Kashish - We Don’t Need Lab Coats for Solar. We Need Hard Hats.
When I first got curious about solar energy, I assumed it was all deep tech stuff—cutting-edge science, intense R&D, white lab coats, the works. I mean, it’s literally a sheet of glass that turns sunlight into electricity. That sounds like something out of a sci-fi novel, right?
So naturally, I figured the main challenge with solar must be technology. Better panels. More efficient cells. Smarter materials.
But the deeper I dug, the more I realized… that’s not really the problem anymore.
Solar isn’t a tech problem. It’s a manufacturing problem.
Let me explain.
At the heart of every solar panel is a material called polysilicon. This is the same material that powers another crucial part of our modern world—semiconductors.
Back in the 1970s and ’80s, the U.S. and other tech giants were in a mad rush to perfect semiconductors. Billions of dollars were poured into research, and some of the sharpest minds in physics and engineering dedicated decades to making silicon wafers more efficient, more stable, and easier to manufacture.
In the process, they ended up solving the toughest problems around how to refine and work with polysilicon. They figured out how to purify it, how to slice it, how to assemble it at nanoscale precision. And while their goal was to build microchips and processors, they ended up unlocking the foundations for something else: solar panels.
The thing is—solar doesn’t need all that complexity. It doesn’t need the extreme precision or miniaturization that semiconductors do. It just needs light to hit a surface and generate an electric current. Which means…
Most of the “tech” heavy lifting has already been done.
Thanks to decades of semiconductor R&D, we already have what we need to build good solar panels.
So what’s the real bottleneck?
Making solar panels at scale. At low cost. At consistent quality.
That’s a manufacturing problem.
It’s not about inventing the next big thing. It’s about refining production lines. Improving yield. Reducing waste. Managing supply chains for glass, aluminum, and silicon wafers. Getting your logistics tight so that gigawatts of solar panels can roll out like clockwork.
To put it simply:
We don’t need more scientists in cleanrooms. We need more engineers on factory floors.
We need more of the “get-your-hands-dirty” kind of work. Less deep research, more mass production. Less lab coats, more hard hats.
Why does this distinction matter?
Because it completely changes the kind of ecosystem a country needs to succeed in solar.
If solar were still a tech problem, you’d need big R&D budgets, elite research institutions, and years of experimentation before you could even get started.
But since it’s a manufacturing problem, the playbook is different. You need:
- Large-scale industrial parks
- Access to raw materials
- Policy support for capital-intensive manufacturing
- A skilled labor force
- Supply chain infrastructure
And perhaps most importantly:
You need to be relentless at improving efficiency—not just energy efficiency, but manufacturing efficiency. That’s where the real game is today.
So where does India stand in all this?
That’s a longer conversation, but here’s the short version:
We’ve done great on the solar installation side, but not so much on the solar manufacturing side.
We import a massive chunk of our solar modules from countries like China. Why? Because they figured out the manufacturing game early. They built massive production lines, vertically integrated supply chains, and scaled so fast that no one could match their prices.
And unless we catch up on manufacturing, we’ll always be dependent—no matter how much sunlight we get.
The bottom line?
Solar feels like a high-tech, futuristic solution to the energy crisis.
But at its core, it’s no longer about tech innovation.
It’s about manufacturing excellence.
We already know how to make sunlight into electricity.
Now, we just have to get really, really good at doing it again. And again. And again.
Prerana— On Kombuchas
So I am a big fan of Kombucha. I used to sample a lot of new flavours every week. The only problem was it was burning a big hole in my pocket. So I thought what the hell, it can't be that hard to make on my own and thus began my journey as a Kombucha brewer. I am 6 days into making my first batch and I have learnt a lot about it and thought I would share it with people, whether they are interested or not.
Making kombucha involves two key fermentation stages. First, you combine sweetened tea with a SCOBY (Symbiotic Culture of Bacteria and Yeast) and some starter liquid. This mixture ferments for 7-14 days at room temperature. During this time, the SCOBY floats at the top like a strange, rubbery pancake, slowly consuming the sugar and caffeine in the tea and replicates. The sweet tea gradually turns tangy and develops that distinctive kombucha flavor. I've found myself checking on it daily, watching as the clear tea becomes cloudier and the SCOBY thickens and I can see bits and pieces of yeast sinking to the bottom everyday. And the best part, there is a new baby SCOBY now!!
The second fermentation happens after bottling, when you add fruit, herbs, or juice for flavor. Sealed in bottles for 2-7 days, the remaining yeasts consume the new sugars, building natural carbonation and developing more complex flavour profiles. Opening these bottles is always a moment of anticipation - sometimes they gently fizz, other times they dramatically overflow if they've become too carbonated. It's bottled in glass, and sometimes if it's too carbonated, it can literally explode. Crazy, right!
What fascinates me about kombucha is that the SCOBY isn't just an ingredient—it's a living ecosystem. This rubbery disc contains billions of microorganisms working together: yeasts convert sugar into alcohol and carbon dioxide, while bacteria transform that alcohol into various acids that give kombucha its tang. The microbial composition of each SCOBY is unique, which explains why every brewer's kombucha tastes different. These microorganisms create not just acids but also vitamins, enzymes, and other beneficial compounds during fermentation.
The SCOBY responds to its environment too, which is why I have attached a thermometer to my glass jar. In warmer weather, fermentation happens faster and produces a more acidic brew. In cooler temperatures, it works slower, creating milder flavors. I've noticed that using different teas - black, green, or even herbal - also significantly changes the final taste.
When I check my fermenting jar, I'm literally watching a living process. The SCOBY grows new layers with each batch, literally creating life before my eyes. What starts as a thin film gradually thickens. And the best part is it can be used again and again and again.
The history adds another interesting layer to my brewing experience. People in ancient China (around 220 BCE) were fermenting kombucha centuries before anyone knew what microorganisms were. They couldn't see the bacteria or yeasts, but they observed the effects and valued the results enough to carefully maintain these cultures.
Named after Dr. Kombu, a Korean physician who reportedly brought the fermented tea to Japan, kombucha gradually spread westward along the Silk Road trading routes. It became particularly popular in Russia, where many families kept a continuous brew going and passed SCOBYs between generations. During World War II, soldiers and travelers brought it to Germany and other parts of Europe. Kombucha didn't become popular in America until the 1990s, but has since experienced a massive surge in popularity.
I think kombucha is a lesson on patience. It takes at least 10 days to taste the results, you're not supposed to touch it in between, and anything can go wrong in the middle, like mold or dirt or over fermentation etc etc etc. But when it goes right, you feel a sense of pride. I have named my SCOBY as Scoby Maharaj and I am very excited to see where this goes.
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