Four generations of engineers: The life and times of my grandfather, CVS Narasimha Rao

When Pooja surprised us and graduated as a bioengineering major last year, it suddenly occurred to me that she represents the fourth consecutive generation of engineers in our family. My maternal grandfather, my father, myself, and now my daughter—each one choosing to build, create, and shape the world through engineering. This realization sent me down my favorite path—family archeology! I dug into (cursorily) professional inheritance and family patterns and (more deeply) into the remarkable career of the man who started it all: my maternal grandfather, Mr. C. V.S. Narasimha Rao.

The prevalence of professional inheritance

Multigenerational professional patterns are far more common than most people (including me!) realize. Research in family systems theory shows that intergenerational family patterns significantly influence career choices, with families serving as the primary vehicle for transmitting values, attitudes, and professional aspirations across generations.

This phenomenon is particularly pronounced in engineering. Studies have found that occupational inheritance is remarkably common in the profession—over half of students intending to study engineering in college had at least one engineer as a family member. If familial career had no influence on engineering interest, we would expect only ~1% of engineering students to have engineering parents, matching the engineering population in the general workforce. The reality is much higher (~6%), indicating that professional inheritance in engineering is both common and powerful.

This pattern varies across different types of families. In business dynasties—such as Marwari and Jewish families—wealth concentration often drives the expectation that children will follow in their father’s professional footsteps (high double digit %s is my hypothesis). In professional families like ours, where children are free to choose different paths, what gets transmitted isn’t capital or assets, but something more intangible: a(n engineering) mindset, a way of approaching problems, and perhaps most importantly, the belief that you can build solutions to make the world better.

The historical depth of this phenomenon is remarkable. A fascinating study correlating professions in Florence between 1427 and 2011—yes, six centuries apart!—finds evidence of dynasties in certain elite professions. The probability of belonging to professions like law, banking, medicine, or goldsmithing today is higher the more intensely one’s ancestors were engaged/employed in the same professions in 1427.

What makes our four-generation engineering pattern particularly special is not just its persistence across such dramatically different technological eras, but the fact that each generation has found itself at the cutting edge of the defining technology of its time—civil engineering, aeronautical engineering, robotics, and now, bioengineering.

The foundation: C.V.S. Narasimha Rao’s journey across India

My maternal grandfather’s career reads like a map of India’s infrastructure development during some of the most transformative decades in the subcontinent’s history. Born in June, 1902 in Kollipara, a little village on the banks of the River Krishna in Andhra Pradesh, C.V.S. Narasimha Rao graduated in 1922 from the Guindy Engineering College in Madras—likely one of the oldest engineering colleges in India having been founded in 1794 (!). I get the sense that, given that there were only ~10 engineering schools in all of India in 1922, this must have been a bold move. My mother tells me that he chose to become an engineer—you guessed it!—because he was encouraged to do so by his maternal uncle who was a Tahsildar (a land revenue officer) and his cousin twice removed, who was a “diploma holder” in engineering. By entering the (presumably selective) engineering profession, he would define not just his life, but the trajectory of generations to follow.

His career began at the Krishna Raja Sagar Dam (aka, Kannambadi Katte or Dam) near Mysore in ~1922, working under the legendary Sir M. Visvesvaraya, one of India’s most revered engineers. Visvesvaraya had already established himself as a pioneering figure who had risen through the British PWD system, eventually becoming Chief Engineer and, then, Dewan (Prime Minister) of the Kingdom of Mysore and designing revolutionary automatic flood gates. For a young Indian engineer like my grandfather, working alongside such a towering, figure must have been both inspiring and instructive about what was possible for Indian engineers in a colonial system.

A career map: From dams to runways to power houses

As you can tell from the imagery above, my grandfather’s journey across India tells the story of a nation building itself. From water management in the South to wartime aviation infrastructure in the East, from irrigation systems that would feed millions to power generation that would light up growing cities—my grandfather’s career paralleled India’s transformation from colonial dependency to independent nationhood.

This peripatetic lifestyle impacted the family, including my mother, in many ways. First, her name. My grandfather was working on the Krishna canals when she was born. He decided to name her “Krishna Kumari”—the daughter of the River Krishna. Second, she was largely self and home schooled as my grandfather tended to be transferred often. She describes being thrilled to attend school every so often, whenever my grandfather happened to be posted for long enough in an urban setting (e.g., Nellore in the early 1950s). The girls would ride a bullock cart to school from the large PWD bungalows they grew up in. Chauffeur driven cars came later, in 1941, with his promotions. Since he never drove a car, he hired a chauffeur who lived in the “servants” quarters of the PWD bungalows they lived in. The car was used when they went out as a family, and, occasionally, when the girls had to be dropped off at school. Third, and as a consequence of this, she doesn’t really have childhood friends to keep up with. Fourth, possibly because of these circumstances, she learned to be self-contained—which sometimes feels like a blessing during the last 25 years she has spent with us in the US. Fifth, and what I find most endearing, is her tremendous interest in anything engineering. Every time we execute a project at home or I work on something, she is on the site or by my side, asking a zillion questions. So, I find myself explaining things to her from time to time. I can proudly say that while she isn’t a formally trained engineer, thanks to decades spent sleeping on camp cots on river banks with her father and his colleagues, decades more with my father and his students, and, now, finally with her kids and grandkids, my mother is an instinctive engineer. She gets things! So much so, that I have merged two concepts from my doctoral advisor and my mother and have created a communication standard for myself: “Can I explain the concept simply enough that someone as smart and intuitive as my mother but not necessarily in the specific field will get it?” If I can, I’ve met my “Amma’s test”!

Figure 1: The Gunnavaram/Vijayawada airstrip soon after it was built. (Credit: Gunnavaram airport authority)

Figure 2: The Gunnavaram/Vijayawada airport today. (Credit: Gunnavaram airport authority)

Figure 3: The Tungabhadra power house as it was being built. (Credit: Tungabhadra dam authority and Srinivas Akella)

Figure 4: The Tungabhadra power house once built (Credit: Tungabhadra dam authority and Srinivas Akella)

My mother tells me that her father was a very honest person—a challenge in the PWD system where bribery was (is?) the order of the day. One of his biggest problems was avoiding contractors who were trying to bribe him! And, ensuring that the raw materials that went into the infrastructure that he was building were not contaminated or diluted in any way—especially cement which needed to be mixed with sand to strict ratios and standards. In fact, it was fairly common for him to be on-site, into the wee hours of the morning, till the last pound of (uncontaminated, I might add!) concrete was poured. I wonder if that is why the edifices that he built still stand.

Understanding the hierarchy: The significance of “Superintending Engineer”

The British PWD was organized hierarchically, with positions including Chief Engineer, Superintending Engineer, Executive Engineer, and Assistant Engineer. Superintending Engineers were responsible for entire districts or major projects, reporting directly to 2-4 Chief Engineers per state and overseeing multiple Executive Engineers who managed individual projects. In the 1950s, there would have been only a handful of Superintending Engineers in each state—perhaps a dozen or fewer for major infrastructure projects. Reaching this level meant my grandfather was among the more/most senior Indian engineers in the colonial and early post-independence system in what was then known as the Madras Presidency. (The. Madras Presidency, then, covered today’s Tamil Nadu, Karnataka, Kerala, Telangana, and Andhra Pradesh. The dissolution of the Madras Presidency occurred in about 1956, after he had retired.)

The plaque at Tungabhadra Dam that my brother Srinivas discovered during a memorable family trip shows “Sri C.V.S. Narasimha Rao” listed as one of the Executive Engineers from 1952-1953, documents his role in one of India’s most significant early dam projects. He was promoted to Superintending Engineer soon after. Srinivas couldn’t get the necessary approvals to get into the powerhouse to take a photo of a plaque that apparently speaks to his role that is reportedly on the wall. (Perhaps, I’ll try to get it to it when we do our South India tour one day!)

Figure 5: A plaque commemorating the engineers, including my grandfather (CVS Narasimha Rao), who led the building of the Tungabhadra dam, canal and power house project

The Rao Saheb Medal: A symbol of complex times

The Rao Saheb medal was a prestigious British honor, equivalent to the civilian division of the Order of the Bath, awarded to individuals who performed faithful service or acts of public welfare. (The “Order of the Bath” was derived from a medieval ceremony where knights took a bath to purify themselves! The Order of the Bath is the 4th highest award in the British empire, above the more commonly known OBE (Order of the British Empire). I was tickled pink to learn from Wikipedia that folks like Nelson and Wellington belonged to the Order of the Bath.) Translated, “Rao” means “King” and “Sahib” means “Leader,” and from 1911 the title was accompanied by a special badge. This was typically the entry-level title that could later be upgraded to Rao Bahadur and then Dewan Bahadur.

Figure 6: The Rao Saheb medal

But the story of this medal becomes far more complex when placed in its historical context. When World War II erupted, Britain found itself in desperate need of Indian support. The implicit agreement was clear: India would support the British war effort in exchange for independence after the war’s conclusion. My grandfather’s rapid construction of airfields at Madhurapudi (now the Rajahmundry airport) and Gannavaram (nw the Vijayawada airport) was crucial to British preparations for a potential Japanese invasion of India. The Rao Saheb medal in 1944 recognized this vital contribution.

However, when the war ended in 1945, Britain “reneged” on its promise. Rather than granting independence, the British began negotiating new terms and conditions. For many Indians who had served faithfully, this betrayal was unconscionable. My grandfather’s decision to return the Rao Saheb medal between 1945 and 1947 was his quiet but powerful form of protest—a principled stand that cost him recognition but must have helped preserve his integrity.

This act of resistance was replicated across India at that time. Here were men who had reached the pinnacle of their profession within the colonial system, yet when that system failed to honor its word, they chose principle over prestige. It’s a reminder that true engineering isn’t just about building structures or about numbers—it’s about building a better world for people.

Four generations at the technological forefront

What fascinates me most about our family’s engineering lineage is how each generation has found itself working at, and contributing to, the cutting edge of the transformative technology of its era.

My grandfather (born 1902) came of age when civil engineering was reshaping civilizations. The early 20th century was the era of massive infrastructure projects—dams that could irrigate vast regions, canals that connected river systems, powerhouses that lit up our homes and powered factories, and the first airports that would shrink geographical distances. His career spanned the transition from British colonial infrastructure to independent India’s ambitious development projects. Civil engineering was the technology that promised to modernize nations.

My father’s generation (born 1929) emerged during the golden age of aerospace. The 1950s and 1960s were defined by humanity’s reach for the skies and beyond—the jet age, supersonic flight, and the space race. Aeronautical engineering captured the world’s imagination as it represented humanity’s boldest dreams made manifest. The moon landing, commercial aviation, and military aerospace defined technological progress. Scientists like my father and his colleagues at IISc came back to India from the US, UK and Europe to help build the country. My uncle, Satya, chose to work in semiconductors, the other crucial development of this era.

My generation (born 1950s-60s) rode the wave of automation, computer science, robotics, and cobotics (!) and globalization that began transforming industry and daily life from the 1980s onward. Robotics promised to scale human capability, eliminate dangerous work, and create new forms of human-machine collaboration (cobots, anyone?). From manufacturing floors to surgical suites, robots became extensions of human intention and capability. Ram, Srinivas and I have done our bit to contribute to this effort. (One year, all three of us attended the IEEE International Conference on Robotics and Automation! I wish we had taken a picture back then…)

Pooja’s generation (born in the 2000s) now stands at the frontier of bioengineering, where the very building blocks of life—RNA, DNA, proteins—become the materials for engineering solutions. If previous generations engineered with steel, concrete, and silicon, her generation engineers with the molecules of life itself. The promise of bioengineering is perhaps the most profound yet: not just building better machines or structures, but potentially reengineering biological systems to eliminate disease, enhance human capability, and even extend life itself.

Reflections on legacy and the future

Looking back at these four generations, I’m struck by a pattern that goes beyond professional inheritance. Each generation has been drawn to the technology that represents the frontier of human possibility in their era. Each has been a leader in defining what those frontiers could become.

My grandfather’s generation literally built the foundation of modern India. His dams still irrigate crops, his airports still welcome travelers, and his powerhouses still generate electricity decades after his death in 1961. There’s something profoundly satisfying about engineering legacy—the structures outlast their creators, continuing to serve humanity long after the hands that built them have stilled.

But this also raises intriguing questions about future generations. Will Pooja’s children—my grandchildren—choose engineering? And if they do, what frontier will call to them? Perhaps it will be quantum engineering, manipulating matter at the subatomic level. Maybe it will be “cognitive engineering”, as we begin to understand and potentially enhance human cognition. Or perhaps it will be something we can’t even imagine today—a technology that emerges from the intersection of biology, quantum physics, artificial intelligence, and fields yet to be discovered.

Time will tell. And, I can only imagine CVS Narasimha Rao chuckling as he also ponders this question from up above!

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Notes:

• Photo credit for the banner image: A. K. Rao, Vijayawada, circa 1960. Narasimha Rao, Mushti Prasad (grandson, engineer), Krishna Kumari (daughter), Ram Akella (grandson, engineer)
• Of my grandfather’s 11 grandkids, 5 trained as engineers. Best I can tell, ~6 of his 18 great grand kids trained as engineers and all of them are 4th generation engineers. Not a bad batting average!
• Manogna, Narasimha Rao’s great granddaughter and the first fourth generation engineer, also graduated from Guindy—almost 80 years later!
  

  Figure 7: Manogna, with her grandmother and Narasimha Rao’s eldest daughter, Subbalakshmi, proudly standing in front of Guindy’s iconic main building

• Manogna was followed by my nephews Sankalp, Anjaney (who, to be complete, is a 3rd generation aerospace engineer!), and Srinivas. Pooja and her cousin Samhita are the most recent graduates to join this august bunch.
• Don’t ask about the 6%. I sort of guesstimated it.
• Sir Stafford Cripps came to India in 1942 (“The Cripps Mission”) to negotiate with Indian political parties to secure their support for Britain’s war efforts. The Cripps Mission offered a “draft declaration” that included the establishment of Dominion status, a Constituent Assembly, and provincial rights to make separate constitutions – but crucially, these were only to be implemented after World War II ended. Gandhi famously rejected this offer, calling it “a post-dated cheque on a crashing bank,” reflecting Congress’s view that this was merely a promise that might or might not be fulfilled in the future by an increasingly weaker ruler (Britain) rather than immediate independence.
• While I say that Pooja surprised us when she declared bioengineering as her undergrad major, the fact of the matter—one that her uncle Ram will proudly speak to—is that she is a natural engineer. From childhood, she has been my partner in executing mom’s projects. And, in high school and college, she was the person several of her male(!) friends would call for help when their bicycles needed to be fixed!
  

  Figure 8: Pooja helping install my surround sound speakers

• I mentioned above that my great grandfather, C. Venkata Rathnam, learned to read, write and speak English and served as a translator for the British Collectors. Here’s an example of his penmanship—it appears to be a document from June 1917 (108 years old!) where he has documented his son’s high school grades. Presumably, these grades were good enough to get Naramsimha Rao into Guindy Engineering College.
  

  Figure 9: CVS Narasimha Rao’s high school marks card (Credit: Krishna Kumari Akella)

• When I was defending my thesis, my advisor, Mark, shared an insight with me that has stuck. “When you present, the first third of the presentation should be accessible to everyone. The second third, to an educated audience. The final third, to only you!” I have adapted the first and made it my “Amma’s rule”.
• Family lore has it that my grandfather figured that my father was up to snuff as he was a fellow engineer. And, being an engineer, would likely be able feed and take care of his daughter! So, that notion of intergenerational family patterns is probably is driven by personal traits and professional kinship…
• My thanks to my mother and aunts for helping assemble a bio of sorts for my grandfather. To my sister for documenting many stories. To my brother, Srinivas, and Ranga—the C family’s Man Friday and son rolled into one—for chasing down the right people and gaining access to the priceless photos that they took at the Tungabhadra dam and power house when visiting Hampi with Jayasri and the kids in 2017.
• Finally, I would be remiss if I did not acknowledge a significant fact. I was born within a few months of my grandfather’s passing. My mother gave me his (entire!) name as a way to honor him. So, I have much more than shared genes and a profession—I have a rich tradition and a high standard to live up to!