When I was 10 years old, a cousin of mine took me on a tour of

When Aditi Shankardass said, “When I was 10 years old, a cousin of mine took me on a tour of his medical school. And as a special treat, he took me to the pathology lab and took a real human brain out of the jar and placed it in my hands. And there it was, the seat of human consciousness, the powerhouse of the human body, sitting in my hands,” she spoke not only of a childhood memory but of a moment of awakening — that sacred instant when curiosity meets wonder and knowledge takes root in the soul. Her words capture the awe that arises when one first beholds the mystery of the human mind, the very organ through which humanity perceives, imagines, and creates. In that small pair of hands, a child held not only a brain but the essence of human possibility — the silent temple where thought, love, memory, and soul intertwine.

To hold the human brain is to stand at the crossroads of spirit and science. For within that soft, gray mass lies the history of evolution and the fire of awareness. It is fragile to the touch, yet mighty in its design. It governs every heartbeat, every word spoken, every dream conceived. When young Aditi looked upon it, she did not see only anatomy — she saw the seat of consciousness, the instrument through which all poetry, discovery, and compassion are born. The ancients might have called it the “divine mirror,” the vessel that reflects both heaven and earth within us. Her experience, though set in the halls of modern medicine, carries the same reverence as a priest gazing upon a sacred relic.

The origin of her quote lies in this formative moment — the beginning of her lifelong devotion to understanding the brain and the mysteries it holds. Dr. Aditi Shankardass would grow to become a renowned neuroscientist, pioneering the use of brainwave analysis to diagnose developmental disorders in children. But before the intellect, there was wonder; before the research, there was reverence. The child who once held a brain in her hands came to realize that its true power lay not in its structure, but in its capacity to connect, to feel, to transform thought into kindness and imagination into progress. In that moment, science and soul met — and from their union, a calling was born.

The ancients, too, revered such awakenings. The philosopher Aristotle called the human being “a rational soul,” and the Egyptian priests believed that the brain was the seat of wisdom, while the heart carried divine fire. Across cultures, the pursuit of knowledge about the mind has always been more than a quest for understanding — it has been a spiritual journey, an attempt to touch the essence of creation itself. When young Aditi held that brain, she stood in the same lineage as these seekers of truth — those who sought not just to study life, but to honor it. In that quiet laboratory, she experienced what sages have always known: that science without awe is hollow, and awe without inquiry is blind.

There is a story that mirrors her awakening — the tale of Santiago Ramón y Cajal, the 19th-century scientist known as the father of modern neuroscience. As a young man, he gazed at nerve cells under a microscope and described them not as mere structures, but as “the mysterious butterflies of the soul.” He saw in their delicate patterns the very architecture of thought. Like Aditi, Cajal was not content with cold observation; he approached the study of the brain with a painter’s wonder and a poet’s heart. Both scientists remind us that to study life’s mysteries is not to dissect them, but to contemplate their beauty, to see the sacred in the scientific.

Shankardass’s quote is also a lesson in humility. The brain she held was once the home of another’s memories — a life lived, a consciousness extinguished. To touch it was to touch mortality itself, to be reminded that all our thoughts, achievements, and loves are housed in something so small and so delicate. And yet, that same fragility births art, wisdom, and compassion. This paradox — that strength is found in delicacy — is the heart of her reflection. It teaches that to hold knowledge is to hold responsibility; to hold power is to serve life, not command it.

Thus, the lesson of Aditi Shankardass’s words is this: never lose your sense of wonder. For all knowledge begins in reverence. Whether you are a scientist or an artist, a teacher or a seeker, approach your work as she did — with curiosity guided by humility, and learning tempered by love. Seek not only to understand the world, but to honor it. When you hold a truth in your hands, as she once held that brain, remember that you are touching the very fabric of existence — fragile, magnificent, alive.

And so, let her story be told to every generation that seeks wisdom: marvel at what you study, and study what you marvel at. For in that union, knowledge becomes enlightenment, and discovery becomes devotion. The child who held the brain in her hands reminds us all that the greatest scientists are not those who conquer mysteries, but those who stand in awe before them — forever humbled by the miracle of being human, and forever devoted to understanding the mind that dares to dream.