When I started my thesis on the subject of light, I needed to learn as much as I could about light and photons. I spent the first few days identifying which reference materials I'd need and what the most suitable topics, books, and articles would be. Without actually having a clear idea of where to start writing, it took me more than six months of just reading to even begin to lay a foundation. I read two to three hours a day at first, and eventually increased this to seven or eight hours a day on Friday, my day off. I made my way through three to five different books, all at the same time. I read on my bus trips to the docks, during my lunch hours, the bus ride from the docks to the library, at the library, and during my bus ride home each evening. I read as much as I could whenever I could. I shared what I learned with my friends at the docks. During lunch time, Omar, Rashid, and Karim and I would gather together, and I would hold court, regaling them with stories about atoms, electrons, curved space, and the speed of light. I'd pull a piece of chalk from my pocket and draw all sorts of diagrams on the side of any nearby container to help them visualize what I was talking about.

It didn't take long before this lunch-time theater piqued the curiosity of other workers milling around nearby. First one would join us, then another and another, until I regularly had an audience of seven or eight workers standing around, listening to me. I had no idea if these men were grasping what I said, but there they sat, wide-eyed as I opened the curtain on concepts they had never heard before. They chuckled at my first expositions about electromagnetism and how electrons went into an excited state on copper to cause lights to come on at night. As for light being propagated through space by photons, well, that was just too much for them to bear.

Karim taunted me playfully. "How can you say that light is something made of little packets? That's just plain silly."

If nothing else, my lofty expositions made for good entertainment to pass the time. It didn't seem to matter to them if they really understood what I said or not. We all enjoyed the experience, and I had the opportunity to express my thoughts on light and photons. At the close of some sessions, they'd applaud, I'd bow, and we'd all get on with our labors for the rest of the afternoon.

Working at the docks by day and at the library by night cleaved my life in two, with each half diametrically opposed to the other. My evenings at the library were spent among sophisticated professors and highly motivated students of all kinds and calibers. Yet, I dared not share any of my thinking with these people. My life during the day was another story. I worked with misfits at the docks, men whose life experiences had fashioned them into hardened, often ruthless individuals who chronically bemoaned their jobs, complained about their wives, spat on the floor, and urinated into the holds of ships. But rough-hewn as they were, these men listened to me spout my crazy ideas. They supported me and most important, they gave me a receptive audience. Being able to hold this audience's attention—even while discussing topics well beyond their knowledge—imbued me with a sense of self-importance. The attention I received energized me.

Then, one day during one of my lunchtime performances, the framework for my thesis suddenly came to me: I would solve the problem by using Newtonian physics, the electromagnetic wave theory, and quantum physics. I knew in a flash that I'd base my thesis on these, three fundamental approaches to the science of physics, and set forth their mathematical derivatives.

As I began to gather the information I needed, I faced a practical challenge. The books I read at the library one day might be gone the next, checked out by students and temporarily beyond my reach. Interruptions like this slowed my research and frustrated me. To offset this hit-and-miss situation, Linda was kind enough to check out books for me now and then. My motivating role models were scientists like Louis de Broglie and Albert Einstein; the way they doggedly forged new discoveries in physics motivated me to persist in dealing with the major unknowns in my thesis.

Let me emphasize at this point that the paragraphs you'll read below describe the thinking of a naive 18-year-old who thought he knew more about quantum physics than he did in reality.

To demonstrate the rest mass of photons from a Newtonian perspective, I first focused on the reflection of light. Using purely mechanical physics, when a body is traveling and hits another body and changes direction, it comes to rest before changing to a new direction. Thus, if light is reflected, photons have to come to rest before changing direction.

As my second postulate to prove photonic rest mass, I used Louis de Broglie's particle nature of wave theory, which states that every particle in the universe that has mass travels in the form of a wave. Knowing that light travels in the form of a wave, I concluded that photons must have mass. From the quantum physics perspective, I used Einstein's theory of photoelectric effect to form my third postulate. I based this on the fact that electrons would not jump in orbit if photons did not have rest mass. Since all these properties were, however, completely at odds with the concept of a photon that the scientific community accepted, I concluded that light was composed not of photons, but of another particle that accommodated my conclusion. I named this particle the "rhoton," and titled my thesis The Rhoton Theory.

All of this might sound to a non-scientist as though I had an incredible grasp of what I was writing about. In actuality, the reach of my mind far exceeded my grasp of the material. I didn't know it at the time, but I would soon discover just how much my youthful hubris, arrogance, and ignorance would come to light when my thesis was examined by a physicist. As I would later find out my theory was wrong, my assumptions were off-base, and my mathematics were worthless. But at the time, I could not even begin to comprehend that anything was amiss. Dr. Ali supported my effort throughout. I talked with him about each of the postulates I developed, and my rationale for proving them. At times, he and I engaged in heated debates, and he would give me a needed verbal slap when he saw I was on the wrong track. "No, no, no, Razi. That's wrong," he would say. Or he would suggest alternative paths to follow: "Try looking at things from a different perspective." I was learning more about physics and the phenomenon of light than I would have simply by reading at a leisurely pace.

I was consumed with completing my thesis and poured every ounce of energy into it. Nothing else mattered; I now had the Junoon to complete my thesis.

Junoon is an Eastern expression that describes a state of obsession that one reaches when attempting to achieve his or her goal. This concept is the focal point of this book. Though I will explain it in detail in six special chapters that are written in a story format and interspersed throughout the narrative, this was the moment in life where I first understood its meaning and its hold on me. It was the first time that I experienced Junoon firsthand.

When I arrived home from the library late at night, I would jot down notes concerning what I thought about during the day. As tired as I was, there were times when I didn't fall asleep for hours, and would wake up in the morning with notebook and pencil in hand. I had recurring dreams of solving mathematical formulas that proved my theory, only to awake and realize they were just dreams.

I must have written about 20 drafts of my rhoton theory thesis; each time I did involved a little restructuring here, a bit of copyediting there. Finally, after 12 months, I produced a final, finished draft. It was late on a Saturday night, and I was nestled in my makeshift office at the library. I had written down all the mathematical derivatives I needed to support my proofs of the postulates. When I wrote the final algebraic expressions and the last period, I put my pen down. The Rhoton Theory was complete. I breathed a long sigh and stretched my arms and legs. "There," I whispered to myself. "It's done. Done and done."

Rhoton Derivatives

I arranged to have eight copies bound in a black hard cover with the title displayed in silver letters.

After reading a copy, Dr. Ali met with me in the library, and was nothing less than extremely enthusiastic about my work.

"Congratulations, Razi!" he said with a broad smile as he shook my hand. "You have produced a work that demonstrates high thinking. It's truly unbelievable." His thrilled expression lifted my spirit and closed a major confidence loop for me. Words could not express the enthusiasm I felt as I walked away from this meeting with him. When I told my father what Professor Ali had said, he promptly mailed a copy of The Rhoton Theory to my Uncle Mohsin in London, who then forwarded it to a contact of his, Dr. Batra, head of the Department of Nuclear Physics at the University of London.

Soon after this, during lunch I presented my theory to an audience of about forty laborers at the dock. They roundly applauded me, and I couldn't have been more elated if I had won the Nobel Prize. My dock friends provided me with the confidence that I had indeed written something of value.

Dr. Batra's response arrived in the mail six weeks later. My mother had laid the envelope containing his response on our kitchen table. On returning home from the library one evening, I picked up the envelope, held it in my hand, and experienced a sinking sensation in my stomach. I stared at it numbly, afraid to open it. Though thrilled to receive his response, I was apprehensive. What if his reply were negative? I walked to my bedroom, envelope in hand, sat down on the bed, and stared at the floor, tapping the envelope on my knee. When I finally did open it and read his reply, my worst fears were confirmed. He had handwritten a scathing review of my work.

Dr. Batra's Letter

His words hit me like sharp jabs to my stomach and left me crestfallen. He had correctly addressed and devastated the basic premises of my postulates. I reread the letter again and again, hoping to find some miniscule support lurking between the words, somewhere in the tone of the entire response, but found none, except for a single line at the end of his letter saying "Good inquiring mind, needs every encouragement."

I grew tired and depressed. I sighed slowly, and raised my eyes to the ceiling. A whole year's worth of work had come to this. I turned off the small reading lamp beside my bed, fell back, and escaped into a deep sleep.

Note to Reader: Before I continue with my story, I would like to expand on this book's promise to provide you with a how-to strategy to achieve your greatest potential. As you read on, you'll see how the concept of Junoon, mentioned earlier in this chapter, lies at the heart of this strategy and forms the book's centralizing theme. Please keep in mind as you read the next chapter that this is the first of six special chapters that expand upon the concept of Junoon. For now, let me just suggest that you prepare yourself for a fantastic ride.