What's in a name?

It has been a while since I updated this blog. My promise of writing about my Antarctica and Argentina trip never materialized. A lot has happened since then; I have been busy; procrastinate is my middle name; all excuses, but those posts are coming - some day. However, something happened to me a couple of days ago that has forced my hand. At least right now, when it is fresh in my mind, I think it is too good a story to let pass. So let’s leave Antarctica for later and focus on a name confusion that almost left me stranded 50 miles from my destination, middle of the night, with the phone battery dead  and lugging two bags and a suitcase.

Destination: A hostel in downtown San Francisco. I am here for a materials science conference but that hardly matters to this story.
Date: The night before Easter.
Relevant names: First - Arun, Kiran; Last - Sasikumar

So, what’s in a name? Nothing much; just a means to waste everybody’s time or if you hate doing that, a means to get stranded in the middle of nowhere. I had booked a shuttle from the SFO airport to my hostel when I booked my flight tickets. It was an Orbitz voucher that I could have redeemed at the airport, provided I had a printout of the receipt. But well, being a footnote in a long confirmation email, that was one point I missed till it was too late.

I landed a little before 9 pm and about half an hour later found the SuperShuttle stop outside the airport. I approached the friendly looking SuperShuttle employee near the stop and mentioned that I had forgotten the printout of my confirmation. That was fine, he said. All he needed was my name. I gave him my last name. He found it in his system without much delay. Just to confirm he read out my first name. It sounded about right. Something was off, but this was not the first time some one had totally killed the pronunciation. It ended with “run” and that was good enough for me. Next, he asked me for my destination. I started with the address, but as soon as I was done with the street name he cut me off. I suppose he was satisfied that I was the right customer.

A few minutes later, a shuttle shows up. The employee points me towards it and along with 5 other passengers, I head out. The driver reads out everyone’s names. Once again, he kills my first name. Ends with “run”, same last name, no issues. And, off we go.

Fortunately, I wasn’t tired and was paying attention to the road signs. My first indication that something was wrong was when I see signs for San Jose and San Francisco side by side and we followed the road south from the airport. All right, maybe we are taking a short detour to drop another passenger off, I thought. Fair enough! I waited for 5 more minutes and I realized that we were still heading south. Road signs for Half Moon Bay were becoming more and more prominent. Thankfully, I had been here twice before to know that Half Moon Bay was definitely south of SFO. Just to clarify, I asked the girl sitting next to me where we were heading. Away from SFO - definitely. I spent half a minute evaluating my options and then I informed the driver. I was apparently being taken to Sunnyvale, as another Mr. Sasikumar had made this reservation. Fortunately, everyone on the shuttle was patient enough to let the driver take me back to the airport.

I later realized that being an Orbitz voucher and not a direct reservation on the SuperShuttle website, I was not even in their system. So yeah, all this was partly my fault. In my defense, though, if not for the namesake I would have known that my reservation was not valid before I was even on board the wrong shuttle. I would have asked if anything could be done without the printed voucher and they would have said no, I would have chastised myself for being an idiot and wasting 20 bucks, made a new reservation and just reached the hostel without any drama. No story there!

Funny thing is, my last name is not really that common in India. At the least it is not a generic caste/community based name that a million people share. Still, if this happened in India I could have understood. I would think that the odds of this happening in the US is real slim. However, sometimes random coincidences can put you in a real pickle. As a side note, to put the randomness into perspective, the other passenger has my brother’s name. In any case, one thing is for sure now. I am never again going to assume people are mispronouncing my name.

So, what’s in name? Just a means to waste everyone’s time in this case, but, for all you know, there could be a contract out on someone that shares your name, and for the sake of argument let us assume that the assassin is a racist who cannot distinguish between Indian faces. I suppose, you will be left wondering, for a split second, when you feel that bullet go right through your head.

Why do we fall sir? So we might learn to pick ourselves up - Batman Begins

Finally, a long overdue update. I have been meaning to be more regular but somewhere I lost the way. Work got in the way, I guess. Or maybe I was just plain lazy.

Diary entry: Jan 27th 2013

I first thought of writing this in early December after my first ski trip this season. These thoughts have been, then, swirling inside my mind for the last few weeks. Never really got around to actually writing them down. Now, sitting in my car after skiing at Stratton for the 3rd time this season, I finally stopped procrastinating.

After starting my doctoral studies in the fall of 2009, thesis apart, nothing much has meant more to me than skiing. Personally I have found it the very epitome of the post's title. I used to be afraid of failure and as a consequence of trying new things, stepping outside my comfort zone. What if I embarrassed myself in front of scores of people? I used to over-think and later regret.

Not anymore; not since my first ski trip when I could hardly handle an easy slope and had to be brought down on a sled, the ultimate embarrassment one can have at a ski resort. Even later, when I mustered courage to try again, slipping and losing balance every few meters when everyone around you are skiing down with immeasurable skill is highly demotivating. Some skiers or snowboarders used to go past me twice before I made it down.

Yet, like Sir Bruce's spider I kept riding up and falling down. I really don't know why, but I kept going and finally pushed through. I am hardly an expert now, far from it really, but I feel good about myself and I really enjoy skiing down with the wind on my face, negotiating the slope at the fastest speed I can control.

I still fall, especially when I take the next baby step toward working a tougher slope. I don't mind falling anymore. As an extension, I don't mind failing anymore. I don't mind making attempts to learn something new. I feel better for it. I couldn't have asked for a better life-changer than skiing.

The Lake Placid Fiasco

I am time and today I am going to tell you a story. This is no ordinary story. This is a tale of four “great” men; four well educated, intelligent young blokes whose qualifications, put together, would place them at the top of any spectrum in the public eye. One is a post-doctoral research scholar and a respected author of scientific texts; another is a thought leader and a master in business administration; and yet another, an engineer, one whose expertise facilitates, without much ado, some of the comforts fellow human beings enjoy. This illustrious trio is accompanied by a doctoral student who aspires to be an established author of scientific and non-scientific texts. With no further introduction, I would like to take you to Troy, a beautiful Victorian town on the banks of the Hudson. Here, the protagonists are preparing for the misadventure of their lives.

(Intro style inspired by the Mahabharat series aired in Doordarshan (India) in the late 80s).

June 18th 2011

11:30 a.m.

It’s a beautiful Saturday. The Hudson sparkles in the late morning sunlight and showers downtown Troy with its warmth. Down by the banks the residents wallow in serenity, intoxicated as they are serenaded by the ebb and flow of the breeze through the leaves behind them. A little removed, up the hill, in the campus of Rensselaer the protagonists unaware of nature’s treat unfolding near the river banks decide to go somewhere; anywhere. They have been cooped up in this town for way too long.

Sid, Sandy, Raul and Kirk, [*] thus, set out for Lake Placid in Raul’s zebra striped Camaro. Lake Placid is a horseshoe shaped waterbody in the  Adirondack Mountains in northern New York. Spanning approximately 2,170 acres (8.8 km²) with an average depth of about 50 feet, Lake Placid is one of the most prominent lakes in the New England area.

[*] The names have been changed for no particular reason, and with not even one ounce of creativity.

It’s a two hour drive on I-87 North. A hassle free journey takes them to the village of Lake Placid. It’s a little after 2. It’s about time they had some lunch. Nothing fancy. Subs would have to do. Kirk gets his regular footlong tuna. Within fifteen minutes, having filled their stomachs, they head out to the lake for a strenuous kayaking experience.

Alas, they were plagued by one small problem. There was only one shop renting kayaks known to  most of the people around, and that was closed. It was nearing 3 and the protagonists were getting frustrated. They should probably have woken up earlier. They should have reached Lake Placid sooner. Would the long drive end up to be fruitless? I would have paused if I could, but then the universe would descend into chaos. However, the earth’s axial tilt was still in their favor. It’s nearing summer solstice and darkness engulfs the land no sooner than 9pm. Time was still in hand. I had given them a lifeline.

At quarter past 3 they find Eastern Mountain Sports. The protagonists head in. Yes, here EMS does rent kayaks. Kirk asks the lady behind the counter, “is there a dock nearby?” She replies, “We can set you up and you can get going from the one behind the shack.” They make no further enquiries. Raul and Kirk start off in a 12 foot regular kayak while Sid and Sandy are in the tandem. Sid hasn’t paddled before and it will take a while for him to be comfortable on water.

They head to a beach a quarter mile away. There are swimmers in lanes marked by buoys. Careful, they must be; not due the fear of hurting the swimmers but of toppling their own kayaks upon collision. Once on the beach Sandy and Kirk switch places and they head back out after a few minutes rest. They race to the diametrically opposite end of the lake roughly a mile away and hold a mid-water conference.

Sandy: Now, that didn’t seem so far.

Sid: It’s hardly deep too. Look, I can touch the bottom with this paddle.

Kirk: Come on, we are closer to the banks. What do you expect? It will be deeper further in. After all, this is Lake Placid.

Sid: I’ve heard they call this the Queen of Lakes**.

Sandy: Maybe it’s King George and his placid queen.

Raul: Ya, Lake George was huge. This looks more like a pool.

Kirk: A calm one nonetheless. Maybe this lake looks beautiful from atop the peaks. That could be the hype.

Raul: And, of course the winter olympics hoopla.

Sid: My friend was saying this lake is a must-see. Ya, right!!! Wait, did the 30-foot crocodile really live in this commode? ***

** Actually, Lake George is nicknamed the Queen of American Lakes.

*** Lake Placid is a 1999 American monster movie. Yes, it was filmed elsewhere.

They decide to paddle around till sunset. Anyway, they had paid for the kayaks and it looked like like they had most of the lake for themselves. “Where did everybody go? There were so many tourists on the streets.” These thoughts were shut out as the protagonists enjoyed the serenity that surrounded then.

At roughly half past 8 they head back to the EMS dock. Sid, Sandy and Raul return the gear and head into the shack to get their belongings. Kirk waits near the kayaks as an employee arrives for the routine inspection.

EMS Employee: So how was your day?

Kirk: It was great. Thank you.

EMS Employee: Did you carry your kayaks over to the horseshoe? It’s tougher to kayak there, you know, with the speedboats around.

Kirk: :-0

Kirk manages to hold a straight face trying very hard to hide his shock. He still catches a small glint in the employee’s eyes, the kind you get when you discover a new tale to share with your buddies; a tale of four “knowledgeable” dimwits. He heads back into the shack. “Guys, I have some bad news. This was not Lake Placid.”