Not That Sane. V Lakshman. Every Wednesday.

Is there a Jack here somewhere? (Aug 6, '97)

For some reason, my name (Lakshman) comes rather difficult to American tongues. It's an American impediment, something that wafts straight out of the cornfields and lodges in the cementum. German, Korean and Italian friends from graduate school days had no problems with it but the children of some Indian immigrants find the continuous stream of consonants formidable.

Consequently, wherever I can get away with not using my name, I do. In restaurants, I give "Jack" as my name to maitre'd's and cashiers. It isn't as if they're going to check my I.D. Whenever I play a game at challenge courts, I introduce myself to the opponent as "Jack". Similar reason. It's unlikely that I will meet him again.

Sometimes, this gets me into trouble. A frequent player at the racketball challenge courts got my name etched into memory and seeing me one day in a crowded bar, waved to me "Hi Jack!". On getting a queer look from the person I was with, I found myself explaining why I would intentionally "misrepresent" (not my word) myself.

Another time, my partner didn't show up at the tennis court and so, I accosted a fellow bouncing balls off the wall. He agreed to play and I introduced myself to him as, you guessed it, Jack. He said he was from North Carolina, a researcher into Native American artifacts and that he would be in Oklahoma all spring. Would I be interested in playing on weekday evenings? So, we started playing rather regularly and when he offered to take me on a guided tour of a nearby Native American reservation, I eagerly accepted.

Calling to leave a message about when we could leave, he heard the message on my answering machine and was properly mortified when I met him next. "And I was calling you Jack all the while," he murmured.

"My fault, entirely," I said sheepishly.


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