The hardest thing in a student's life is staying up late and then being woken up by a shrill alarm clock. Tossing and turning will not really help. Neither will putting it on snooze, for your mind will anticipate the next ring. I pushed away the blanket and climbed out of bed. A little later, stepping outside, I found the morning air crisp and cold. I reached the bus stop. There was already a crowd of people waiting. The sight of the bus brightened our faces. We clambered on, and it made its way around the campus, dropping off people at various locations. Another day had begun. I alighted at the main library and started my mile-long trudge to the chemistry department, where I work as a programmer. It was a very congested place, with computers and motherboards strewn around. Compared to my old workplace, where I had a spacious cubicle all to myself, it was very depressing. But my colleagues made up for it. Brian, the big boss, displays leadership with an I-am-hard-but-I-am-fair attitude. He is fond of airing his opinions on US foreign policy, which runs thus: "I'd rather have all the other people in the world die before a single US soldier loses his life. I know that's hard, but I learnt it the hard way." I have long wanted to ask him how he came about that wisdom while staying in a dingy lab, but I have never done so because he is a nice man, kind and helpful. Then there is Dave, my immediate supervisor. He is a true nerd, with unkempt clothes and a fat body indicating years of sitting before a PC. Jeremy, a former US marine, is my co-buddy. He feels he is in a bad shape because he takes 15 minutes to run two miles instead of 12. All of them provide good company. But from Day 1, Denis, the lab assistant, interested me the most. He is the archetypal fat boy, with a potbelly and a comedian's expression. He is always joking. He uses the elevator instead of taking the stairs to our office on the first floor. He also finishes all the candy that is meant for our department. One day he was whistling furiously while I was trying to concentrate and I said, "All right Uncle Doodle, I am trying to work here!" That had him in peals of laughter -- as if I had said something very funny. So now I call him Uncle Doodle and he always guffaws. The one -- possibly only -- thing that can make Denis serious is music. Once while having lunch, we spoke about it. He mentioned that he liked electronic pop and Tangerine Dream, and that he played the electric guitar. I asked him about Santana, Knopfler and Clapton. He launched into a monologue on the merits and demerits of each of these artistes. The man, obviously, knew his music. The next day, there were some gorgeous guitar notes coming from his PC, which had traces of Floyd. I made up my mind to buy the CD. "Denis, that is awesome," I said. "Whose is it?" "It's mine." "Yeah, I know it's your CD. Who is the artiste?" "It's me." "What?!" "It's me on the electric guitar." "What are you talking about? You are not serious, are you?" He silently took out a CD case with his name and picture on it. I stared at it for some time. Recovering, I asked, "Do you sell them? Can I buy one?" "Yeah, I have another." He gave me the CD. "How much?" "I usually sell them for six bucks to friends. But you need not pay me. That's yours." There were protests all around: "You took money from me, didn't you?" Denis relented. "Okay," he told me, "pay me three bucks." I have been playing that CD every day since. A friend with whom I discussed Denis said there were many talented artists in New Orleans who sustained themselves by playing on the streets. Now I cannot help but wonder how thin is the line dividing success from failure for an artiste. It is distressing to see a failed artiste who, but for that one break, has ended up as an assistant in a rundown laboratory instead of rolling in millions. The word 'failed' is not right, I guess. I did have my doubts since I know very little about music. Maybe I was just feeling pity for a nice bloke with modest talent. Out of curiosity, I went to google.com and searched for 'Denis Taaffe'. There I found I was not alone in my view -- Uncle Doodle had talent all right! Illustration: Uttam Ghosh Tell us what you think of this diary Be part of an exciting venture! Write a Diary!
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