Bose never received the recognition that he deserved by his peers. Whilst several Nobel prizes were awarded to research relating to the concepts of the boson, Bose himself was never honoured. In 1954, some thirty years after his ground-breaking paper was published, the Indian government finally acquiesced by conferring Bose with the Padma Vibhushan, the highest possible civilian commendation.
Tom had studied Bose’s model as an undergraduate and, to him, there was little doubt that the man was a genius. He idolised him, as a football fan would his favourite player. And here he was, in the middle of an airport, having his bags carried by his grandson.
‘Did you know your grandfather well?’ he asked Ajay, who had found a trolley and was loading the suitcases onto it.
‘No, unfortunately he died before I was born,’ replied Ajay. ‘But my father used to tell me stories about him all the time.’
‘Please Ajay, you must tell me all about him,’ said Tom. ‘What was he like?’
‘But I have to get you back to CERN, or they will be worried about where you are,’ Ajay said nervously.
Tom checked his watch. It was 8.15 am. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll cover it off,’ Tom said, trying to reassure him. ‘I’ll just tell them that I got delayed going through customs.’
‘Okay, you’re the boss,’ Ajay responded, with a smile.
‘Yes, I suppose I am.’
They found a coffee shop in the airport and, for the next two hours, Ajay recounted the stories his father had told him about his grandfather. Tom was enthralled, asking the odd question here and there to elicit more details about a particular incident. However, he was quite happy to sit back and listen to Ajay’s monologue, whilst sipping his cappuccino.
‘…and that was the second time my father had the pleasure of meeting Mr Einstein…’ Ajay was in mid-flow when Tom’s cell phone rang.
‘Sorry, Ajay, I have to take this call,’ Tom announced apologetically.
‘Tom? It’s Frederick Volker. Is everything alright? We were expecting you hours ago.’ The paternal voice sounded concerned.
‘Frederick! Good to hear from you. Yes, yes, everything’s fine,’ replied Tom. ‘Just a spot of bother with some duty free purchases, but it’s all sorted now and we’re on our way.’ He gave Ajay a conspiratorial wink.
‘Okay, we’ll see you shortly,’ said Volker ending the call.
‘I think I’ve played enough truant for one day,’ Tom said, getting up from the table. ‘But you must promise me that you’ll finish your stories when we get back to CERN.’
It was a short drive from the airport to CERN, and Ajay had just enough time to finish the episode about when his father had met Albert Einstein for the second time. All too soon they arrived at the security entrance of the complex. Ajay showed his ID card to the man in the hut and the barrier rose to allow them through.
Tom had googled ‘CERN’ to gather as much information as he could about the organisation before his arrival, but what the websites failed to portray was the sheer size of the campus, sprawling off into the distance, where it seemed to meet the base of the Jura mountains. The buildings were mainly utilitarian in their design and reminded Tom of his own university’s campus — function before form. He could see that the architects had at least tried to establish a pleasant environment to work in, by spreading the buildings out and creating ‘green spaces’ in between, which were laid mainly to lawn. Trees seemed to have been randomly planted in clumps or in rows around car parks in an effort to break up the concrete monotony.
He could see a giant dome in the distance, like a half-buried golf ball, which he recognised from his Internet research as the Globe of Science and Innovation, a visitor centre, frequented mainly by schools and visiting dignitaries. Next to that was a private runway with a single corrugated steel hangar built adjacent to it. He knew that everything above ground was only the tip of the iceberg. The real work went on three hundred feet below ground where the Collider was buried; this was not just for aesthetic and financial reasons (it would have been so much more costly to tear up the Franco-Swiss countryside and implant an ugly grey tunnel over its farms), but also because the Earth provides the greatest radioactive shielding.
They drove to the facility’s main reception building, a six-storey-high concrete and glass structure, which housed the control centre and ancillary offices.
As they stepped out of the car, Tom noticed a bronze statue incongruously erected outside the entrance to the building. Its intricate detail and delicate features were at odds with its modern minimalist surroundings and would have been more at home in a museum or temple, rather than a research facility. The six-foot high statue depicted a semi-naked dancer of Asian origin, wearing an ornamental headdress and encircled by a ring of flames. He had four arms, two of which held objects, flames in one hand and an hourglass in the other. He posed with his left leg elegantly raised, balancing on what appeared to be a prostrate dwarf holding a cobra.
‘That is Shiva Nataraja, Lord of the Dance,’ Ajay volunteered, noticing Tom’s frown.
The explanation did nothing to relieve Tom’s expression.
Ajay tried again. ‘It’s a Hindu god.’
Tom’s frown deepened. ‘But why is it here?’
‘It was a gift from my government.’ Ajay hoped this would be enough to satisfy Tom’s curiosity.
‘Oh, I see,’ said Tom, not really seeing at all, but sensing that he wouldn’t get much more information out of Ajay. He therefore made a mental note to ask Frederick more about its significance as he walked past it and through the revolving doors into the building.
Frederick was waiting in reception to greet him; he had obviously been informed of Tom’s arrival by the security guard.
‘Tom, you made it at last! Welcome to CERN.’ Frederick shook Tom’s hand, warmly. ‘I trust Ajay has been looking after you?’
‘Yes, he’s been quite entertaining,’ replied Tom, directing his comments at Ajay with a smile.
‘Good! Ajay, could you please take Professor Halligan’s bags to his room in the accommodation block. Thank you,’ Frederick said to Ajay, dismissing him. ‘Come, let me introduce you to the rest of the team. They’re dying to meet you.’ Frederick put his arm around Tom’s shoulders and guided him through the frosted glass doors at the end of the reception area.
‘What’s the story with Ajay?’ Tom asked, as he was being escorted down a long, white, sterile corridor.
‘You could say that Ajay is my ward,’ Frederick explained. ‘I promised his father, before he died, that I would look after him and make sure he would come to no harm. He’s a simple soul, not academically bright, unlike his father and grandfather.’
‘Yes, Ajay did mention that he was Satyendra Bose’s grandson.’
Frederick laughed, but not unkindly.
‘Yes, unfortunately, he didn’t inherit his grandfather’s scientific genes. Ajay’s father was one of my closest friends; we worked together, for years, on a number of projects. One day, there was a tragic accident — Ajay must have been seven or eight at the time. The equipment we were working with malfunctioned, causing a massive radiation leak. I had just stepped out of the lab to get a coffee, otherwise we would both have received a fatal dose. By the time we had got our radiation suits on and were able to go back into the lab, it was too late for Ajay’s father. We managed to get him into the decontamination chamber but he died on the way to hospital. Ajay’s mother had died in childbirth and his father was an only child, so really I was the closest thing he had to a relative.’