"The Sun hasn’t merely been the subject of my research – it has shaped me and lit the path of my becoming."
"Eclipses are the universe’s punctuation marks, moments where light and shadow choreograph a cosmic pause."
There aren’t many people who have danced with the Sun like Madhulika Guhathakurta. A citizen scientist traveling aboard Swan Hellenic voyages, she brings with her decades of experience in heliophysics and a storyteller’s soul. Away from NASA on a holiday, she’s on a new kind of mission – sharing the science and spirit of solar phenomena with travelers at sea, from the Arctic skies to the Southern Ocean…
Hi Madhulika! Your title The Sheliophysicist is poetic and powerful. How did it come to represent you?
Madhulika: The term "Sheliophysicist" began as a play on words – a whimsical fusion of "she" and "heliophysicist." But over time, it became something much deeper: a declaration of identity. It speaks to the joy and responsibility I feel as a woman illuminating the Sun’s mysteries in a field historically dominated by men. It’s my way of claiming space – not just the cosmic kind, but intellectual and emotional space, too.
You've said your life maps onto solar cycles. Can you share what you mean by that?
Madhulika: The Sun doesn’t just rise and set in my life – it pulses through it, in rhythm and revelation. My journey maps onto four solar cycles, each one like a stanza in an ever-evolving solar poem. The first began under Colorado’s skies, where I earned my PhD and glimpsed the Sun’s crown through coronagraphs and eclipses. It was a time of quiet brilliance – of falling in love with light and plasma, and discovering that science, too, can be sacred. The second burned brighter at NASA Goddard, where I flew payloads on SPARTAN 201 mission into orbit – escorted by astronauts. These were bold years: launching instruments, chasing data, and learning to navigate the choreography between human daring and stellar rhythm. The Sun felt close, like a partner in the dance. The third cycle marked my ascent into NASA leadership. I helped shepherd missions like STEREO, SDO, Parker Solar Probe, and Solar Orbiter from dream to launch. It was a cycle of vision – of policy and persuasion, of fusing science with strategy. The Sun became not just a star to study, but a force to align communities around. Now I stand within the fourth cycle, where I return to story. I weave myth with magnetism, journey through eclipses, and explore consciousness and cosmos through the lens of the Arts and Observatories of Imagination. This chapter is less about commanding missions, and more about kindling wonder – in others, and again in myself. The Sun has shaped me – not just as a scientist, but as a storyteller. It hasn’t merely been the subject of my research – it has lit the path of my becoming.
You've chased eclipses around the globe. Which ones have left the deepest mark?
Madhulika: The 1991 eclipse – my first – was the longest of the century. Darkness swallowed the day and I understood, viscerally, that the Sun is not fixed – it moves, it hides, it reveals. Then came the 2006 eclipse over Libya, one of the most meaningful. The science was compelling, but the context was extraordinary – bringing together scientists from across political divides in a place not known for scientific diplomacy. There, on the edge of the Sahara, we found common language – not just in physics, but in peace. The 2017 Great American Eclipse was unlike anything before – a solar thread stretching across the entire United States. I witnessed it in Oregon, amidst a sea of eclipse chasers, families, scientists, and first-time sky-watchers. For two and a half minutes, time stood still and millions of eyes turned upward in collective wonder. It was the most democratized eclipse I’d ever seen – cosmic spectacle turned national celebration.
They sound like unforgettable events?
Madhulika: Yes, each eclipse is a celestial fingerprint – unique, fleeting, unforgettable. They’ve marked the chapters of my life like luminous milestones. The eclipse I saw in Antarctica, 2021, whispered in a different register. I didn’t see the corona; the Southern Ocean had other plans. A storm raged as we sailed into the path of totality, waves thrashing like a celestial drumbeat. And yet—something profound unfolded. As the eclipse reached its peak, a deeper darkness descended behind already dark clouds. It wasn’t the brilliant crown of plasma I had chased across continents – it was a veiled shadow, heavy and primal, cast over a roiling, turbulent sea. There, in that chaos, the Sun reminded me that beauty is not always luminous. Sometimes, it is in the hush of unmet expectation, in the sheer elemental force of nature asserting itself. Even without the corona, the moment was no less sacred. We didn’t see the light – but we felt the turning of the sky.
Claiming the Sun
Your lectures blend myth with astrophysics. Why do you think that mix resonates so much?
Madhulika: Because both science and story are ways we try to make sense of wonder. Solar eclipses have been dragons and omens, gods and portals. Even with Parker Solar Probe, we’re writing a new myth – one of courage and curiosity. When I speak of Surya from the Vedas or Apollo’s chariot alongside plasma physics, I invite people to see a continuum of human longing to understand the heavens.
What surprises people most when you explain auroras?
Madhulika: That auroras are Earth’s own atmospheric fingerprint of solar storms. They’re not just pretty lights – they are the magnetic field speaking back to the Sun. The fact that invisible charged particles from 93 million miles away can spark such luminous poetry in our skies? That’s where the awe lies.
What’s a detail about auroras that seasoned travelers might not know?
Madhulika: That auroras aren’t symmetrical. Northern and Southern lights don’t mirror each other. That asymmetry tells us about how Earth’s magnetosphere interacts with the solar wind. It’s a scientific reminder that even the most mirrored phenomena can have hidden dissonance.
What excites you most about the Parker Solar Probe?
Madhulika: Parker is humanity’s Icarus, but with a heat shield and a scientific payload. For decades, scientists studied the corona’s mysteries from afar – why is it hotter than the Sun’s surface? What accelerates the solar wind? Parker is finally flying through this realm, not just observing, but tasting the solar plasma. It’s a turning point, not just for solar physics, but for our broader understanding of stellar atmospheres and space weather.
You’ve called solar flares “the Sun’s fireworks.” Why do they matter to us here on Earth?
Madhulika: Solar flares are bursts of energy, like solar hiccups, that can disrupt our high-tech world. They can knock out radio signals, scramble GPS, or even disable satellites. For most people, space weather feels abstract – until their flight path shifts or their power grid flutters. These flares remind us that Earth’s weather isn’t the only game in town.
The Science of Wonder
What do you hope guests take away from your lectures aboard Swan Hellenic?
Madhulika: I hope they feel kinship – with the cosmos, with each other, with curious minds across centuries who’ve watched the sky in wonder. You don’t need to be a scientist to be an explorer. Every question you ask about the Sun continues humanity’s oldest tradition: looking up and wondering why.
What are you curious to explore next in your solar journey?
Madhulika: I’m drawn to how AI and data science are reshaping science. I want to witness how machines can help decode the Sun’s complex rhythms and its impact on Earth and its environment. Personally, I’m also excited to craft more immersive stories, to blend science, art, and voice in new forms. Maybe even a musical ode to the solar wind.
You’ve traveled across continents to witness solar eclipses firsthand. What keeps drawing you back to them?
Madhulika: Eclipses are the universe’s punctuation marks – moments where light and shadow choreograph a cosmic pause. What draws me is that no two are the same: the color of the sky, the sounds of animals, the emotional texture – they shift each time. They’re like sonnets written by the cosmos, each in a different key.
How do you explain space weather to people cruising in places like the polar regions?
Madhulika: In the polar regions, you are in the front row of space weather – where Earth’s magnetic shield opens its curtains to the solar wind. The Sun is constantly shedding charged particles in all directions, and when these particles reach Earth, they interact most strongly at the poles. This is where the magnetic field lines dip down into our atmosphere, allowing solar particles to funnel in like dancers following invisible tracks. The result? Auroras, yes – but also disturbances. I tell guests: when your GPS goes haywire, your HF radio crackles, or your satellite signal flickers, it might not be human error or hardware failure – it could be the Sun, whispering through the solar wind, brushing by your ship with an invisible hand. Even on a calm, clear day at sea, the Sun is stirring the very space around us. We often think of weather as clouds and rain—but space has its own weather. And just as a storm on Earth can delay a flight, a solar storm can reroute polar flights, disrupt navigation systems, or blind satellites with radiation.
Away from city lights, how do these natural settings enhance cosmic learning?
Madhulika: Without city lights, the sky returns to us in its full majesty. There’s a kind of ancient clarity that emerges – where Orion’s belt and the Milky Way feel less like abstractions and more like companions. In those moments, science becomes not just informative, but intimate.
Wisdom and the stars
What’s one thing you wish everyone understood about the Sun?
Madhulika: That the Sun is not a static ball of fire. It’s a dynamic, living star with moods and patterns and outbursts. It breathes in magnetic loops, it sings in plasma waves, and it sculpts the very environment of our solar system. Understanding the Sun is understanding the life’s engine!
How has studying the Sun changed how you see Earth?
Madhulika: It’s made me reverent. Earth isn’t isolated – it’s cradled in solar wind, protected by a magnetic shield, and warmed by a variable star. Studying heliophysics has made me realize how precarious and precious Earth’s balance is, and how deeply we are connected to forces far beyond our atmosphere.
What advice would you offer aspiring space scientists?
Madhulika: Follow your curiosity, not just your credentials. Space science thrives on cross-pollination – of ideas, disciplines, and perspectives. Learn math, but also learn to wonder. Seek mentors, travel widely, read myths as well as technical journals. And remember: your unique perspective is your superpower.
How did your connection with SETI begin?
Madhulika: My love for SETI began long before any formal engagement. It began with a question: Are we alone? I remember first encountering the Drake Equation as a young scientist. It wasn’t just an equation; it was a poem written in variables – each term a whisper of possibility. It gave form to wonder and made room for dreaming in the language of science. Over the years, as I studied our Sun – the source of energy, of chemistry, of rhythm – I couldn’t help but ask: What of other stars? What dances might unfold in their light? SETI, to me, is not just a search for signals. It is a mirror. It asks us to listen, yes—but also to reflect on who we are, what we value, and how we might be perceived by others across the stars. SETI invites us to place our science in service of awe. And that, I think, is where I’ve always belonged.
How does studying our Sun compare to searching for life beyond Earth?
Madhulika: Our Sun is both ordinary and unique. Studying it gives us a template – a standard candle, if you will. But searching for life elsewhere expands our imagination. One is an act of deepening; the other, of widening. Both require humility. One teaches us how stars work; the other asks us why we matter.
What role does solar science play in finding habitable worlds?
Madhulika: A planet’s star dictates habitability. Solar science gives us the tools to model stellar radiation, magnetic fields, and particle flux – all of which affect atmospheres, chemistry, and potential biology. Without understanding stellar behavior, we’re blind architects of habitability.