Karishma Vekaria

Honestly, more than anything, I attribute it to having a clear sense of why I'm doing this work. The research I do at the bench is the very first step in a long journey: if a molecule works well in the lab, it eventually moves to animal studies, and hopefully into the clinic. Knowing that something I contribute to could one day reach a patient whose cancer hasn't responded to anything else is what got me into this field, and it's what keeps me here on the days when the science is slow or the data is messy.

A purpose like that does more than motivate you. It makes you a better scientist. It pushes you to ask sharper questions, to be more careful with your data, to push back on assumptions, and to keep learning. It's also what makes the long road of drug development tolerable, because you remember you're playing a long game with stakes that actually matter.

So if I had to name the single biggest reason I'm where I am, it would be that. Everything else, the skills, the experience, the people who invested in me, has built up around that core.

Early in my career, a mentor told me not to wait until I felt fully ready to take on something new, because readiness comes from doing, not from waiting. I think about that often. Some of the work I'm proudest of, executing the majority of the in vitro research for a clinical-stage bispecific program, presenting to academic collaborators, and mentoring others, came from saying yes when I felt about 70% qualified. Women in science especially can hold ourselves to a standard of needing to know everything before we step forward. The truth is, growth lives in that gap between "ready" and "capable."

My biggest advice: come into science, and stay. STEM needs women. I genuinely believe the next breakthrough is going to happen in a lab when a woman is looking at flow cytometry data no one's seen before and notices something the room missed. We need that perspective.

When you get there, own your work. If you led an experiment, say "I led it", not "I helped." Women are often socialized to soften our contributions, and it's a habit that quietly costs us credit and visibility over time. Be specific about what you did.

Speak up in every room, even when it's full of people a decade more senior than you. Ask the question. Offer the opinion. Push back when something doesn't sit right. The only way people will know you're in the room is if you make yourself heard; your work alone won't do it for you.

And find your people. Mentors, peers, the woman a few steps ahead who will tell you what no one else will. Science can feel solitary, but careers aren't built alone. The women I lean on, and the juniors I mentor, are as much a part of my growth as any experiment I've run.

This is an extraordinary field to be part of. Go for it.

The biggest opportunity in immuno-oncology right now is that we have more ways to fight cancer than ever before. T-cell engagers, antibody-drug conjugates, novel immune checkpoint targets, these are all coming of age at the same time. The first wave of cancer immunotherapy, the anti-PD-1 drugs, transformed the field, but many patients with solid tumors still don't respond to them. The next wave is about reaching those patients. What gives me hope is the pace of discovery. Newer targets keep opening up patient populations that haven't had good options. Every therapeutic program is a chance to push that frontier forward, and that's what makes this field worth showing up for.

Purpose. What keeps me in biotech is that the work has stakes beyond the lab. Behind every cytokine release assay and every cell-killing curve, there's a patient somewhere waiting for a better option, and that's a privilege to carry. Outside of work, I try to bring the same sense of intention to how I spend my time and energy, choosing the things that actually matter to me, and showing up fully for them.

Resilience. Drug development is a long game, and most things you try will not work the first time, or the tenth. Assays fail, programs get reprioritized, hypotheses don't hold up. I've learned that the scientists who go the distance aren't the ones who never get knocked down; they're the ones who can sit with a disappointing result, figure out what it's telling them, and keep going. I try to bring the same attitude to the rest of my life: setbacks are information, not verdicts.

Growth. Almost every meaningful step in my career, moving from Mumbai to Boston, doing my first co-op, getting promoted, and presenting at SITC, happened outside my comfort zone. I think the moment you stop being a beginner at something is the moment you've stopped growing. So I try to keep putting myself in rooms where I have something to learn, both at work and outside of it.