The Lady With The Diamond Nose-Stud
Vermeer, the Dutch master, was famous for his “Girl With a Pearl Earring”. In South India, an artist would have portrayed a “Lady with a Diamond Nose-Stud.”
The Rolls Royce purred to a halt outside the legendary physician’s clinic in Madras. A middle-aged couple stepped out with practiced grace. The lady wore a check-patterned silk sari, her hair was neatly coiffed. She looked radiant with jewelry, but her smile was a tad strained. She had a peculiar medical compliant: Each afternoon, she took her tea in the garden of her sprawling home. Lately, those tranquil moments had been interrupted by a piercing headache.
The good doctor famed for his uncanny diagnostic eye, listened carefully. He asked his patient to move closer to the window. He studied her from different angles, the way light danced on her skin. His gaze lingered at the nose stud—a central diamond with three smaller stones near the base.
Dr. S. Rangachari—the “Flying Doctor”—was known for observing patients with the precision of a seasoned detective. His diagnostic style echoed that of Dr. Joseph Bell, the Scottish surgeon who inspired the creation of Sherlock Holmes. In colonial Madras, Rangachari’s brilliance stood out: he treated both the elite and the humble with equal care and quiet dignity.
“I can cure you,” he said finally, “but it’ll cost you,” The lady stiffened. She hadn’t come expecting for charity.
“Your new nose stud,” he said gently pointing to her face. When sunlight fell on the central diamond in lady’s nose-stud, it became suffused with a blue glow — this was the cause of her headaches. The Blue Jager was to blame.
For the record, the physician took cash for the treatment — the couple’s gratitude was a bonus.
Art by Vermeer
Caricature by Ranga
Portrait by Anu NagarajThis tale, passed down through generations of Madras Medical College alumni, is more than anecdote—it’s a prism through which we can glimpse a vanished world. The tale may sound apocryphal but there is nothing mythical about the exquisite diamond which the woman wore. The Blue Jager originated in South Africa, where the diamond was first discovered in 1867. Jewelers typically prefer colorless diamonds, but they made an exception for Blue Jagers. Unlike the deep, permanent hue of blue diamonds, Blue Jagers appear white and emit a ghostly blue shimmer under sunlight.
Rangachari’s diagnosis may have sounded eccentric, it was based on a sound understanding of the physics of light. The bluish radiance the doctor observed in the diamond has the name: fluorescence. A fluorescent substance absorbs one kind of light—often invisible ultraviolet—and re-emits another, visible and radiant. Fluorescence, in this context, is light’s second act. In certain diamonds, minute impurities in the crystal lattice become portals for the transformation. In the previous century, rare bluish-white diamonds fetched a premium price.
In the second half of the 20th century, the international community of jewelers drew up a list of criteria to evaluate the quality of a diamond. The gem’s color, cut, clarity, and carat weight determine its price. Diamond fluorescence tends to be less regarded, but these things can be a matter of individual taste. The Jagersfontein diamond mine closed operations in 1971. Old connoisseurs of diamonds continue to speak of blue Jagers, and you’ll find an occasional reference to these stones in old books and magazines.
The mother of renowned novelist R. K. Narayan, Gnanambal looked “resplendent in her nine-yard sari, her earrings, seven Blue Jager diamonds set in each, and her single-diamond nose-stud,” we read in the writer’s biography by N. Ram and Susan Ram. In this attire, Gnana as her friends and family called her, played tennis or sat down for a game of chess and bridge at the Ladies Club. Her bridge partner was the Maharani of Mysore, to whom she diplomatically lost on many occasions. She won her invitations play at the palace and the evening would draw on. Gnana would return to her anxious family in the royal Rolls Royce. Palace servants followed bearing gifts of sweets and nuts. With these treats, and by her lively narration of the events of the day, she would dispel the tension at home. Along with her sparking diamonds, she also had a sparkling wit.
Carnatic singer M. S. Subbulakshmi used to lay out her blue Jager earrings carefully along with her sari, blouse, and other accessories by 2.30 P.M. on concert days, according to an article in Sruti magazine. M.S. as she was popularly known favored a certain deep shade of blue for her saris, which a silk merchant and music aficionado created especially for her. Her female fans began clamoring for “M.S. Blue” saris. Presumably, those who could afford it bought Blue Jager earrings as well. To this day, many older South Indian women aspire to her aesthetics in appearance.
Down the ages, wealthy women have relied on sparkly stones to lend them radiance after the glow of youth is gone. Or perhaps, to redirect the gaze—to dazzle, to deflect, to declare. Blue Jagers, and white diamonds, are meant to dazzle the beholder. A pair of earrings often does just that, as do diamond-encrusted nose studs. Sometimes, of course, the plan backfires as it did for the poor woman who suffered from the stone’s radiance.
What did the Flying Doctor’s grateful patient do? Maybe, she directed the Rolls Royce to a trusted jeweler, asked him to find the diamond’s twin, and commissioned a new setting for the stone —earrings that shimmered without consequence, or a pendant which caught the light, just so. The precious diamond would get its second act.
Or perhaps, she reflected on the situation. Instead of dripping with diamonds, she would find good causes to take up — see where she would make a difference in the world. Sometimes, the second act belongs not to the stone, but to the woman who chooses how she shines.