What's in a Name? - Minor Peccadilloes of an Occidental Immigrant

I admit it. I have a funny name. It is something I have learned to endure and live with from my early childhood. My parents claimed not to see anything funny about it, whenever I’ve accused them of cruelty to their offspring. But then, my father comes from a family of siblings with names like Placidus, Amyntus, Felicitus, Justus, (by then my grandparents were running out of inspiration) Quintus and Sextus. If my grandparents had had more children, no doubt the seventh would have been Septimus, the eighth, Octavia (a girl, say) and the ninth would have been a Nonymus! On top of running through the early Roman Emperors and their assigns, my grandparents also scattered, gems like “Ciprion”, “Kingston”, “Mary” (for a boy), and “Elgin” on their offspring. My mother, on the other hand, hails from a family which boasts of “Scholastica”s, “Petronella”s, and “Philomena’”s with even a Sosimus and a Frumentious! So what hope for me? I was doomed from the start!

Fortunately for me, a kind-hearted neighbour had suggested a more sensible name which was included into my given names – Harindra. This was the name which I used for many years, quite happily abbreviated to Harin. The name given by my parents was always carefully concealed behind initials. In formal situations I was E. J. H. Corea. Occasionally, my cover would be blown and school friends, cousins and others would suddenly discover that my ‘E’ stood for ‘Eusebius’! I’ll never forget (and rue) the day the certificate of a scholarship exam, which I had happened to pass, was awarded at school assembly! The Sinhala-speaking teacher who read out the name on the certificate screeched out over the P.A. system; “EE-you-she-be-us Joe-Shup Hareen-dra Corea!” and I walked up, head hanging in shame, stripped naked in nomenclature in front of nearly two thousand schoolmates who were overcome by – first - astonishment and then mirth! I wished I had never passed that wretched exam!

A casual remark by an eighth grade Social Studies teacher during a class on the Portugese occupation of Sri Lanka (five centuries ago), made my surname a problem, too, at school. Corea was an unheard of name at the time in Kandy and I was already treated with some degree of suspicion, as a result, by the sons of the Banda’s and Nayakkar’s who happened to be my classmates. But after that particular Social Studies class, I was branded forever as a Portuguese collaborator (even though the last Portugese had left our shores around four centuries before I was born)! Never mind the assorted “Perera”s, “Fernando”s and “Silva”s who fell out of any casual dust bin one happened to shake at school - it was us “Corea”s who were the Portuguese! I suspect there are still a few of my classmates who believe that I am of Portugese origin!

But I always drew solace from “Harindra” and “Harin”. I liked it and grew to love it. And then I went overseas! At first, it was in the United States. As an exchange student in senior year in an upstate New York school, nobody could pronounce “Harin”. I was alternately called “H”, “Harry”, “HARR-din”, “Ha REEEN” and other variations to the theme, which was crowned by the Physics teacher, who called me “Irene”! Finally, I settled for a friendly “Abdul” given to me by my team-mates on the soccer team (this was before 9/11).

Things became a bit precarious when it came to filling in forms, though. Every form in the US has room for “First Name, Middle Initial and Last Name” - all Americans having only three names. But I had four, and my “first name” wasn’t my real first name! Furthermore, I didn’t have a “middle” initial! I experimented awhile with Harindra J Corea and Harindra E Corea and where the form demanded the full middle name, Harindra Ej Corea. Finally a kind lady at the NY state licensing authority solved my problem permanently by declaring me to be “EJ Harindra Corea” and that’s what was printed on my driver’s license. I’ll never forget the stunned perplexity of a Wyoming County Sheriff, who happened to stop me for speeding one day. He wanted to be polite, and address me by my name, but he couldn’t figure out how to pronounce any of them! After “humming” and “hawing” for a while, he finally drawled “Way-yell EE-jaay, Ah jes’ heyappenned to scray- yep a dee- yah off the haghwaay a whahl baayeck an Ah sho’ doan wanna hav’ ta scray-yep Yee-oo orffit, son, so yee-oo betta slo daaawun!”

Later on, in the UK, my name was rarely a problem. In a country where a post-marked envelope - with your name on it - in your pocket was considered sufficient proof of your identity and address, and names like Worthington, Wilberforce and Wigginbottom were commonplace, my name/s were accepted without question.

Then came Australia, where I migrated with my family a few short years ago. At the bank, it was a Pakistani lady from Lahore, who was not fussed at all. She issued me cheque books, cards etc., declaring me to be Harindra Corea. At my sons’ Primary School, again, no problem – I was simply Harin Corea. And then I went to get my Australian driver’s license! Apparently the system demanded that my names be entered in the exact manner and sequence in which they are written in my passport.However, there is space only for two names and a last name. So the woman behind the counter entered (God Forbid!) – Eusebius Joseph Corea! I protested, cajoled and appealed, explaining passionately that I have always gone as Harindra Corea and that’s how I’ve been identified all my life, etc. etc. I even asked her to enter Joseph Harindra Corea (still the same sequence, I pointed out!) but she was adamant. If I wanted to change my name, I’ll just have to go and get a deed poll to that effect, said she. I protested that I didn’t want to change my name,that it had always been Harindra Corea since the day I was born, and it was she who was changing it! But it was to no avail. My driver’s license, which is my primary source of identification in Australia, declares me to be Eusebius J Corea! This complicates matters more than a little. The other documents I normally carry with me - credit cards, bank cards, cheque book have neither Eusebius nor the initials E or J on them. And, now, my driver’s licence, doesn’t have a trace of Harindra, Harin or even an ‘H’ on it! When I pointed this out to the dragon behind the counter at Vicroads, she just shrugged and said, she couldn’t help it - it was my name, after all.

Recently, I noticed an ad on the telly, run by the Australian Federal Police, asking people to report “suspicious” activities and behaviour. Among other things, it showed a checkout chick at the supermarket calling up to report that she had noticed a customers name on his credit card didn’t match the one on his driver’s license!

My one consolation, I suppose, is that when they eventually do come for me, they wouldn’t be able to figure out what name/s to put on the charge sheet..! Or, maybe I should take that deed poll after all, and change my name to "Ex Harindra Corea"!

Pera - as I happen to remember it today.

Today I got an email from a friend from a past life. It was a common (group) email - not sent specially to me, nor did it contain any text particular to me - just a series of beautiful pictures of a place we both knew and loved intimately. The pictures were of Peradeniya - the University in Sri Lanka that we had both attended as undergraduates and we had both been members of the academic staff. We had also grown up there, together, as children of staff members.

As I browsed through the beautiful images, I noted that they all were photographs depicting the beautiful buildings, grounds and surrounds of the once familiar campus. They were all lifeless - empty lanes, buildings without people and fields without players. The ones that happened to have people had just one or two. The photograph of the student centre had no students in it - just a solitary pair of lovers on a bench - a far cry from the way I remembered it to be. There was a photo of the beautiful triple-arched stone bridge, but the stream it spanned was dry and lifeless.

I am not complaining, mind you, I loved looking at the pictures and remembering - the days when those buildings, lanes, footpaths and playing fields were alive and abuzz with life; when the stream flowed merrily under the bridge - bounding from stone to stone and bank to bank in exuberant leaps and joyful eddies, in apparent celebration of the youthful joy and exuberance of the students that brought the scene to life.

As a Child at Pera
I remembered my life there - as a child, initially, when I developed the longing and determination to study there one day and to teach there one day. I remembered the old golf clubhouse that stood where the teaching hospital now stands, which was the Faculty Club at the time. I remember sitting on the verandah and overlooking the giant excavation which was to become the Teaching Hospital. I remember running across the flattened site in the blazing sun and climbing the excavated face on the far end with my friends pretending we were rock-climbers.

I remember sitting on my father's lap in the front of the University Bus as he took his Medical Students on a field trip to a Water Treatment Plant. I remember - as a lad of eleven or twelve - going to the Science building on a Saturday morning, where the then Professor of Botany spent four hours showing me how to identify, classify, mount and preserve specimens of weeds I had collected from Paddy Fields for my school Agriculture project. I remember accompanying him one weekend on a visit to the Sinharaja Rainforest (to carry his collecting bags for him) where he introduced me to the wonders of bird watching, how to look for and identify snakes in the forest and the particular wonders and unique features of a rainforest - from the "drip-tipped" leaves, to the emergent Dipterocarps with their "helicopter" seeds twirling as they were carried by the breeze. He showed me species as yet undescribed - from Fungi and Frogs to Orchids and Lichens.

I remember hunting for Icthyophis eggs, up to my knees in mud, with the then Professor of Zoology, who was raising them in his lab as part of his research. I remember - as a teenager - spending an entire day with the then Dean of Engineering in the Engineering Workshops where he showed me how to strip the engine from my father's car and put it back together again. I remember accompanying the then Professor of Civil Engineering on one of his consulting visits to the Kothmale Dam construction site (he went by bus, incidentally). I remember a poor undergrad from the Physics Department, coming home twice a week to coach me in my A/Level Physics (He needed the money and I needed the coaching!) He had shoulder length hair and looked like a cross between Russel Crowe and John Lennon (without the glasses). He also happened to be the best Physics teacher I've ever had (and I've had few good ones along the way since then).

I just realized that I haven't forgotten anything that these people taught me! They are all dead now, except (I hope!) the Physics guy and my father.

An Undergrad at Pera
I remember life as an undergrad. I happened to be an Engineering student. We were located across the river from the main campus and were considered 'beyond the pale' by the other students. Our particular patch on campus was known as the "dry zone". This was because the 'fairer' sex were few and far between in our area during our time as undergrads. There were some who even opined that the few who happened to be with us soon began to resemble the blocks of concrete and the machines they were studying. We didn't even have a women students toilet. The few women students who suffered our company at the time had to use the staff toilet. But we compensated for the paucity of the fairer sex on our side by making forays over to the other side whenever we had a chance.

I remember the open air amphitheatre or "Wala (pit)" as it is commonly known, packed to capacity with students, staff, families and general citizenry of Peradeniya and its surrounds, when, during the "Wala Festival"  the best of the country's theatrical performances would be staged, night after night, for a nearly a fortnight. I remember my Medical Student friend trying to feel the pulse of someone in the crowd who happened to be suffering from an epileptic fit. "Stand aside! Stand aside! I'm a doctor! I'm a doctor!" said my pre-clinical undergrad friend to those who crowded around as the poor victim lay shuddering and shaking violently on the grass. Fortunately, the victim recovered on his own, as epileptics do.

I remember taking a beautiful young lady friend with me to the "Wala" one night and the chorus of ribald hisses, whistles and falsetto catcalls that broke out as I entered the lecture hall the following morning. Apparently it had been an unspoken tradition that taking a young lady to the Wala was a public "announcement" that one was "going steady" with her (sadly not the case in that instance). I remember being late for a Wala performance and accepting the offer of a lift from a friend. His car refused to start and we ended up pushing it all the way to the Wala and most of the way back, afterwards.

I remember the inter-hall drama festivals, where we - the Engineering students - got fed up of the supercilious attitudes of the "Kadu- Meddas" (English special students) who considered the festival to be their private domain. We decided to field an entry of our own. None of us had done drama before and in the humility of being aware of that, we devoured all the books on drama and drama production that we could borrow from the library to help us with our entry.  I remember our triumph and the impotent rage of the Kadu Meddas when we swept the boards winning all the prizes in the competition other than the one for Best Actress (we didn't have a female in our cast - we were of the dry zone after all!).

I remember a student protest where the students kidnapped the Dean of Science and hauled him onto the roof of the Senate, where he was held hostage. I also remember one student climbing up onto the roof with his guitar to entertain the protesters (some of whom were on hunger-strike) and keep their spirits up.

I remember [General] "Body Meetings" of the Engineering Students Union, where we were harangued by seniors and politically minded colleagues that we needed to first "Topple the Government and free the proletariat" before we could consider resuming our studies. I remember a meeting with the Dean of Engineering where I participated as a member of a "moderate" delegation elected to present our "demands" to him. I remember embarrassedly telling him that he could disregard the last few on our list (which included the resignation of the National Government) and being told by him that we should keep it there ("In our day one of our demands was for the Americans to get out of Vietnam" he told us).

I remember the sarcasm of the Professor of Electrical Engineering at his first lecture after we returned to class. He congratulated us on our success in "toppling the government and saving the nation for our younger brothers and sisters who are waiting to come to University" as he put it.

I remember the sight of sparks flying off the sides of the Akbar Bridge in the night as police machine-gunned unarmed students fleeing across it. I remember going to visit my batchmate in hospital the following day. He had vaulted what he had thought to be a low wall in the darkness to escape the gunfire and fallen thirty feet on the other side down to lover's lane below. He had broken his spine and couldn't continue his studies with us.

I remember my friend and partner in Lab classes - a Tamil from Trinco, whose father was publicly 'executed' by the LTTE as a "government collaborator" (his 'crime' was that he had been a senior civil servant), his body dumped in the street in front of their home with orders that it not be moved but left there to be desecrated by crows and stray dogs. I remember my friend returning to Pera after a three-week absence during which time he had gone home to grieve with his mother and sisters who had been witness to it all. I remember the then Professor of Electrical Engineering, refusing to accept a letter explaining the circumstances written by the Chairman of the Citizen's Committee of Trinco as sufficient 'evidence' to be allowed to repeat the laboratory practicals he had missed. I remember him failing my friend in his subject that year, for failing to produce his father's death certificate (Even though the death  and its gruesome circumstances had been on the National News - radio, television and newspapers).

I remember my friend not returning to University the following year. I remember inquiring about him from other Tamil batchmates from his hometown, and being told that he had "gone overseas". I remember my delight at running into him again in the food court of a large shopping mall in Colombo, more than a decade later. I remember him telling me that he had been in the "Middle East" during the intervening years and that now he worked for the "government" in the Eastern Province. I remember his discomfort as he quietly told me that I "shouldn't be seen with him". I remember the bomb that went off the following day in Colombo.

An Academic at Pera


I remember too many things, most of which I shouldn't write about. But, most of all, I remember the students. It was my privilege to have known those who I got to to know personally and my loss not to have known the one's I didn't. For they were all better than I ever was or would ever be and they taught me and gave me so much more than I ever taught or gave them.

The Proven, the Disproved and the Unproven: Do we need God to exist?

Those who discount all that is not scientifically proven - by inference- discount the need for scientific investigation. Scientific research is about investigating and proving (or disproving) that which is as yet unproven. Many in society (and we all belong to this category from time to time) fail to make the distinction between "scientifically disproved" and "unproven". We discard the possibility of the existence of things, phenomena and processes, simply because they have not yet been proven to exist through scientific investigation.

For example, the possibility of time travel is discounted by many simply because science hasn't achieved it as yet. But even  if we never succeed in finding a way to achieve Time Travel (or anything else, currently unachievable) through modern science and technology, does that necessarily mean that it is truly impossible? Today, we take for granted, things which a mere century or two ago, our ancestors would have scoffed at if it had been suggested as a possibility to them. I'm thinking of test tube babies, intercontinental flight, real-time video calls between people in different parts of the world, breaking the sound barrier, walking on the moon, microwave ovens, the internet (on which I'm writing this), etc., etc.

Similarly, we often accept as fact, things which are as yet, unproven, purely because "everyone else" accepts it. Columbus was considered mad by even his own shipmates in his belief that one couldn't "fall off the edge of the Earth [or sea]". Until a few short decades ago, it was an accepted "fact" that the atom was the smallest particle of an element and couldn't be split into smaller particles.

Those who discount religion and the existence of God on the basis that -  somehow - Science dispels the notion of God, should, perhaps, consider the Laws of Thermodynamics which are universally accepted as part of the fundamental laws of Physics by Scientists the world over. The first Law implies that energy cannot be created or destroyed (only converted from one form to another). The second implies that one cannot convert energy without producing heat (i.e. all work produces heat). The third law states that all systems move towards states of increasing entropy (i.e chaos) unless influenced from outside the system. This would mean that the world [universe] we live in would inevitably descend into chaos unless influenced from "outside the system". Could that mean that the we are all doomed to universal chaos unless there is someone / force / phenomenon outside our world / universe [system] who cares to bring us to order? Or in other words - does that mean that we are [our world /universe] is doomed if God doesn't happen to exist in some form or another??

By the way, I don't claim to have proved (or disproved) anything here - just raised a few questions and confused a few people, hopefully! ;-)

Print me a Landfill (with apologies to The Economist article "Print me a Stradivarius)

http://www.economist.com/node/18114327?Story_ID=18114327&CFID=156180020&CFTOKEN=16372613

The Economist had a very interesting article recently, titled "Print me a Stradivarius" (Ref above). This article explored the new developing technology of "3D Printing" where one could use digital blueprints of components and fabricate them by "Printing" them out on a "3D Printer" or "fabber" similar to a regular desktop printer. While currently limited to products made up of certain types of materials (plastics, resins and metals) the article envisages a time, soon, when one could fabricate a component for your car, a lampshade or a violin. And customize it to your requirements and desire in terms of colour, shape, design etc. While this technology is currently limited to a few hobbyists, academics and workers in a few industrial niches (similar to computers in the 1970's, the article expects the technology to improve and become mainstream soon, as was the case with computers and desktop printing.

I'm thoroughly excited by the prospect of the obvious possibilities this would open up and the benefits in terms of innovations, creativity and the "democratization" of manufacturing and the empowerment it would bring to consumers like you and me. Just like we download opensource software such as "Open Office" and use it when we don't want to pay for the licensed Microsoft version, and just like my nephews download their favourite Music by the thousands of songs on to their MP3 players, one could download the inevitable "Open Source" design for that expensive pair of runners that your kid sees on the shop and "Print it out" at home for the cost if the materials, rather than pay Nike or Reebok the $150 that they sell it at. And one could tweak the colours, and customize it with one's name on it of one liked. One could even start a small "cottage industry" in almost anything. Like  Ranatunga Motor Stores did, in Sri Lanka. They were originally a small motorcycle repair outfit in Borella, Colombo, who discovered they could order small numbers of custom specified motor cycles from a Chinese manufacturer, who would brand it anyway they wished. Hence the now ubiquitous "Ranomoto" brand of motorcycles which are seen in the streets of Colombo.

Personally, I am excited at the prospect of "Printing out" a Ferrari to drop off the kids at their  "away" Soccer game like I currently print out a google map and directions to the venue just before we set off. But what would I do with last week's Ferrari? and the one before that? Or the Rolls I printed out to go for that family wedding last week? And what about the collection of SUV's and 4WD's I printed out because I couldn't decide on which was best?

Would we end up burying ourselves in so much unnecessary junk which we "print out" at every passing whim, purely because we can do it so conveniently? Just like the desktop printer has negated the so-called "paperless society" that computers were supposed to bring about and, instead, created a much higher per-capita consumption (and waste) of paper?