Americans sure appreciate brevity and clarity. Especially when it comes to names, and that goes double for foreign names. Exotic names simply disturb the precious equilibrium here. Unless you are French or Spanish (with a suitably seductive accent), foreign names are a turn off. The effect this has on us outsiders-looking-in is quite noticeable on campus; some laugh it off, others acquire convenient nicknames, and a few are even tempted to change their name. The far-eastern students, obviously aggrieved by the manner in which their names are murdered by the average American who takes it upon himself to pronounce them, have hit upon a callcenter-like solution; they adopt convenient 'American' aliases (Trang becomes Alex, Xingzhou becomes Robin). The yanks are spared the tongue twisters, their eardrums are spared the damage, and everyone's happy.
Indians, however, are not so compromising (unless they dream of ending up in a callcenter themselves). Long names are like prized possessions to be flaunted, an attribute that adds to individual uniqueness. While Americans prefer our names any day to the Chinese, for every Shah or Singh with which they may get away lightly, there is always a Sabharwala or a Ramalingaswamy waiting to confound them. Occasionally half-measures prevail; Padmanabhan introduces himself as Paddy, and Manimozhian provides a reassuring 'You can call me Mani'. Far from being upset about the inability of his name to be universally accepted, the average Desi gets a kick out of it. Despite the high standing that goes with all this, I'm pretty happy that my short five-letter name has posed no problem whatsoever for American tongues. Surprisingly, they find it easy to pronounce my surname too. The only ambiguity I can recall is when a Teaching Assistant spelled my name as 'Suhaas' and wondered if I was German. Well, anyway I can be happy with the fact that no awkward moments have resulted in calling out my name.
This is in complete contrast to the scene back home. In India, it's as if the simpler the name is the more difficult it becomes to pronounce; hardly anyone gets my name right the first time, and fewer still prefer to leave it as it is. 'Suhas' is apparently the perfect candidate for a mumbled corruption. Some landmark abuses of my name over the years include:
1. "Sugas": This is the Tamil pronounciation. In much the same way as 'Mahesh' becomes 'Magesh'.
2. "Subhash": As if the Tam version wasn't bad enough, this is the regular Northie version. At one point, I was called Subhash Ghai in school and that was as close as I got to being likened to anyone in the film industry. And I won't even mention the Bong version.
3. "Suhasini": A common way of mocking a young boy is to girl-ify his name. I think it has its origins in the fact that Suhasini Manirathnam used to live very close to my Grandmother's old Madras home. Another film industry connection.
4. "Seuss": Inspired by Dr.Seuss?
5. "Sauce": Apparently a lot of people feel the need to condense two syllables to one.
Well, at least one thing's changed for the better after coming here.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Saturday, January 19, 2008
No more fear and loathing in Austin, Texas
A couple of readers, presumably the only ones who visit this blog, have complained that my posts have degenerated into cynical nothingness. The apparent overload of dreary dark drivel seems to have raised questions about my state of mental health. In my defence, I maintain I have been totally jobless of late and the dross I keyed in was just for kicks, without any pretensions of wanting to prove anything to anyone. However, in a bid to retain my core audience (whoever they may be), I have resolved to give the blog a more optimistic outlook.
The last newyear resolution I made must have been back in 1990 when I promised to be a good boy or not to fight with my sister or some such crap. Eighteen years on, the time seems right for a new one. I promise to curb my pessimism and facade of bitterness, even if 2008 is already nineteen days old. Maybe I have unwittingly been enjoying it and have been in denial about the comfortable student existence I now lead. Out here, I have finally come to the realisation that I'm leading the good life in its twilight, and I should savour it while it lasts. I am now free to make my own entertainment, without any pressures apart from academic ones, and that rocks.
The first day of the new semester was a case in point. It could've been any day of the last year-and-a-half, which is a very reassuring feeling. I had a class at nine in the morning and had duly set three alarms. As if by clockwork (excuse the pun), I was woken only to turn off the noise and blissfully get back to sleep each time. I somehow leaped out at five to nine and arrived in class at my usual standard time. Once on campus, I could focus my faculties on the most important item on my daily agenda: lunch. The day spun madly but predictably on, and I was all the happier for it. Work will soon pile up, but the timepass will remain a constant. Might as well celebrate it, while it lingers on. For now, i can look forward to another sem's worth of the following:
1. Hours of guilt free sleep constrained only by regular homework. One of the reasons I would rather not work in this country is the scary thought of having to wake up at six in the morning most of the time. No such worries at the moment, though.
2. The daily indulgence of getting to answer mankind's most important question: "Where shall we have lunch?". The undisputed highpoint of my day, and I've been pretty pleased with my discoveries here, including a Brazillian restaurant.
3. Continued improvisation on my own cooking. While the results are not always as palatable as they should be, it gives me scope to enjoy the previously stated activity even more.
4. Access to a library with pretty much all the books in the world. As a result, I've become pretty promiscuous in my reading habits and I'm currently shuttling between four books at the moment. Whatever faithful lit snobs may say, variety rocks.
5. Access to a swimming pool. Great for cooling off once in a while, or relaxing in the sun on a deck chair with cooler in hand and dark glasses on to render the roving of eyes in the direction of heavenly bodies less obvious.
6. Trips around town in the local buses with (visibly) colourful characters. This is a place full of hippies, you see.
7. Putting my tapes to good use. I've recently come into possession of an old cassette player, so I don't have to rely solely on my walkman to keep my tapes in circulation.
8. Oh yeah. And coursework of course.
So, life's good. The year has got off to a fine start, following the resolution. I'm not repenting on that one.
The last newyear resolution I made must have been back in 1990 when I promised to be a good boy or not to fight with my sister or some such crap. Eighteen years on, the time seems right for a new one. I promise to curb my pessimism and facade of bitterness, even if 2008 is already nineteen days old. Maybe I have unwittingly been enjoying it and have been in denial about the comfortable student existence I now lead. Out here, I have finally come to the realisation that I'm leading the good life in its twilight, and I should savour it while it lasts. I am now free to make my own entertainment, without any pressures apart from academic ones, and that rocks.
The first day of the new semester was a case in point. It could've been any day of the last year-and-a-half, which is a very reassuring feeling. I had a class at nine in the morning and had duly set three alarms. As if by clockwork (excuse the pun), I was woken only to turn off the noise and blissfully get back to sleep each time. I somehow leaped out at five to nine and arrived in class at my usual standard time. Once on campus, I could focus my faculties on the most important item on my daily agenda: lunch. The day spun madly but predictably on, and I was all the happier for it. Work will soon pile up, but the timepass will remain a constant. Might as well celebrate it, while it lingers on. For now, i can look forward to another sem's worth of the following:
1. Hours of guilt free sleep constrained only by regular homework. One of the reasons I would rather not work in this country is the scary thought of having to wake up at six in the morning most of the time. No such worries at the moment, though.
2. The daily indulgence of getting to answer mankind's most important question: "Where shall we have lunch?". The undisputed highpoint of my day, and I've been pretty pleased with my discoveries here, including a Brazillian restaurant.
3. Continued improvisation on my own cooking. While the results are not always as palatable as they should be, it gives me scope to enjoy the previously stated activity even more.
4. Access to a library with pretty much all the books in the world. As a result, I've become pretty promiscuous in my reading habits and I'm currently shuttling between four books at the moment. Whatever faithful lit snobs may say, variety rocks.
5. Access to a swimming pool. Great for cooling off once in a while, or relaxing in the sun on a deck chair with cooler in hand and dark glasses on to render the roving of eyes in the direction of heavenly bodies less obvious.
6. Trips around town in the local buses with (visibly) colourful characters. This is a place full of hippies, you see.
7. Putting my tapes to good use. I've recently come into possession of an old cassette player, so I don't have to rely solely on my walkman to keep my tapes in circulation.
8. Oh yeah. And coursework of course.
So, life's good. The year has got off to a fine start, following the resolution. I'm not repenting on that one.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Lost in a dream, nothing's what it seems
Yup, readers will squirm at me reading too much into a cricketing incident and wondering if it mirrors the real world. I accept cricket is not a metaphor for life, but sometimes it comes pretty close.
If you're in India right now you must be sick of Bollyline or Puntergate or whatever the media has chosen to label the Sydney test happenings. I was disturbed. Not merely on a cricketing level. That 'pact' about taking the fielders word, proposed by Ricky Ponting and accepted by Anil Kumble before the game, strangely continues to resonate. It allowed the Aussies to justify the Ganguly dismissal on day 5, and I'm certain they couldn't believe how well it served their purpose. It sure came back to haunt Kumble, didn't it? What was he thinking? It seemed to serve as a reminder that 'trust' is something better left to storybooks, fables and moral science classes. Or maybe it just reiterated a new age truth that anything you 'trust' in may be used against you.
I can see where Kumble was coming from. As a keen student of the game and a great admirer of his opponents, he was all for entering into what seemed like a move towards the right spirit (whatever that means, you might say). Maybe he saw it as a chance to play the game the Aussie way - as a fellow blogger put it? Perhaps he was just being a hopeless romantic, imagining world peace was still a solution. Given the chance I too would like to believe that people around me, friends, competitors or otherwise, are well intentioned and things like 'honesty' and 'integrity' do not exist merely in the corporate sense. But ever so often we are forced to re-evaluate and lower our expectations of individuals because, well, a Puntergate happens. I guess there's only so much any of us are willing to live up to.
We live in an era where how you say it is sometimes more important than what you say, or what you do. Ricky Ponting's success, particularly in the way he dictated that umpiring verdict and the way he was able to sway the match referee's decision to punish Harbhajan Singh, bears this out. The guy (before this game, anyway) was an expert at talking to the media and saying all the right things, being the perfect ambassador and all that. It took a Puntergate to know the real Punter behind the smiling skipper. And I am pretty unhappy about this because I believed, or wanted to believe in his nice-guy image.
Am I being naive, or just too much of a cricket tragic?
If you're in India right now you must be sick of Bollyline or Puntergate or whatever the media has chosen to label the Sydney test happenings. I was disturbed. Not merely on a cricketing level. That 'pact' about taking the fielders word, proposed by Ricky Ponting and accepted by Anil Kumble before the game, strangely continues to resonate. It allowed the Aussies to justify the Ganguly dismissal on day 5, and I'm certain they couldn't believe how well it served their purpose. It sure came back to haunt Kumble, didn't it? What was he thinking? It seemed to serve as a reminder that 'trust' is something better left to storybooks, fables and moral science classes. Or maybe it just reiterated a new age truth that anything you 'trust' in may be used against you.
I can see where Kumble was coming from. As a keen student of the game and a great admirer of his opponents, he was all for entering into what seemed like a move towards the right spirit (whatever that means, you might say). Maybe he saw it as a chance to play the game the Aussie way - as a fellow blogger put it? Perhaps he was just being a hopeless romantic, imagining world peace was still a solution. Given the chance I too would like to believe that people around me, friends, competitors or otherwise, are well intentioned and things like 'honesty' and 'integrity' do not exist merely in the corporate sense. But ever so often we are forced to re-evaluate and lower our expectations of individuals because, well, a Puntergate happens. I guess there's only so much any of us are willing to live up to.
We live in an era where how you say it is sometimes more important than what you say, or what you do. Ricky Ponting's success, particularly in the way he dictated that umpiring verdict and the way he was able to sway the match referee's decision to punish Harbhajan Singh, bears this out. The guy (before this game, anyway) was an expert at talking to the media and saying all the right things, being the perfect ambassador and all that. It took a Puntergate to know the real Punter behind the smiling skipper. And I am pretty unhappy about this because I believed, or wanted to believe in his nice-guy image.
Am I being naive, or just too much of a cricket tragic?
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