That gap is where I think science communication lives. And I believe it is one of the most undervalued skills in modern science.

In research training, we learn to design studies, manage data, interpret statistics, and write for peer reviewers. We are taught QUADAS-2 frameworks, meta-analytic methods, and proper citation practice. What we are rarely taught is how to talk to someone who does not share that vocabulary.

I find this strange. Science, at its core, is a claim about the real world. It is not a private conversation among specialists. If a finding about diabetes remission has implications for how a patient manages their diet, or how a policymaker allocates healthcare budgets, then the person who understands that finding most deeply — the researcher — carries a responsibility to make it understood.

What I Learned from Coffee and CRISPR

Some of my sharpest thinking about communication has come from unexpected places. When I started brewing speciality coffee seriously — learning the chemistry of extraction, the role of grind size, the physics of water flow through a V60 — I realised that the science was rich and rigorous, but that the community had done something remarkable: they had made it accessible without dumbing it down.

The same curiosity that makes me want to understand CRISPR base editing also makes me want to explain it. When I think about hereditary diseases that could one day be corrected with a single molecular edit, I don’t just feel the pull of the mechanism. I feel the weight of what it would mean for a family that carries that mutation — and the obligation to help them understand what science is offering.

That dual awareness — of the technical and the human — is what I think science communication demands.

Peer Review Is Not the Only Verdict

There is a tendency in academic culture to treat journal publication as the final word on whether science has “happened.” A paper accepted by a reputable journal is real. Everything else — a blog post, a thread, a short video explanation — is decoration.

I disagree with this hierarchy. A well-researched science article written for a general audience requires the same intellectual honesty as a methods section. It requires that you understand what you are claiming, identify its limits, and resist the temptation to overstate. If anything, public-facing writing is harder in one respect: a peer reviewer shares your assumptions; a general reader does not.

Science communication is not a simplified version of science. It is science done in a different register.

We Cannot Afford Silence

In India, public health literacy around conditions like Type 2 diabetes is deeply uneven. Misinformation about remission, diet, and medication is abundant. Meanwhile, researchers who hold genuinely useful knowledge often stay behind institutional walls, writing for audiences who already agree with them.

I don’t think this is sustainable — scientifically, politically, or ethically. The trust that allows research institutions to exist, the funding that makes experiments possible, the social permission to work on questions that matter: all of it depends on a public that sees science as legitimate and worthy of support. That legitimacy is not automatic. It is built, sentence by sentence, conversation by conversation.

A Personal Commitment

I am still early in my research career. I don’t have a PhD, a laboratory of my own, or a publication in a high-impact journal. What I do have is a growing conviction that the work of explanation is not separate from the work of discovery — it is part of the same project.

When I write about what I am learning, when I try to make a complex idea clear to someone who hasn’t spent months inside the same literature I have, I am not taking a break from being a scientist. I am being one.

Thanks for reading! If you found this post worthwhile, consider following and sharing it.

Share

Subscribe now

One highlight of the Centre’s work is its collaboration with a Singapore-based pharmaceutical company to develop new therapies for teenagers with diabetes. My task was to help with case notes, support the clinical team, and collect and analyse data. This gave me a real-world look at what clinical research is all about — ensuring data accuracy, writing detailed reports, and understanding how patients, physicians, and researchers collaborate.

Even without a pre-med background, my experience as a research student at IISER Berhampur helped me connect the dots between the science I learned in a lab and the practical side of healthcare. My passion for biomedical research really took off there, as every conversation and case added to my knowledge.

A particularly sobering observation during my internship was the alarming rise of Type 2 diabetes among teenagers and preteens, a trend that poses significant long-term health risks. Witnessing these cases highlighted the urgent need for the development of effective preventive and therapeutic strategies. The notion of “survival of the fittest” is inherently unfair to individuals born with genetic disadvantages, and I firmly believe that no one should be left behind because of such factors.

Survival of the fittest is deeply unfair for those born with genetic disadvantages; no one should be left behind.

My internship unexpectedly sparked a newfound interest in gene-editing technologies, such as CRISPR-Cas9. As I documented various cases, I began to ponder the potential for molecular-level interventions and the exciting possibility of discovering cures for certain genetic forms of diabetes in the future.

My time at the Excel Endocrine Centre was more than just an internship; it was a transformative experience. It was a bridge between my scientific training and the human side of medicine. It reaffirmed my belief that research isn’t just about data; it’s about people, their stories, and the innovations that could change their lives forever.

Thank you for taking the time to read this; it’s much appreciated! I would love to hear your thoughts. If you enjoyed this, please give it a clap or consider subscribing.

Signing off,

Your friendly next-door researcher.