Matter of Fact

Abhi is six, but still a pretty small guy. We have been trying to get him to eat better in the hope that it will aid his growth rate. One recent evening he wanted me to carry him upstairs to get ready for bed. I relented and as I went up the stairs, I remarked, "It's a good thing you are so small Abhi - I think I will be able to carry you your entire life." The sarcasm was of course completely lost on him. He took me at face value and asked,
"Really? Even when I am really old?"
Me: "Yes, even when you are really old." Wondering to myself what "really old" was to a six year old. I got my answer right away:
Abhi: "Even when I am 15?"
Me (wincing at the thought of 15 being "really old"): "Yes, even when you are 15."
Abhi ups the ante: "Even when I am 100?"
I hesitated to answer given the odds of me carrying anything when he is 100. But I sort of murmur a yes.  But Abhi is not listening. The coin has dropped and he realizes that all may not be well:
"But what will you be when I am 100?" While I hesistate again, he does the math in his head and exclaims:
"You will be dead!"

Abhi-isms

Turns out, we do forget. When your child does or says something that seems memorable, the general tendency is believe that you will never forget it. Ironically enough, we were reminded of this while indulging in a newly popular pastime at home - watching old home videos of Arjun and Abhishek. I collect stories and both Arjun and Abhi have been a rich source of them.  Unfortunately, many of Arjun's stories are either lost to the mists of memory or involve potty training (or lack thereof) and the risk of future embarrassment is too high. Abhi, on the other hand, has a bit of a knack for smart comebacks and I want to record some of them before they fade. I

1: Abhi and Arjun were playing Wii football with Suraj.  Abhi and Suraj were on the same team with Suraj being the Quarter Back and Abhi being the Running Back. They were struggling on offense and Abhi kept insisting on a particular play.  Suraj finally gave in and selected that play only to have it fail miserably. He turned to Abhi and complained, "See what you made me do! I knew that play wouldn't work!!" If he was expecting a "My Bad" from Abhi, he was sadly mistaken. Abhi responded, "It's your fault. Which QB listens to the running back?"

2: We were in the midst of the morning rush and as happens sometimes, Abhi was still eating his breakfast (Cheerios) while getting ready to wear his shoes. He was wearing a blue shorts and had a pair of tan socks on.  In a bid to needle him a bit, Malini goes, "Abhi, you picked the wrong socks, they don't match your shorts." Without missing a beat, Abhi came back with, "Yes, but they match my Cheerios!"

3: This is not a comeback, but still quite amusing. The boys and I were watching Game 5 of the St Louis - Philly baseball playoffs and the STL pitcher, Chris Carpenter was pitching an absolutely amazing game. The Philly offense is full of stars, but he had completely shut them down. As we watched him strikeout one more Philly batter, Abhi exclaimed, "Carpenter is on heat!!" I did a double take: "On heat? What's that??" Abhi repeated, "He is on heat!" Then it dawned on me - you know the expression for somebody playing really well - "He is on fire?"  Well, this was Abhi's take on that.

4: Abhi is all about winning and he can get quite upset when he loses (at anything). Until he figured out how to play the NFL game on the XBox, he would give up his turn to Arjun and prefer to enjoy a vicarious victory rather than a direct loss. We were watching some NBA playoff game and he kept asking me which team I was supporting. I replied that I didn't really care, but which team was he supporting? He responded, "I don't know." Me: "Why don't you know?" With impeccable logic, he replied: "I don't know who is going to win. So, I don't know which team to support."

Summer Arrives

Is it really Summer? Hard to tell from the weather we have been having in San Diego - you almost need a jacket in the evenings. All the other signs of Summer have arrived on schedule, though. Kids are out of school and almost everybody seems to be heading off on vacation. Our Summer has not followed its normal pattern - indeed, you could say that about the entire year so far. January was all about preparing and getting through the Carlsbad Marathon. Then Feb and March was focussed on preparing for the visit of my sister and family. Tax returns had to be filed and a minivan purchased. My sister and family were here for 4 weeks, starting early April. We did a road trip (the minivan has been quite a success) to two of our favorite places: Grand Canyon and Death Valley. My BIL, Ravi, was rather overwhelmed by the Canyon and wants badly to do the hike down to the river. Before leaving San Diego, he even bought himself some hiking shoes from REI and insisted that my sister do the same. The plan is to practice in Bangalore and come back here to do the hike. The logistics are a bit challenging, so I am not even thinking about it.

After a small lull, we had more visitors in early June - this time in the form of Malini's parents and nephew (Nishanth) and niece (Nandita, aka Neetu) from St Louis. That was a raucous 4 weeks and it surely took all of Malini's patience to get through it without having to use physical restraints on any of the kids. In mid-June, my friend Rao and family came to San Diego for a short visit and for a brief time, we had 5 kids at home. At the end of June, Manoj and Veena showed up and after spending a few days returned to St Louis with the kids. The unseasonably cold and overcast days meant that we made only one beach visit, the highlight of which was trying our hand (or should I say, hips) at hula-hooping. Arjun picked it up rather quickly while the rest of us were less successful(Hula Video). I did manage to figure out a way to keep the hoop going - using a rather ungainly, rapid fire spinning motion. The folks who had brought the hoops remarked that they had never seen anything quite like that. We also managed to squeeze in a Pani Puri session and broke out the barbecue for some grilling. Our grill has two extreme zones - a cold zone on the right and a hot zone on the left. Too much risk with undercooked chicken, so I used the left side and Chicken Carbonara was enjoyed by all.

But really, the way we mark seasons in our house is with what sports are playing on TV. Through the winter months, the boys really got into football (the American version) and Abhi nominated Drew Brees as his personal hero (largely because he decided that the Saints were the best team given their near-perfect season). After the Super Bowl, he was upset to learn that there would be no football for a while. Almost every day he asks when football season will start. January also marks the start of the PGA season, but with Tiger's off-course scandals, watching golf coverage has been muted, although we watched the finish of all the majors with great interest. I don't really follow NBA and so neither do the boys, but we had a brief flutter of interest during the finals given that the Lakers were in it and it went to seven games. Then there was the unexpected bonus of the World Cup in South Africa, which overlapped the visit of Neetu and Nishanth. This resulted in many a soccer game in the backyard in which the teams belonged to the nation of the day. For some reason, Abhi was most fascinated by the goal keepers and as is his wont, would show us slow motion replays of dramatic botched and successful saves.

July brings the last of the 'special' days (anniversary, BDs, etc) for us, but also signals the start of the Tour de France. In the past I have only paid cursory attention to it, but last year Armstrong's return from retirement caused me to watch the coverage almost every morning. The boys and Malini also got into it and Abhi (who decided he was Contador during that time) was inspired to take the training wheels off his bike. I was looking forward to this years race given that Armstrong and Contador would be going head to head. Things started well, but after several crashes in the early stages it became clear that Armstrong was not going to be a GC contender and it was going to be a 2-man race between Contador and Andy Schleck (they finished 1-2 last year). We are still watching it, but not with as much enthusiasm as last year, although with the race reaching the Pyrenees in its last week, the race has become full of drama. One final mountain stage awaits - with a finish atop legendary Col du Tourmalet.

The highlight though has been the Padres baseball season. They were expected to do nothing this year, but have played exceptionally well and sit atop their division. This essentially means that the boys and I are watching or listening any time they are playing. We play a lot of baseball at home in which every aspect of the real thing is fully enacted. We run the bases, call fair and foul balls, hit singles, doubles, and home runs, keep pitch counts, and even try different types of pitches (so far limited to fast balls, sliders and curve balls).

And so the summer rolls on. After the hot spell of last week, we are back to being the Seattle of the South. The Summer has been quiet, but still feels a bit hectic. In just over a month, Arjun's school will reopen and a new rhythm will take over. Of course the only cadence we will really care about is "1-Mississipi, 2-Mississipi, Ted, Hut!"

The Tooth Fairy

Arjun stirred as I carefully lifted his pillow and searched around for the little plastic baggie in which he had saved the first tooth that he had lost earlier that day. I was playing tooth fairy, but with a mild sense of unease. I removed the tooth and replaced it with five 1-dollar bills, feeling at once a sense of satisfaction from fulfilling an expected role and a disquiet from the con (albeit harmless) I was perpetuating.

In the morning I pretended to be amazed at the generosity of the tooth fairy (Arjun had rather doubtfully expected one or two dollars the previous night) and congratulated him on his find. An unexpected (but not altogether surprising) effect was Abhi being upset that he hadn't gotten anything and bursting into tears. I pacified him by contributing a dollar to his (broken) piggy bank. Arjun was pretty stoked by the whole thing but I wasn't feeling particularly thrilled.

Looking into Arjun's trusting eyes, all round with the wonder of it all as he recounted how the tooth fairy had taken away his tooth, I really had to question why we did this. As adults we tend to tell many little lies to kids, rationalizing that it is all for their benefit: either they get some comfort from it or they just can't handle the truth. One common situation this occurs is when kids go on their endless "why" questions spree. I learned quickly that what I was comfortable with was to give them the most truthful answer that I could. And if I couldn't explain it to their level (or satisfaction) then that is exactly what I would tell them - that I cannot explain it any better. This eliminates the need to remember what I had told them and having to answer the question, "But why did you tell me that...?" At the same time, I do believe that childhood is a magical time that never comes back and I don't want to be one of those humorless parents who insist on exposing their kids to the "realities of life" (in their estimation) as early as possible. And so, I continue to push the fantasy of Santa and now the Tooth Fairy.

Maybe I am making too much of this and there is no significant impact from these little lies, but I cannot help thinking that every time a child realizes that he or she had been subject to a deception, some trust is lost. It is not the sort of stuff that leads to therapy sessions or even resentment (at least I hope not), but there is still a loss. But then, maybe that is what growing up is all about: taking off the rose colored glasses.

At least in this case, the matter resolved itself. In the evening, I received a call from Malini - apparently, Arjun had found out from his friend Suraj that it was no tooth fairy that had placed the money under his pillow, but instead it was me. He was upset and confused. As is his wont, he was in tears and asked if the tooth fairy did not take his tooth, then who did? And what would happen to all the teeth? Malini consoled him and said that we would talk after I came back home. Eventually we decided that it was best to just explain the truth and not prolong the deception. It turned out to be fine - he accepted the explanation and didn't seem terribly put out. He was happy to get his tooth back - apparently what had bothered him was not the actual lack of existence of a tooth fairy, but that given this fact, there was no good explanation to what had happened to his tooth. And so goes another little rite of passage through childhood. I am thinking that, at least in our house, Santa's days are numbered.

It Never Rains, but it Pours

This story is well known within our San Diego crowd, at least those who have been around since 1996 or so. I have been meaning to record it for a while now, so here goes.

It was a Monday in early '96 and Rahul, Sanjay, and I were roommates in a 3-BR townhouse in Pacific Beach. I was enrolled in a UCSD Extension course and was taking the day off to prepare for the final. I was heading upstairs to the kitchen when I started feeling slightly woozy, but I managed to negotiate the stairs without issue. I had some cereal and still feeling a little light headed, went back down to my room. I was getting more dizzy and soon nausea hit me and I just made it to the bathroom to heave up my stomach contents. I could barely stand and stumbled back to my bed. Subsequent trips to the bathroom had to be done on all fours. The only way to avoid nausea was to lie face down on my bed and remain completely still. Clearly, this was not a sustainable situation, so I dragged myself across the hallway and knocked on Sanjay's door. He responded after a while:
Me: "Hey Sanjay, I am not feeling too good. Can you drive me to the hospital?"
Sanjay (in a feeble voice): "Actually, I am not feeling good either. I was about to ask you to take me to the doctor."
Me: "What happened to you?"
Sanjay: "I am not sure, but I think I have Chicken Pox." I crawled back to my room. Rather conveniently, Rahul had left town earlier in the morning.

After some time, I called up RD and he came by as soon as he could. He offered to drive me to the hospital, but I refused - I didn't think I could tolerate the movement. He called 911. I could only hear one side of the conversation, but since RD was relaying all the questions to me I knew what they were asking:
911 Operator: "What's the problem?"
RD: "My friend is not well and needs to go to the hospital."
Op: "Can he move?" (RD to me:"Can you move?" Me: "No!")
Op: "Is there any blood?" (RD to me: "Is there any blood?" Me: "No!")
Op: "Can he talk?" (RD to me:"Can you...") "Yes, he can talk."
RD: "Can you send an ambulance?" And she said, sure, they could.

The ambulance showed up soon and the EMTs came in and established that I was not prepared to raise my head or move in any way. They strapped me to a stretcher and took me in. (A minor disappointment is that they saw no reason to turn on the siren on the way to the hospital.) RD was going to follow in his car and just as he was about to leave, Sanjay came out and asked if he could tag along.

I was wheeled into the ER and nurses and doctors milled about. Eventually I got the diagnosis - most likely an inner ear infection. Nothing to be done, except to sleep it off and oh, here is a prescription for some Codeine. I was feeling less nauseous now and walked out to the waiting room where Sanjay was waiting with his own diagnosis - confirmed chicken pox. RD drove us both home with a stop at a pharmacy to pick up the prescriptions. A rather miserable week ensued with both of us struggling to fend for ourselves. Meanwhile the one guy who could have helped us - our third roommate Rahul - was enjoying his visit to Boulder. Oh sure, he expressed his sympathies by email and wished he could be there. But it all turned out ok: As soon as he came back from his trip, he came down with Chicken Pox.

My First Marathon

I was feeling anxious, tense even. It was Jan 23rd, the day before the 2010 Carlsbad Marathon and I had a sense of foreboding - surely something was going to go wrong and interfere with my run the next day. Would it be my gimpy IT-band? Would it be my increasingly queasy stomach? Or maybe I'd just sleep through the alarm on race morning? (I set two of them, just in case.) I spent the day taking note of every twinge and stiffness in every muscle and joint. Many folks asked me if I was "all set" and I really didn't know how to respond. Sure, I had done my preparation, but was I really "all set?"

The preparation had begun almost 5 months earlier, actually almost without realizing it. I had been running Miramar Lake (~5 miles) for almost an year, but didn't seriously believe that I could go much longer. Then I had a minor epiphany that the way to approach longer distances was to plan to take walking breaks in between. In a burst of determination, I put this theory to test that very weekend and ended up going 6 mi without stopping. Without really thinking much about it, I did 8, 10, and 11 in the succeeding weekends. Now there was no looking back - I had to give the marathon a shot. My friend Greg was partly responsible for my return to running in late 2008 and after starting from near-zero running till then, he was already doing 2 laps of Miramar Lake. He proposed the Silver Strand Half Marathon that was scheduled for Nov 15th and I quickly countered that we could use that as the half-way point for the Carlsbad Marathon, a suggestion that was not received seriously.

My guide was Hal Higdon's novice training schedule, which is an 18 week training schedule for first time marathoners. Since I had already worked up to 11 miles, I jumped in at week 6. The training was going mostly according to plan with only a few hiccups - the first time I did 13, 15, and 16 miles were rather difficult, for reasons mostly relating to heat, lack of sleep, etc. As Nov 15th approached, I eased off on the runs in anticipation of the Silver Strand - my maiden half marathon. The run started well, but, around mile 6, I felt a sharp pain on the outside of my right hip which eventually migrated to the outside of my right knee. The pain was bearable, though, and I finished under 2 hours, which had been my outside goal.

But the injury had me worried - how much would it set my training back? I started regular Chiropractor visits and with careful management, I was able to get back on schedule within a couple of weeks. As I looked ahead into the schedule, I realized that our Costa Rica trip, scheduled for the third week of December would be right when I was supposed to do the long runs - 18 & 20. I decided it was better to complete those runs before the trip and indeed had very good training runs of 14, 18, and 20 in the three weekends leading up to the trip. I ran a couple of times during the trip, but they were relatively difficult which I attributed to the high humidity. However, upon my return I found that my conditioning had indeed relapsed. I stepped up the mileage in a bid to gain it back, but without having the option of doing a really long one, I would have to depend on the recalled confidence from the 20 mile run which would be 6 weeks old by the time race day arrived.

So here I was, a day before the race all nervous and anxious about what to expect. The obvious question was how I would deal with the 20+ region - a region never ventured into before. Ironically, I was actually looking forward to that, but was on tenterhooks about a dozen other concerns. I had my pasta dinner and went to bed early, but woke up around 1am with a queasy stomach. However, an Alka Seltzer seemed to help and I was able to go back to sleep soon.

On race day, I woke up easily with my 3.30am alarm and my preparations went well and I was ready when Greg showed up at 4.30. The drive up there was peaceful and I was gratified to note the abundance of porta-potties since the lines for using them right before the race is usually a stressful affair.

It was a bit cool, but clearly I could eschew all warm gear for the run. As it turned out the weather was almost perfect for the entire run. The first part of the run was going as per plan and I did the Palomar Airport Road hill without any problems. Around mile 15, Greg and I were still running together (Greg's family had shown up unexpectedly at mile 14 to cheer us on) when I slowed to a walk to have my first gel pack (I had had a Powerbar at mile 10). I was hoping to find a water station soon after, but had to wait more than a mile to find one. At this point Greg had pulled ahead and stayed ahead for the rest of the race.

Going into the race, all the concern had been about the Palomar Airport hill, but what really affected me were the several sharp climbs in the later half of the race. The climb up to mile 18 was one of them, leading up to the Southern tip of the route, La Costa Avenue. I was running alone and trying hard to ignore the low back pain that had pretty much settled in and was rather unexpected. As I crossed mile 20 and began another climb, my legs started feeling rather heavy and I really wished I had stopped to stretch. I was still under the 4 hour pace though and needed to keep going if I was going to finish that way. However, as I got past mile 21, it was becoming rather obvious that the 4 hour goal was almost gone. I tried to find a good rhythm and pound on.

Around mile 22, I heard somebody loudly call out my name and I reluctantly lifted my head to realize that it was Vito - another friend from work and a strong runner on his own accord. He had shown up to cheer us on and fell in next to me with the idea of doing a mile or so with me. He soon realized that I was struggling and decided to just stay with me all the way. It was kind of funny how that helped me - I pushed myself just a bit more almost because I didn't want to disappoint Vito, who was expressing so much confidence in my ability to finish well. Still, I took about 4 walking breaks in the last 4 miles and I almost took another one towards the end, but Vito's exhortations kept me going. As turned the final bend, I finally noticed Malini and the boys (I had expected to see them at mile 25) on the side of the road. I waved and powered on to the finish line, posting a time of 4:05, which though only 5 minutes outside my goal, left me with a slightly disappointed feeling because of how close I had come (Greg finished in 3:50).

No doubt doing the long runs so much before the race played a part, but so did my poor nutrition during the run. I had almost no protein or fiber either in the morning or during the run and realized later that I had been really hungry. In the days following the run though, I began to feel better about my effort - after all, completing 26.2 miles in 4:05 is a significant accomplishment, no matter how much better it could have been.

An insight that will surprise no one is that attempting things like these are more a mental challenge than a physical one. Indeed, the long runs are as much mental training (most folks baulk at the thought of having to run for 4 hours, let alone having the physical stamina to do so) as they are physical conditioning. Race day itself is manageable - its one day after all - most everybody can talk themselves into going out and putting out one big effort. The real challenge is the discipline to stay with the 5-month long training program - doing all the runs no matter what the situation, week after week. A big part of why I was able to do this was the support of Malini and the boys - accommodating my weekday and weekend running schedule was hard enough - the vegetable I turned into after my long weekend run just added to it. Keeping me going even as my confidence waned closer to the race was a challenge on several levels. But now I get to return the favour: I have almost talked her into doing the La Jolla Half Marathon with me.

Some stats from my training:
Number of training runs: 70
Total mileage: 470
Longest run: 20 miles (on 12/13/09, 6 weeks before marathon).

"Flashes Of Darkness"

Flashes Of Darkness
Tears of joy?
Tears of sorrow?
No, no,
Tears of spite.

Bear no ill,
Not vindictive,
Mayhap a twinge of envy.

Desire -
But a step forward,
After so long,
But then, why?

Flashes of light,
Light?
No, darkness -
For where else is a devious mind?

A quick silver laugh,
Turned on the crow,
By vipers more potent than nature's of kill-
The forked tongue lurking behind.

Those silvery tinkles,
But hisses of ruin;
Pats on the back
But bites of hate;
Myths explode -
of goodness in any.

No return for help?
Perhaps this hope is wrong;
But what else is human life?

What? Injured feelings?
No, too much for mere injury!
Trusts betrayed -
Whose but mine?

Blinded by -
Shiny mists and glamorous clouds,
Who but me?

A streaking flash,
Knife in the back;
By wolves in friendly hues -
Are there really such as they?

Them - the wolves,
Do no strings of lofty love
Tug ever at their hearts?
Do no kindly emotions
Stir within their beings?
Or is it only for the crows?

No, no - not mine to censure -
For what unknown lurks in me?
Believe to believe in goodness yet -
Can I?



This is how I expressed myself at age 16. :-) This one is a bit special though - actually won the poetry prize in a competition held by the East Cultural Association in Bangalore.

Going With The Flow

Surprising as this may sound to some folks, I am not one for planning. Sure, given a trip or some immediate task I'll do as much planning as the next guy (maybe a bit more), but when it comes to the "big" things in life, I am mostly likely to just go with the flow. Since I am wont to be less than generous about my motivations, I have generally put this down to laziness. Or perhaps even a reluctance to face facts and make hard decisions. If you just go with the flow, then you have to put in less work up front and there is less scope for disappointment.

I am curious - how widespread is this approach? Do most people have a "life plan?" Did you know what you wanted to do in your life, when you wanted to reach the traditional milestones (graduate, job, marriage, kids, house, etc)? How many people know today what they want to be doing 5 years from now, 10 years from now?

Much in my life seems to be the result of some accident and some of these have had a profound impact on how my life has evolved. A good example is how I got a job at Qualcomm. In late 1992 and early '93 the job market was bad, especially for non-residents who needed an H-1. So my search was mostly limited to the big names - Microsoft, Intel, etc. In those days on-campus interviews at Va Tech worked as follows: Companies would shortlist students for the interview from all the submissions they got. If all spots were not taken, anybody was free to sign-up for those spots on a first-come-first-served basis. This was only on one day of the week - Wednesday, I believe - and on that day, students would line up very early in the morning (sometimes as early as 3am) to ensure that they got the spot they wanted.

Now, one week in January '93, Mr.Murty (Vinay) wanted to sign up for some company, but he didn't have a car and it was too cold to walk to school. I had a car, but wasn't really interested in signing up, especially since I already had an interview with Intel lined up. Vinay gave me the hard sell (promised me a donut I think) and I went along. Even though we got there around 5am, there were already several people in line. After chatting with some of them I realized that all the spots for the company I was targeting would be gone by the time my turn came. I had to find an alternative, even if only to justify sacrificing my sleep and standing for 3 hours in the cold. I went over the list again, but couldn't identify any company. As I wondered what to do I noticed another mutual friend who had just joined the line (it was past 7.30am now). I went over and asked him what company he was targeting. He replied, "Qualcomm." Me: "Really? What do they do?" Friend: "Not really sure, something to do with communications." Well, as you can guess, I ended up signing up for the one spot that was open.

Then came the day of the interview and I still had no real clue about this company or indeed what position I was interviewing for. There were two interviewers - one for hardware and one for software and as luck would have it, the spot I had signed up for (without any awareness of it) was with the software person. I obviously did well enough to get an invite to San Diego. (The h/w interviewer invited nobody back.) I knew I had done ok on-site because I was asked to meet with a manager later in the day and indeed the recruiter confirmed this after I got back to Blacksburg. But for a while there was no offer. Apparently, Franklin who personally signed all offers during that time, was not too happy about making a software engineer offer to somebody with an EE degree. Finally the recruiter (Michelle Fleck) pulled a fast one on him - told him that I had another offer (which of course I didn't) and that they would lose me if he didn't sign the offer. He relented and here I still am, almost 16 years later. Ilan Peer used to be the CBS SW lead then and pretty much the first thing he told me was, "We had to fight a lot to get you here."

There were any number of things that if they had turned out differently, would have resulted in me not coming to San Diego. Heck, if I had actually gotten an offer from Intel (which was very close) or Microsoft (not so close) I would almost certainly have taken those over Qualcomm.

So then, we have the question: Is everything just "meant to be" and we are mostly fooling ourselves if we think we are in control? Or is this thought too disheartening and we attempt to plan and establish order just to feel like we have a say? Maybe the Matrix was not too far off!

A Minor Screw-up

Sometimes it seems like I go through life just stumbling from one screw-up to another. Now my tweets are giving offense, so I need to watch those. This line of thought brought to mind some true classics, one of which is the subject of this blog.

I had managed a 4.0 GPA (mostly by accident) through the first couple of semesters at Va Tech and was awarded a Teaching Assistantship (TA) for my third semester. I was assigned to an introductory undergrad course - EE for non-EE Majors. This is a required course for all non-EE engineering majors and so is a rather large class, which meant it got two TAs. The instructor was pretty easy going - after all the students are only taking this class because they have to - and we (me and the other TA) realized that this was a pretty cushy appointment. There was no regular homework to grade or classes to teach. Our entire responsibility consisted of grading two mid-terms. Oh, and one of us had to administer the final since the instructor was going to be away during finals week. Since the other TA was busy on the day of the finals, I agreed to administer the test.

Just before the finals week I met with the instructor to pick up the question papers and get last-minute instructions. He later emailed me with information about the room and time. The day of the finals dawned and I still lolling in bed at 7.45am (email said test is at 10.50am) and thinking how strange the start time was. Every exam I had taken had always started on the hour. I started parsing the email in my mind and started getting a funny feeling. I quickly sat up, logged in and re-read the email. Sure enough, what I thought was the start time was in fact the end time! The exam was due to begin at 8am.

For a moment I was paralyzed in horror - this is the finals we are talking about and the instructor had repeatedly made clear how this had to be done right - after all he wasn't asking for much the rest of the time. Then I swung into action - pulled on a change of clothes and dashed out of the house. I decided against driving since finding parking would cost me huge amounts of time. I had just missed the bus, but if I cut across between the apt buildings I could catch it at a later stop, so I ran hard across the intervening field and made it to that stop. The bus ride allowed me to catch my breath, but the horror of the situation was just churning my stomach. After a seeming eternity I got to the stop nearest to the building in which the exam room was and I started running towards the room. As I approached I saw a couple of students coming my way. Its almost 8.30am by now. I asked this student if he was in that class. He replied that indeed he was, but that "The TA never showed up with the exam." Trying hard to be nonchalant, I said that I was the TA and that he should follow me back to the room to take the exam. He hesitated a bit and then said, "Well, I can come, but most of the other students are gone." The game was up - there was no way to administer this test now.

With a sinking heart I made my way to the dean's office. What would my punishment be? Would they ask me to refund the TA money? Would my grades suffer? I imagined all manner of extreme scenarios as I stood outside waiting for the secretary to let me in. When I finally got an audience, the dean was rather nice about it. My offer to administer the test tomorrow (by personally calling each student) was brushed aside - many students had already left town since this was their last exam. Eventually it was decided that the students would get a grade that was an average of their two mid-terms and their project score. If anybody was unhappy with that, they were welcome to take the final.

It took me a while to digest what had just happened. I had screwed-up big time and come out fairly unscathed (I didn't get another TA position, but luckily I had an RA by then). Although I do wonder if there was some blow-back on the instructor. You see, the reason he was so particular about the finals was that, by rule, he is supposed to administer it - that is the one task they are not supposed to ask a TA to do.

Bondy & Murty

Some text in a document I was reviewing reminded me of this quick exchange that took place a little over 17 years ago - Fall '91, Va Tech.
Vinay and I were both taking a Graph Theory class and the course text book was authored by two guys whose last names were "Bondy" and "Murty." Given Vinay's last name, we promptly bestowed the "Murty" moniker on him and indeed, if you listen carefully many of us from that batch still use this name for Vinay. Anyway, we are in class one day and the Prof is going through this convoluted proof from the book and even after repeated passes most of the class is at sea. Vinay was seated right behind me and at one point I leaned back and whispered to him (in Hindi),"Abe, yeh kya proof likha hai re?" Without missing a beat Vinay whispered back, "Yeh mera chapter nahin hai. Yeh Bondi ka hai."

A Butterfly Flaps its Wings

It was the summer of '91, I was a grad student in Blacksburg, Va and I had just bought my first car - a 1984 Nissan Sentra. It didn't have a cassette deck (CDs were a luxury) and so I invested in one, but being a starving (ok, maybe not actually starving) student, I hooked it up myself. Some of the wiring was a tad confusing, but it seemed to work. Soon after, I was taking a couple of friends on an outing and the guy in the back seat comments, "Hey, how come your rear speakers are not working?" Innocent enough? Maybe, but that little comment lead to a car break-in, being shot at, almost going to court, a broken window, and a shattered windshield. Far fetched? Not so much...

I, of course jumped to the conclusion that I must not have wired something correctly. I yanked out the deck from the dashboard and started connecting wires that were hanging loose. At one point there was a crackle and I noticed that my clock was no longer working - I had shorted it out. A bit disappointing, but I ploughed on. Very soon there was another crackle and the deck, my brand new Pioneer Cassette deck, was no longer operational. Now that hurt. But, its not without reason that I am the designated customer service negotiator - I called the company and they agreed to repair it. I sent it in and was now without any kind of music system - not even radio.

Now, not having a music system was ok for tooling around Blacksburg, but the following weekend we were heading out on a 200 mile drive to an amusement park. A friend had a small boom box that he often took in his (equally ancient) car and he offered to lend me the same. It had a cigarette lighter adapter and so, we were all set. We even taped it to the dashboard so that nobody had to hold it all the time. Road trip was great and we returned late in the night and I went to bed without cleaning out my car. The next morning (a Sunday), a friend called to say that there appeared to be broken glass near my car. I ran down and sure enough, somebody had broken my car window in order to steal the $20 boom box. Now I not only had to replace my friend's boom box, but I also had get a new window. Thankfully, the thief had very considerately broken the rear window which didn't slide and so was not as expensive to fix as the front ones. I was able to find a replacement at a junk yard, but that plus the install put me $100 in the hole.

A week later, my 'repaired' Pioneer deck came back. I headed back down to install it, but it still wasn't working. Their note in the shipping package explicitly said that they had tested it. I was stumped - I knew next to nothing about cars and didn't know what to do next. Somebody then suggested looking at the fuses. I didn't know cars had fuses. I looked and sure enough one of them was blown - that was the second crackle I had heard. The clock was really gone, but the deck had never shorted. I changed fuses and now I had my deck working again. After all the hassle, I couldn't care less about the rear speakers not working, which had started this whole chain of events.

Well, the clock was still broken and after my first experience with junk yards I thought I would call around and see if somebody had a replacement for the clock. Sure enough, one of them did. He gave me directions and I headed off, with coincidentally, the same two friends in the car. Blacksburg is in a pretty rural part of Virginia and once you get outside of town, it becomes hilly billy country pretty soon. The directions were hard to follow and we were soon lost on some country road. At one point we decided to head back and in order to make a U-turn I had to turn into the driveway of a farm house. We noticed a couple of kids playing in the yard. As I started driving away, my rear windshield turned opaque and my friend in the rear seat started yelling, "Drive, drive!" I gunned the engine and left the place in a hurry. My friend exclaimed, "We were shot!" Yup, one of the kids had taken a shot at us and hit the rear windshield. We had noticed the guns in the kids hands, but had thought nothing of it. We drove home gingerly and after some debate, called the cops. Now, this is the deep south and here we were, students from India accusing a couple of white kids of having shot at us. We didn't even know exactly where the house was. The officer took our report and headed out to investigate.

He called me back a while later and said that he had indeed located the house and yes, there were kids playing with a BB gun and yes, they had seen a blue car turn around and leave in a hurry, but no, they had not taken a shot at the car. The kids dad claimed that he was there the whole time and he had seen it all. All I wanted was for the guy to pay for the windshield, but he was not budging. The cop said I could press charges, but it had to go to juvenile court since the kids were underage. I decided I should try, at least in the hope that the dad would settle out of court and pay for my windshield. The courts were in the next town (Christiansburg) and I started making weekly trips there. I was getting no traction - the cop seemed sympathetic, but he was pretty frank - he said the chances of me prevailing in juvie court were slim. Then if I lost, I may have to pay the expenses of the other side too. And maybe they would counter sue for a false charge. I could read between the lines - the word of 3 foreigners did not count for much against that of two white kids in that part of the country. The trips were getting painful - I had to schedule them around my classes and I was still driving with a plastic sheet in place of the rear windshield. In the end I gave up and paid for the replacement on my own. This was again from a junk yard and while it fit well, the defrost wiring did not work. Kind of a pain in the winter. I was out another $150, not to count all the aggravation and stress of the court house visits. My clock was still busted and my rear speakers were still silent.

It was several weeks later and a I had helped a friend do some India shopping. He was unloading stuff from my trunk and commented casually, "So how come you don't have rear speakers?" I responded, that of course I had rear speakers - the speaker meshes were clear visible behind the rear seats - but that they didn't work. He invited me to check for myself and as I stuck my head into the trunk I realized that he was correct: there were no speakers. There was the mesh, but no speakers below them. All this while I had been trying to coax sound from non-existent speakers. The thought occurred to me that I could saved myself some trouble if the audiophile had never ridden in my rear seat. Or maybe, the story I got from it is worth it?