogen-powered vehicles, synthetic fuels, next-generation batteries or technologies still confined to research laboratories. Public policy must therefore remain flexible enough to adapt to continuous scientific change rather than become entrenched in ideological positions. India's hydrogen train, its privately developed orbital rocket and advances in electric mobility together illustrate an important reality. The country's scientific ecosystem is entering a phase of rapid expansion, with innovation increasingly driven by collaboration between public institutions, private enterprise and research startups. Politics has every right to question policy. It should not, however, become an obstacle to scientific progress. History shows that societies which embrace innovation invariably lead the next wave of economic growth, while those trapped in ideological contests often find themselves catching up. The future of mobility will ultimately be determined not in television studios or political rallies, but in laboratories, research institutions and technology startups. India's challenge is not merely to participate in that future—it is to help shape it. (The writer is a senior journalist based in Kolhapur. Views personal.)

The Soul of Bharat on the Big Screen

Mumbai: April 4, 2025, my heart feels heavier than it ever has. The news hit me like a monsoon storm—Manoj Kumar, the towering legend of Bollywood, the man who painted patriotism across our screens, is no more. At 87, he slipped away at Mumbai’s Kokilaben Dhirubhai Ambani Hospital, leaving behind a reel of memories that flicker in my mind like a projector that won’t stop spinning. As a movie fan who grew up with his films, I’m not just mourning an actor—I’m grieving the loss of a piece of my soul, a piece of India itself. They called him "Bharat Kumar," and oh, how he earned that name.


I remember the first time I saw ‘Upkar’ (1967). I was a kid, sprawled on the living room floor, eyes glued to our old TV. Manoj ji played Bharat, the farmer who gave everything—his dreams, his love—for his country’s soil. That song, “Mere Desh Ki Dharti,” wasn’t just a tune; it was a heartbeat, pulsing with pride and sacrifice. I’d hum it walking to school, feeling like I, too, could be that noble, that selfless. He won a National Film Award for that one, and rightly so—it wasn’t acting; it was living.

Then there was ‘Shaheed’ (1965), where he brought Bhagat Singh back to life. I’d sit there, popcorn forgotten, as he roared defiance against the British, his eyes blazing with a fire that could’ve lit up the darkest colonial night. It wasn’t just a film—it was a revolution on celluloid, a call to remember the blood that bought our freedom. Manoj ji didn’t just play the martyr; he became him, and every time I watch it, I feel that lump in my throat, that sting in my eyes. It’s no wonder it snagged three National Awards—his passion was a gift to us all.


Oh, and ‘Purab Aur Paschim’ (1970)—how do I even begin? He directed and starred as Bharat again, this time wrestling with the clash of East and West, showing us the beauty of our roots while the world tried to pull us away. I’d laugh at Saira Banu’s antics, then choke up when Manoj ji stood tall, singing “Hai Preet Jahan Ki Reet Sada.” It was a blockbuster, sure, but it was more—it was a love letter to India, penned in his signature hand-over-face style. That move, mocked by some, was his shield, his quiet strength, and I adored it.

And who could forget ‘Roti Kapda Aur Makaan’ (1974)? He directed and starred as Bharat—again, because who else could?—tackling poverty, injustice, and the gut-wrenching struggle for the basics of life. I’d watch, fists clenched, as he fought for the everyman, his voice cracking with raw emotion. It wasn’t just a movie; it was a mirror to our society, a cry for change. Seven Filmfare Awards across his career, they say, but this one felt like it carried them all—his heart bled through every frame.


Then there’s ‘Kranti’ (1981), the epic that had me on the edge of my seat. Manoj ji as the freedom fighter, leading Dilip Kumar and Hema Malini through a storm of rebellion—it was grand, it was gritty, it was everything Bollywood could be. “Zindagi Ki Na Toote Ladi” still echoes in my ears, a reminder of the battles he fought on screen, battles that felt so real I’d dream of joining the fight. He didn’t just direct that film; he sculpted a monument to resilience, and I’d cheer like a fool every time he outsmarted the British.


As I sit here, flipping through these memories, I can’t help but feel cheated. Manoj Kumar wasn’t just an actor or director—he was family. Born Harikrishan Goswami in 1937, he carried the Partition’s scars from Abbottabad to Delhi, turning pain into purpose. He gave us over 50 films in a career spanning four decades, snagging the Padma Shri in 1992 and the Dadasaheb Phalke Award in 2015—honors that felt too small for a man who gave India its cinematic soul. His last role in ‘Jai Hind’ (1999) might’ve flopped, but it didn’t dim his light in my eyes.


I’d read how he met Bhagat Singh’s mother before ‘Shaheed’, seeking her blessing—can you imagine the weight of that? Or how PM Lal Bahadur Shastri urged him to make ‘Upkar’ after the 1965 war, handing him “Jai Jawan Jai Kisan” like a sacred torch? That’s who he was—a man who didn’t just entertain but carried a nation’s dreams.


Manoj ji, you weren’t just “Bharat Kumar” to me—you were the uncle who taught me pride, the friend who shared my anger, the poet who sang my hopes. Your films weren’t movies; they were my childhood, my rebellion, my tears. I’ll miss you like I miss the India you dreamed of—flawed, fierce, and forever ours. Rest in peace, sir. Om Shanti.

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