Aul Pakir Zainulabdeen Abdul Kalam, a man revered by many of his countrymen, epitomized the best qualities of Indian life. Born in 1931 to a modest boat owner in Rameswaram, Tamil Nadu, his journey opened up to an extraordinary career as a defense scientist, eventually earning him India’s highest civilian honour, the Bharat Ratna.
Leading the nation’s defense research and development program, Kalam demonstrated a remarkable capacity for dynamism and innovation in seemingly stagnant research institutions. His rise from obscurity witnessed personal and professional struggles, intertwined with the narrative of iconic missiles like Agni, Prithvi, Akash, Trishul and Nag – now synonymous with India’s status as a missile power on the global stage.
Despite his pivotal role in enhancing India’s military capabilities, Kalam maintained an ascetic dedication to his personal pursuits, putting in 18-hour workdays and nurturing his passion for the veena. Crediting his mentors and teachers for his achievements, he humbly describes the challenges of his upbringing in South India, Dr. Vikram highlights the important role of academics and visionary scientists like Sarabhai.
At the Defense Research and Development Laboratory (DRDL) in Hyderabad, Dr. Arun Tiwari, who collaborated closely with Kalam, reflected on their shared vision of harnessing indigenous defense technology to advance medical innovation at the Institute of Cardiovascular Technology, where he now serves as director.
Dr. Kalam’s trajectory culminated in his presidency, which he assumed in 2002 with overwhelming support. His leadership included India’s quest for technological self-reliance and defense autonomy, navigating the intricacies of domestic and international politics along with scientific progress.
WINGS OF
FIRE
~An Autobiography
A P J Abdul Kalam with Arun Tiwari
To the memory of my parents
My Mother
In the embrace of sea waves and golden sands,
Amidst the steadfast faith of pilgrims,
On the streets of the Rameswaram Masjid, everyone mingled as one.
My mother!
You look like heaven’s tender embrace to me,
A memory carved from days of war,
If challenge and toil are the refrain of life-
Miles traversed in the first light of dawn,
Seeking wisdom from a saintly teacher with the grace of the temple,
Further miles to the teaching grounds of Arab schools,
Scaling the sand hills to reach the railway station road,
Disseminating news to temple city devotees,
Then to school as the day breaks.
In the evening, a flurry of business before night studies,
Yet, through the hardships of youth,
You, my mother, have turned pain into piety,
Prayer five times a day, with salutations,
Only by the grace of the almighty.
Your devotion became our children’s shield,
Sharing your all with those in need,
Constant charity, steadfast in faith.
I vividly remember, at the age of ten,
Nestled in your lap, older relatives envy,
On a moonlit night, only you knew my world,
Mother! My mother!
In the midnight wake, tears wet my knees,
You sensed your child’s pain, my mother.
With soft hands, you soothed the pain,
Your love, your care, your faith fill me with strength,
Strengthened by his strength, to face the world unswervingly.
On the day of reckoning, we will be reunited,
My mother, on that day of great judgment!
Contents
- Preface
- Acknowledgements
- Introduction
- ORIENTATION
- CREATION
- PROPITIATION
- CONTEMPLATION
Epilogue
ORIENTATION
[ 1931 – 1963 ]
This earth is His, to Him belong those vast and boundless skies;Both seas within Him rest, and yet in that small pool He lies.
ATHARVA VEDA
1
I entered this world as a member of a middle-class Tamil family in the quaint island town of Rameswaram, nestled within the erstwhile Madras state. My father, Zainulabdeen, lacked formal education and considerable wealth; Nevertheless, he possessed a deep innate intelligence and an unwavering spirit of generosity. Beside him stood my mother Ashiamma, an ideal companion whose hospitality knew no bounds. Although I cannot recall the exact number, it is certain that more outsiders dine at our table every day than members of our own family.
Known as an exemplary couple, my parents’ lineage is marked by ancestors who were given the title of ‘Bahadur’ by the British.
Amidst a family of children, I emerged as a small figure among tall, handsome parents. Our house, a sturdy mid-19th century structure built of limestone and brick, stands proudly on Rameswaram’s Masjid Street. Regulated by my strict fatherly principles, we renounced unnecessary comforts and luxuries, but never lacked essential provisions, whether food, medicine or clothing. Thus, my childhood was one of both physical security and emotional stability.
Sitting next to my mother in the kitchen, I partook of a humble meal served on banana leaves, relishing fragrant rice with fragrant sambar, an array of homemade pickles and freshly made coconut chutney.
In moments of solitude, human nature craves companionship; In times of trouble, assistance; In moments of breakdown, guidance. Each recurring affliction, each longing finds its own unique solace. However, to those who seek me in distress, who see me merely as a mediator to propitiate perceived malevolent forces through prayers and offerings, I warn against such misconceptions. This approach is flawed and should never be endorsed. It is imperative to discern between a fear-driven perception of fate and a vision that empowers us to face the obstacles within ourselves.
My father’s daily ritual began at 4 am, with morning prayers, followed by a pilgrimage to our small coconut plantation four miles from our home. Shouldering a dozen coconuts, he returned, waiting for his breakfast only after the task was complete—a routine he maintained until his late sixties.
Throughout my journey in the field of science and technology, I have tried to emulate my father’s example. Firm in my faith in the divine power to lift one out of confusion, despair and failure and guide one to their rightful place, I strove to grasp the profound truths they imparted. When a person is freed from emotional and physical constraints, they begin the path to liberation, happiness and inner peace.
At the age of six, I witnessed my father’s ambitious project: the construction of a wooden sailboat to transport pilgrims from Rameswaram to Dhanuskodi, also known as Sethukkarai. Working tirelessly on the beach, relative Ahmed Jallaluddin—who would later marry my sister Zohara—I watched the boat take shape, its hull and bulkheads spiced by the heat of the wood fire. Our fortunes looked bright until a storm with winds of 100 miles per hour wrecked our boat and the landmass of Setukkarai. The tragic collapse of the Pamban Bridge with a train full of passengers further emphasized the raw power of the sea, imprinting its awe-inspiring yet unpredictable nature on me forever.
3
2
Just ten minutes away from our home in Rameswaram is the renowned Shiva Temple, a beacon for pilgrims. While our neighborhood was predominantly Muslim, Hindu families coexisted harmoniously with their Muslim counterparts. An ancient mosque in our vicinity served as a holy place where my father would take me for evening prayers. Although I could not understand the meaning of the Arabic invocations, I had a firm belief that they reached the divine. After exiting the mosque, my father was greeted by people of various faiths, offering bowls of water to bless the weak before taking them home. I remember visitors expressing gratitude for their healing, to which my father always redirected praise to a compassionate and merciful Allah.
Pakshi Lakshmana Shastri, the revered priest of the Rameswaram temple, shared a deep bond with my father. An abiding memory of my early years is of these two men, dressed in their traditional attire, engrossed in spiritual discourse. As I matured and began to ponder the importance of prayer, I turned to my father for guidance. He ignored prayer, describing it as a means of connecting souls that transcended barriers of wealth, age, caste and religion.
My father had the gift of expressing complex spiritual concepts in simple Tamil. He imparted wisdom, emphasizing that each person, regardless of their circumstances, embodies a unique aspect of the divine. He instilled in me a deep understanding of life’s adversities, encouraging me to embrace challenges as opportunities for introspection.
“Why don’t you share these insights with those who seek your advice?” I questioned. His response, delivered with measured intensity, ignited a fire within me.
By the time our boat met its unfortunate demise, Ahmad Jallaluddin was already, despite our significant age gap—he was about 15 years older than me—and affectionately calling me Azad. Our evenings were spent on long walks, leaving the mosque street and winding our way to the sandy shores of our island home. Amid the throngs of pilgrims flocking to Rameswaram, the setting was ripe for deep spiritual conversation.
Our first stop was always a magnificent temple dedicated to Lord Shiva. As we circumambulated the temple with the same reverence as pilgrims from distant lands, we felt a palpable surge of energy within us. Jalaluddin spoke affectionately about God, suggesting partnership, casting his doubts as though God stood nearby, ready to dispel them. Observing Jalaluddin’s enthusiasm, I could not help but wonder if he had a more divine affinity than usual.
Despite his limited schooling, due to his family’s financial constraints, Jalaluddin was never discontented. Instead, he championed my academic pursuits, taking vicarious pleasure from my success. His gratitude for life’s gifts remained steadfast, without bitterness.
Notably, on our island, Jallaluddin had the only personal proficiency in English—which he used liberally to help others by drafting letters for job applications or personal correspondence. His breadth of knowledge extends far beyond our insular community; He regaled me with stories of learned men, scientific advances, contemporary literature and medical advances, opening my eyes to the world beyond our narrow confines.
4
Books were rare in the modest environment of my childhood. However, in our local context, it is significant that STR Manikkam’s personal library amassed during his days as a ‘revolutionary’ nationalist. Encouraged by him, I frequented his house to borrow books, sparking my passion for reading.
Another influential person in my youth was my cousin, Samsuddin, the only distributor of newspapers in Rameswaram. Every morning, newspapers arrived at Rameswaram station by Pamban train, Samsuddin’s agency serving the literate people of the town. These newspapers served various purposes—from keeping abreast of the national independence movement to astrological references and silver rates in Madras. Although my reading abilities were limited, Dinmani was especially sought after, allowing me only to admire the Sansuddin images before distributing them.
World War II began in 1939 when I was eight years old, bringing unexpected changes. A sudden demand for tamarind seeds arose, prompting me to collect and sell them for a modest income. Amidst war stories from Jallaluddin, I witnessed the shutdown of the train at Rameswaram station, forced to throw newspapers from moving trains, I helped Samsuddin, earned my first salary and a sense of pride.
Every child is shaped by his environment and guided by authority figures. From my father, I inherited honesty and discipline; From my mother, a belief in goodness and kindness. However, the association of Jalaluddin and Samsuddin deeply shaped my childhood, fostering creativity and intuition.
My childhood friends, Ramnath Shastri, Aravindan and Sivaprakashan, hailing from traditional Hindu Brahmin families, exemplified unity despite religious differences. Our shared experiences transcend such divisions, forging lifelong bonds.
During the annual Shree Sita Rama Kalyanam ceremony, our family organizes boats to carry idols of the Lord, a tradition intertwined with the stories of the Ramayana and the Prophet’s life, taught by my mother and grandmother.
A poignant memory of my primary school days in Rameswaram involves the prejudice of the new teacher, which led to my shifting to the back bench because of my Muslim identity. This incident left me and my friend Ramnath Shastri in deep despair.