A Crisis That Rebuilt Me: Lessons from My PhD Journey in Akola
When I moved to Akola to begin my PhD, I genuinely believed survival would be easy. I was wrong.
What followed became one of the most mentally demanding phases of my life. To my readers, I apologize for not updating this blog for nearly two years. That silence did not come from comfort or stability—it came from struggle. This period marked a clear crisis point in my PhD journey, both intellectually and personally.
Paradoxically, this phase also carried quite a few achievements. Before entering this transition, I had already published four research papers based on my earlier work. During this difficult period, I undertook my first major review article—a task that tested my patience and endurance far more than any experiment. That single review took nearly eleven months to complete. It moved slowly, stalled often, and forced me to read deeply, critically, and repeatedly. At the time, it felt like stagnation. In hindsight, it trained me to think like a scientist rather than merely execute experiments.
Around the same time, I received an offer for a Technical Assistant role at CSIR-IICB. It was a moment of validation—proof that my skills were visible beyond my immediate academic struggles. Yet I chose to stay with my PhD, knowing that unfinished journeys cost more than delayed comfort.
After leaving my previous role at MGM, I entered a research environment entirely new to me, centered on doubled haploid technology. I was suddenly confronted with serious gaps in my understanding of plant breeding. For nearly two years, I struggled to find clarity and confidence. I was not simply learning new techniques; I was rebuilding my scientific foundation from scratch while questioning my direction and abilities.
The confusion, slow progress, and repeated self-doubt made this phase mentally exhausting. Yet, in hindsight, this crisis became the most defining period of my PhD. It forced discipline, humility, and deep introspection.
The Bhagavad Gita captures this phase perfectly:
कर्मण्येवाधिकारस्ते मा फलेषु कदाचनYou have the right to perform your duty, but not to the fruits of your actions.
At that time, results felt distant and invisible. All I could do was show up, learn, fail, and repeat.
The Invisible Struggle: Communication, Isolation, and Inner Noise
The transition was not only academic. The research culture was unfamiliar. Expectations were different. I struggled most with communication—not language alone, but scientific communication. Understanding what was being planned, discussed, or expected from me felt overwhelming. Conversations moved fast, decisions were made quickly, and I often found myself reconstructing meaning after the moment had passed.
That confusion slowly turned into self-doubt. I began questioning my intelligence and worth. I made mistakes—not due to lack of effort, but due to misunderstanding. Each mistake felt heavier than it should have, pushing me toward silence.
During this time, I deliberately withdrew. I spent long periods alone—reading, thinking, re-reading fundamentals, and avoiding unnecessary social noise. Some new friendships formed slowly and quietly, grounded not in convenience but in shared understanding. Isolation was not always loneliness; often, it was survival.
Lesson 1: Communication with your PhD supervisor and peers is not optional. It is essential—not just for research progress, but for mental stability.
The Physical Cost of Scientific Work
Alongside intellectual struggle came physical exhaustion. Fieldwork is unforgiving. Long hours, harsh weather, repetitive labor, and responsibility that does not pause for fatigue or emotion. Until Akola, most of my research life had been inside laboratories—controlled environments, instruments, predictable routines. Here, research demanded my body as much as my mind.
There were days of endless work, irregular meals, limited sleep, and emotional depletion. Financial instability added another layer. The stipend system, often delayed and always limited, teaches a harsh lesson early in a scientist’s life: intellectual ambition rarely aligns with immediate financial comfort. There were months of careful calculations, postponed needs, and quiet restraint.
This, too, is part of the scientist’s story—rarely discussed, deeply felt.
The Gita reminds us:
योगस्थः कुरु कर्माणिRemain steady in discipline, and perform your duty.
That steadiness more than talent kept me functioning.
Adaptation, Not Transformation
Despite confusion, exhaustion, financial strain, and mistakes, I survived my first year.
Not just survived. I adapted.
Slowly, breeding concepts began to make sense. Experimental logic sharpened. Long-term planning became clearer. The environment did not change—but I did.
I completed my experiments, collected data, processed results, and successfully cleared my probation seminar. Only then did I fully understand why people say, “Doing a PhD is not easy.”
It isn’t.
Sometimes it dismantles you before reconstructing you.
न हि कल्याणकृत् कश्चिद् दुर्गतिं तात गच्छतिOne who strives sincerely is never destroyed
Redefining Success as a Scientist
Success never arrives gently. It comes through discipline, delay, sacrifice, and persistence.
None of this implies weakness.
What is unacceptable is abandoning yourself.
One of the strongest lessons my PhD has taught me is this: work matters, ambition matters—but not at the cost of mental health, relationships, or self-respect. I no longer work to impress institutions or individuals. I work to satisfy curiosity and to grow—slowly, honestly, and sustainably.
I value people more deeply now. At the same time, I refuse to abandon my professional aspirations. I want both a meaningful personal life and a rigorous scientific career—and I am willing to work patiently for both.
Lesson 2: Avoid what makes you unnecessarily sad.The paradox: Growth is painful—but quitting during pain guarantees stagnation.
This journey is shaping me—not merely as a researcher, but as a person.
And perhaps, that is the most honest outcome of a PhD.
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