We walked into a travel agency to inquire about getting onto such a cruise. Quickly, we walked out again. The price the lady quoted was a serious dampener, and in the years since, it has only gotten steeper: far too much to pay just to set foot on that finger. I can’t see us taking that particular tourist trip any time.

Vicarious, my own Antarctic experience will have to be. If I haven’t gotten close to answering those tugs at the heartstrings, other Indians have been making the trip there for nearly 40 years now—though I don’t mean tourist excursions. These are scientific expeditions, taking men and women to spend months at a time at Maitri or Bharati, the two Indian research stations in Antarctica.

This is how India has established a presence and stake in Antarctica. Indian scientists’ experiments have brought us new knowledge in fields ranging from microbial studies to radio astronomy, geology to climate science. There are Antarctica stories these scientists can tell. But theirs are also stories of that ancient human endeavour: scientific inquiry.

Eventually, the land masses that are so familiar to us today were formed. In that familiarity itself are reminders of the ancient supercontinents. Why does the eastern thrust of South America seem to match the western shore of Africa? Does Japan's broad concave shape fit the convexity of south-eastern Russia? Is the southern concavity of Australia a good fit for the Antarctic coast, some 3000km further south?

Questions like these call to geologists, though it’s not that the idea of long-ago supercontinents relies solely on hours spent poring over a map, looking for matching shapes. That’s only a starting point. Geologists then seek evidence to confirm the supercontinent hypothesis in rocks along coasts that were once joined at the hip. They consider the close fit of South America and Africa as fascinating evidence of the long-ago breakup of Pangaea. Geological and fossil records of both continents confirm the hunch. ^[1]

This Pangaean jigsaw is the great geological attraction of Antarctica. One section of the jigsaw is particularly interesting to Indian geologists. There is a socket north of Nellore in Andhra Pradesh, where the Indian coast turns decisively northeast. Antarctica has a ball that fits that socket, to the west of Prydz Bay. Lay the Indian peninsula on its side there and the Godavari and Mahanadi valleys—“grabens” in geological terms— match features in the Antarctic land mass.

There’s history in those rocks, uncovered for us by the hard work of geologists like Sengupta, dozens more from the GSI and others around the world. This is not a mere romantic formulation. One of Sengupta’s students, Nilanjana Sorcar, pithily explained why she calls herself a metamorphic petrologist, and what she does. “Rocks,” she said, “are a tape recorder of what happened in the past.”

Sorcar is with the National Centre for Earth Science Studies (NCESS) in Thiruvananthapuram. In late 2019, she visited Sengupta with a box of sweets and said: “Madam, when I was in class eight, I read your book and I promised myself I would go to Antarctica like you.” That childhood promise was about to be fulfilled: Sorcar was leaving for Antarctica with the 2019-20 Indian Expedition.

In January 2020, Sorcar was a convenor of the first International Conference on Antarctic Research (ICAR-2020), held at Bharati Station. Scientists from China, Russia and Australia participated. Sorcar had chosen to work in the Vestfold Hills, a range some 200km further east along the coast from Bharati, near the Australian base called Davis Station. Ranges like Vestfold and Schirmacher are more desirable places for an Antarctic geologist to work in, because they are so-called Antarctic oases, free of the ice that covers 98 percent of the continent.

Sorcar’s task was challenging—chiselling out samples and carrying back 20kg or more of the Earth’s undercrust daily. Some days were harder still. Her companions would bound ahead and she’d be left close to tears, wondering if those ITBP lessons on teamwork had had any effect. Some things had changed since her mentor’s stay three decades earlier, though. She could now have a bath at the station twice a week.

Because of logistical complications caused by the pandemic, it took a year for Sorcar’s rock samples to arrive in Thiruvananthapuram. She is analysing them now and cannot tell me more about her findings. She plans to publish some of them in a research paper by the end of this year. But she did tell me about the general thrust of her work. Her main objective was to investigate the “correlation of East Antarctica to the Eastern Ghats.” It is generally accepted that the rocks were part of the same landmass in the Proterozoic Era 2.5 billion years ago. Can she prove that they have an “affinity” to each other?

To study microbes, you isolate them from collected soil samples and then place them in a medium where they can grow and form colonies. Observing them, you may find, for example, that this is a fast-growing variety, having little in common with other bacteria. Perhaps it is a novel strain? A conclusion like that can only be made after findings have been submitted to a scientific journal and peer-reviewed.

That’s what happened with Sharma. On 13 January 2021, the International Journal of Systematic and Evolutionary Biology published a paper by Sharma and four colleagues. It was titled: “Marisediminicola senii sp. nov. isolated from Queen Maud Land, Antarctica.” ^[11] The paper begins thus: “A Gram-stain-variable, aerobic, orange pigmented, catalase-positive and oxidase-negative, cocci-shaped bacterium, designated SM7_A14, isolated from glacier-fed sediment sample collected from the Queen Maud Land, near India’s Maitri station in Antarctica.”

That opening line reminded me of Max, a character in Anna Quindlen’s novel Every Last One, who makes “baroque doodles” depicting “a microscopic organism found in the water on Mars.” Glacier-fed sediment in Antarctica is, after all, nearly as exotic an environment for life as water on Mars. So you can sense, shining out from behind that flamboyant string of scientific terms—his own baroque doodles, if you like—Sharma’s enthusiasm about the new microscopic organism. In unforgiving conditions, what must it be to find life like this? It keeps happening. In mid-February, a British team announced that they had found two types of unidentified “animals” lurking on a rock below 3000 feet of ice on the Filchner-Ronne ice shelf in Antarctica. Not microscopic, certainly, but in that frigid and light-deprived spot, alive.

The organism Sharma and colleagues studied was named Marisediminicola senii, as a tribute to Subhajit Sen. Sen was a student researcher from IIT Bhubaneswar who died in an accident near the Maitri station in 2018. That was a reminder of the 1989-90 tragedy, and of the dangers the inhospitable continent poses. Sharma went to Antarctica a year after Sen’s death. He and the Expedition’s entire team of scientists visited the spot where he died and offered a prayer.

The climate changed constantly. They chugged through at least two or three cyclones and waves like he had never seen. They marked crossing the Equator with a ceremony, and held a “massive celebration” for Navy Day, 4 December. They passed some uninhabited islands. Looking at a map, I figure these must have been some of the French Southern and Antarctic Lands—likely the Kerguelen Islands—which have no permanent population, though France maintains a small set of military and scientific personnel on them.

When not working, KC spent hours on deck watching marine life—whales, flying fish, dolphins and birds. Giant albatrosses gracefully circled the ship, as if escorting them south. Then came the Antarctic Convergence, an imaginary band that starts near the 60° South latitude, is about 40km wide, and encircles the continent. This is where cold waters flowing north meet generally warmer seas. South of the Convergence lies the Southern Ocean, which is where seafarers begin seeing ice. Sheet ice, just a few inches thick, then pack ice, tons at a time, and, finally, icebergs, “huge like mountains.” And on the ice, penguins and seals.

“Every latitude was a different experience,” KC told me.

KC is an alternative energy expert. His research in Antarctica had to do with solar and wind energy. On a second trip, with the Sixth Expedition, he installed a 2.5 kwh wind vane near Maitri station, to gauge wind potential. Wind in Antarctica doesn’t blow in gusts, he said. Instead, it blows steadily at a constant speed, which is good if you want to tap it for energy use.

As for the sun, it never really sets through the Antarctic summer. But it doesn’t rise higher than about 30° above the horizon either. This meant he had only about five or six hours daily during which to study the potential of solar photovoltaic energy. With no dust or pollution in Antarctica, there is plenty waiting to be tapped—no other spot on Earth gets as much unfiltered sunlight.

Some of KC’s fondest memories are of the “daredevil” but expert helicopter pilots whose work ethic in very difficult conditions greatly increased his respect for India’s Armed Forces. Military personnel have been an integral part of India’s Antarctica effort from the very beginning. They built the Dakshin Gangotri and Maitri stations. They provided logistical support and maintained equipment year-round, but especially through the long and dark Antarctic winters.

They were also the drivers and helicopter pilots who ferried scientists to and from the distant spots they had chosen for their research, often running ahead of or even through one of the continent’s sudden raging blizzards. “The forces,” the Antarctica veteran Dr. Rasik Ravindra told me, “were considered the backbone of Expeditions, and an Expedition without their participation was not considered possible.”

Bharati was an exception. To design and build India’s third Antarctic station, NCPOR held a global competition. It was won by a team of three German firms: bof architects, m+p consultants and engineers from IMS Ingenieurgesellschaft. Norway’s Leonhard Nilsen & sønner built its foundation, helipad and fuel farm in 2010-11. The station was pre-fabricated in Germany by Kaefer Construction GmbH from recycled shipping containers, shipped to Antarctica and assembled by 2012. Kaefer maintained Bharati for the next five years. For operation, repairs and maintenance of life-support systems, Bharati used Johnson Controls (India) for two years; since 2013, Techbean Systems, a private firm based in Pune, has been responsible.

But Bharati was long after KC’s trips to Antarctica. In his time there, he grew to admire the military personnel at Maitri for their unfailing good cheer, easy companionship and readiness to help. “At the back of your mind,” he said, “you know there’s some selfless person behind you, and that motivates you.”

“The tephra analysis of this core revealed presence of a plethora of microbial cells adhered to the surfaces. These tiny living entities adhered on to particles in accreted ice appear to provide a hitherto unknown micro-niche. ... [The] core revealed a warming of 2.7°C for the past 470 years, especially during the last several decades.” ^[14]

Hints, even in these dry academic lines, of the presence of microorganisms and of the troubling reality of the climate emergency facing us.

Ninety-nine years after Amundsen and his dogs, Ravindra and seven colleagues set out for the Pole in four Toyota SUVs, specially modified in Iceland for the conditions. They carried instruments for scientific experiments, including for the collection of ice cores. They refuelled twice at a spot where a small plane had crashed. Barrels of the plane’s fuel had been left buried in the ice. They lived on pre-cooked foods: “pizza and things like that,” Ravindra said.

At times, the temperature dropped to minus 50 degrees Celsius, with wind chill. They all lost weight and some suffered from breathlessness. Their cold-related injuries included chilblains, painful inflammation of the blood vessels. Even so, Ravindra said that the “vehicles suffered more than the men.”

They reached the South Pole on 22 November 2010. It had taken them nine days to cover the 2500km from Maitri to the Pole. Remembering the legend of Ganesha, who walked around his parents and said he had circled the world, Ravindra and his colleagues got out of their cars and made a small circuit around the Pole. In a certain sense, they, too, had circled the world.

There are, of course, political reasons for India’s continued presence in Antarctica. We want to be seen as a responsible global power. We don’t want other countries to start making territorial claims there. If there are ever changes to the terms of the Antarctic Treaty, we want to have a say.

But the sense of wonder and romance expedition members take to the southern continent transcends any cynicism. I’d like to think that is the spirit underlying India’s—and the world’s—efforts in Antarctica. “Once you go,” Ravindra told me, “you can’t come back.”

That is the spirit that Deepak Gajbhiye, current Station Leader at Maitri, had in mind a few months ago. In a message that was read out after a lecture to commemorate Antarctic Day 2020, ^[15] Gajbhiye said: “I do not wish to underline the scientific research in Antarctica. I would rather highlight the hidden message for humanity in general. For many, the long dark winters have guided towards the light within. The vast plains, bone-stabbing cold and blizzards have made us humbler than ever, and the leaves taken from this book can still teach lessons to mankind.”

Dilip D'Souza used to be a computer scientist. Today, he writes for his suppers about politics, society, travel and mathematics. Dilip has won several awards for his writing. He is the author of eight books: most recently, with Joy Ma, The Deoliwallahs: The True Story of the 1962 Chinese-Indian Internment. He lives in Bombay with his wife, two children and cat. He misses his Rhodesian Ridgeback, Shaka.