William Meets Subash

Several years ago, I was speaking to a customer service rep for my computer who said, “Give me five minutes and then call this number; they’ll help. It won’t cost anything.”

“I’ll be speaking to an Indian?”

“You’ve got problems with Indians?”

“No, I spent some time there…”

“In the ’70s, I camped in the Himalayas, talk about serenity. And Katmandu, God lives around there.”

“The Bank of America sent me to India for a couple of months and…”

The connection went dead. I waited ten minutes and called the number. A man with an Indian accent said, “William speaking.”

“You knew I’d be calling?”

“You’re S.E. Jordan from Boston, the capital of a state I can’t pronounce?”

“It’s Massachusetts; most Americans can’t spell it.”

“You don’t talk like the Kennedys.”

“The only people in Boston who speak like the Kennedys are the Kennedys. Anyway, I grew up in California; that’s where my accent is from.”

“So you know how to surf?”

“I’ve never set foot on a surfboard. How do you know about surfing?”

“I study Americans, a lot, especially Californians,” William said. “Your full name, all three, please?”

“Actually, it’s four: Subash Evans Francis Jordan.”William giggled and said, “Subash is an Indian name… What kind of name is Jordan?”

“In my case, it’s Anglo-Norman.”

“Evans, that’s Welsh.”

“My mother is Welsh.”

“So am I,” William said.

“You’re a Welshman?”

“Only partly, my great-great grandfather, William Evans, was a sergeant in the Royal Welch Fusiliers and stationed in India — around 1860. He married an Indian woman; I’m their direct descendent. Maybe we’re related?”

“Could be,” I said. “Evan is Welsh for John. Evans is son of John or Johnson. Welsh surnames often end in “S” like Williams, Phillips, Stevens and so on.”

“I didn’t know that. You speak Welsh?”

“English, Spanish and some Malay.”

“Why Spanish?”

“Years ago I was fluent and wanted to work in Spain, but the Bank of America sent me to Jakarta and Singapore. Oh, for a couple of months, I was the Calcutta Branch’s acting general manager.”

“You liked Calcutta?” William asked.

“That was the most depressing place I’ve encountered. People live and die on the streets. Going to work, I stepped over dead bodies on the sidewalks. Ah, my computer?”

William said. “Sounds terrible.”

“A ring of hell that Dante missed.”

“Dante?”

“He was a Florentine… Ah, an Italian… Actually, Dante Allegro was a Yankee pitcher.”

“The New York baseball team?”

“That’s right. William, are you named after William the Conqueror, a minor Christian saint, or your distant Welsh relative?”

William snickered, “What is your real first name?”

“First, tell me yours.”

He went quiet. I though he put his hand over the phone’s speaker and was looking around. William came back and said in a low voice, “Gopal, Gopal Mondol.”

”Mondol — that’s Bengali?”

“Yes. Your first name?”

“Stephen.”

“Many English and Indians have four names, why do you?”

“My father was an anglophile and a Catholic — a rare combination. I was born on the feast day of St. Francis of Assisi, October fourth.”

“English don’t like Catholics?”

“Many don’t. English and Catholics often don’t trust each other; it’s a long complicated story. Come on, what about my computer?”

“Oh, yeah, leave it on for a half hour; then turn off and reboot. Everything should be okay.”

“Gopal, does your company make you use English first names?”

“Most calls are from America; they think the English names make Americans more comfortable. But you think it’s ridiculous?”

“I do, but some advice: Americans shorten first names without asking the person whose name they’re shortening. I like Stephen and dislike Steve, but I’ve always been called Steve. Michael becomes Mike; Robert becomes Bob and Williams are Bill. Why not call yourself Bill, but with an American accent.”

Gopal demonstrated his American accent that sounded kind of like John Wayne. “That’s pretty good,” I said. “Bill, I hope you’ll fix my computer.”

“You can take it to the bank, Subash.”