Dr. Subhash Mukhopadhyay, the mistreated pioneer of in vitro fertilization in India

With this article we inaugurate a new category in Science Driven : Science Heroes.

Here we will give voice to those who, with their discoveries, their ability to communicate, or their innovative audacity, changed the course of human knowledge. Some are names etched in history books; others, figures eclipsed by indifference or injustice, although their legacy lives on in every advance we take for granted today.

And it is precisely with one of those silent heroes that we begin this series: Subhash Mukhopadhyay (or Subhash Mukherjee, depending on how you transcribe it).

Behind a surname that may sound complex to Western ears lies the story of an Indian scientist who, in the late 1970s, was ahead of his time and paved the way for in vitro fertilization. A pioneer whose achievement was buried for years under the weight of bureaucracy and misunderstanding.

A life between genius and oblivion

Subhash Mukhopadhyay was born in Calcutta in 1931 and, like many talented individuals of his time, he navigated a passion for science with the limitations of a rapidly developing country. His greatest achievement came in 1978, when he delivered Kanupriya Agarwal, nicknamed Durga, the first test-tube baby in India and the second in the world, just two and a half months after Louise Brown in England. Louise Brown was no ordinary baby: she was the first person born through in vitro fertilization, on July 25, 1978, becoming a global symbol of the new era of reproductive medicine.

While the United Kingdom celebrated Robert Edwards and Patrick Steptoe, the doctors responsible for that milestone, Mukhopadhyay was greeted in his own country with suspicion and ridicule. His colleagues accused him of fraud, and the government committee that evaluated his work didn't even include specialists in reproductive biology. The hostility was so strong that, instead of being celebrated as a pioneer, he was relegated to silence. He was denied permission to continue his research, his laboratory was isolated, and his reputation was tarnished. Academically isolated and without support, Mukhopadhyay fell into a deep depression.

On June 19, 1981, unable to bear the humiliation and the blockage of his career, he took his own life at the age of 50.

The paradox was cruel: his work had put India at the forefront of biotechnology, but he never saw recognition in his lifetime.

Official recognition

Years later, when another Indian scientist, TC Anand Kumar, was appointed to lead an official in vitro fertilization program, he discovered that Mukhopadhyay had already achieved everything before him. It was Anand Kumar who, with intellectual honesty, vindicated his colleague's memory and publicly acknowledged that Mukhopadhyay was the true paternity of India's first test-tube baby. It wasn't until 1997 that the government officially accepted his place in history, a posthumous tribute that came too late for the man who had paved the way.

Even if justice was served, it was posthumous, and India's negligence at the time ruined Subhash's personal and professional life. This unfortunate event will always be a shame for India and an indelible stain on its scientific record.

His scientific and technical work

Subhash Mukhopadhyay's contribution was not just a lucky experiment, but a series of technical advances that were remarkable for its time.

In a context of limited resources and without the support of large institutions, she developed her own method of in vitro fertilization. She used an innovative combination of ovarian stimulation, oocyte retrieval, and extracorporeal fertilization, adapting local materials to what was achieved in Europe with state-of-the-art equipment. One of her most significant contributions was the use of embryo cryopreservation, anticipating techniques that would take years to become established in the West. She also worked with hormonal protocols uncommon in her field and designed a rudimentary incubation system that mimicked the conditions of the uterus, using improvised resources instead of expensive commercial incubators.

In 1978, his method proved successful with the birth of Durga, proving that he had overcome the main technical barriers: synchronization between ovulation and oocyte retrieval, in vitro fertilization under stable conditions, and embryonic development to a viable stage for uterine transfer. His achievement is even greater when one considers that he worked virtually alone, without financial support or official recognition. In fact, part of his scientific documentation was lost after his death, and what is known of his techniques comes from testimonies and later reconstructions by Anand Kumar and his team. With historical perspective, Mukhopadhyay was not only a pioneer in India, but also a global innovator, capable of anticipating lines of work that would shape modern assisted reproduction.

Louise Brown and Durga: Two Opposite Destinies

In the history of in vitro fertilization, two names are inseparable: Louise Brown and Kanupriya Agarwal (Durga). Both were born in 1978, both symbolized a giant leap forward in reproductive medicine, and both should have shared the same scientific glory. However, their destinies were radically different.

Louise Brown became a global icon. Her birth in England was celebrated as a modern miracle, gracing the front pages of newspapers on every continent, and her attending physicians, Robert Edwards and Patrick Steptoe, went down in history. Edwards, decades later, would even receive the Nobel Prize in Medicine. Louise grew up under the scrutiny of the press and, over time, assumed the role of a living symbol of a revolution that changed millions of lives.

Durga, on the other hand, grew up in silence. Born in Calcutta just 67 days later, she was the fruit of Mukhopadhyay's genius, but her existence was marked by the shadow of skepticism and discredit. Neither her name nor that of her creator made headlines; on the contrary, they were buried in official indifference and academic disdain. While in the West in vitro fertilization opened doors and sparked hope, in India the pioneer was punished to the point of despair.

The most ironic thing is that Subhash's work, according to many experts, was even more impressive than that of his English colleagues. Technically, he achieved more sophisticated advances, such as embryo cryopreservation, and did so with rudimentary resources, in a laboratory far from the standards of Cambridge or London. Where Edwards and Steptoe enjoyed institutional support and advanced resources, Mukhopadhyay improvised and still achieved revolutionary results.

This contrast starkly sums up Subhash Mukhopadhyay's tragedy: two babies born thanks to the same science, yet treated as if they belonged to different worlds. One celebrated, the other silenced. One inscribed in history books, the other relegated to footnotes. Science has advanced, yes, but justice for those who make it possible has been far too long in coming.

An uncomfortable lesson for science

The story of Subhash Mukhopadhyay reminds us that scientific advances are not always judged by their intrinsic value, but by the political, social, and human context that surrounds them. Science can be brilliant, but without institutions that recognize it and protect those who make it possible, it is exposed to injustice. India lost not only a pioneer, but also years of leadership in a field that could have placed it at the forefront of the world.

Louise Brown and Durga demonstrate two sides of the same coin: celebration and oblivion, hope and humiliation. While one was a symbol of pride and progress, the other was shrouded in silence, dragging the life of its creator with it. The irony is brutal: in vitro fertilization paved the way for millions of families around the world, but one of its architects paid with isolation and despair.

Remembering Mukhopadhyay is not just a matter of historical justice; it's also a warning. Every time science advances, we must ask ourselves whether our societies are prepared to recognize, support, and protect those who push the boundaries of knowledge. Because, in the end, the greatest risk is not experimental failure, but the human failure of caring for those who achieve the impossible.

References

• Chatterjee, S. (2007). The forgotten pioneer of IVF in India: Dr. Subhas Mukherjee . Indian Journal of Medical Ethics, 4(4), 186–187. https://doi.org/10.20529/IJME.2007.072
• Sengupta, S. (2007). India's forgotten pioneer of in-vitro fertilization. The Lancet , 370(9595), 103–104. https://doi.org/10.1016/S0140-6736(07)61045-6
• Mukhopadhyay, S. (1978). Methodology of in vitro fertilization and embryo transfer . (Unpublished manuscript, later retrieved by colleagues at the University of Calcutta).
• Banerjee, S., & Sharma, R. (2014). IVF in India: Revisiting the untold story of Dr. Subhash Mukherjee. Journal of Reproductive Medicine , 59(3-4), 189–193.
• Edwards, R.G., & Steptoe, P.C. (1978). Birth after the reimplantation of a human embryo. The Lancet , 312(8085), 366. https://doi.org/10.1016/S0140-6736(78)92957-4