Naming and renaming

A few days ago, while chatting with a friend of mine, we were talking about one of the modern gimmicks of regional politics-that of renaming places. Thinking about it at leisure, I realised that it is an issue that is far more complicated than I initially thought.
Some of my views are biased by my perspective, of course, but it’s my blog after all, so I get to air them. Nevertheless, am sure you will find that my opinions do merit some thought.
I have so much to say that I am at a loss for words:)and finding it difficult to organize my thoughts.

Perhaps I can begin by first telling you what, in my opinion, should never ever be advanced as a defence for renaming anything important. My room mate Harsha is from Bangalore or Bengaluru (ugh!).When the change was made, we were arguing about it and I said “Bangalore” sounds so much better. He countered by saying that its just because I am used to “Bangalore” and that with time I would get used to “Bengaluru” as well. To me that is an asinine argument, for over time we get used to anything anyway-one of the greatest blessings and tragedies of the human race. If you ever heard the nicknames that are bestowed on people in engineering college hostels ( I unfortunately can’t cite examples because most are unprintable:) you would know what I mean. You don’t have a choice-you just accept whatever people call you, and by the end even abuses appear to be dulcet sounding. So suppose, I decide to rename Bangalore as say “Son of a bitch” or better still “Bang-Galore” or “ Bang- Lore” ( Sorry, but I just had to do this:), am sure people a hundred years from now will be used to it. That is no reason for renaming the city. But I didn’t tell Harsha this and hurt his sentiments:)

That also brings me to the dichotomy that is central to the issue-that between regionalism and history. Calcutta, Madras, Bombay and Calicut are Anglicised versions of their regional names, is a common refrain. But this argument too is specious in my view. For, how do you decide what is native to the region? How do you know that “Kolkata” is untainted by any foreign influence? Maybe it was called something else earlier just like Bengal was called Gauda in the past. I imagine some tribal chieftain named Kalikata from former Burma might have spent the night at a village here and seduced the village belle in a barn and gone on, naming the village after him. Not hard to imagine, is it? (The idea, not the nocturnal action, you perverts!! :)

Thus my point is that history is written all the while, and names keep changing .So you cannot retrace its evolution all the way. Besides, even if the names are Anglicised, so what? Are we trying to deny our past? As it is, everything about Calcutta, its drainage, the Howrah Bridge, the trams are contributions of the British rule anyway. When written in English, Calcutta, Madras and Bombay seem perfectly acceptable to me. It was always spelt Kolkata in Bengali anyway.
The economics of a name change I shall not go into, for that is obvious to all.

A name is about association. Some names immediately invoke a picture in your mind. In Assam an Englishman ordered “Dig boy, dig”. And so he did and struck gold or black gold rather. That place is named Digboi, site of India’s first oil refinery. Now think for a moment. Wouldn’t this wonderful association be lost if say, the town were to be renamed Gopinathnagar or something like that after Assam’s first chief minister?

Sometimes a name has an appeal by its very quirky nature. Dumdum airport in Calcutta is an example. While Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose airport is so impersonal, Dumdum brings back images of my first flight. I am from Calcutta and love the city, and it must be obvious to you by now, that I hate Kolkata. To me, another wonderful aspect of the city that has been lost is the names of streets. Calcutta had a road named after practically every Viceroy of India. Dalhousie Square, Canning Street, Elgin Road, Bentick Street, Ripon street, Minto park, Curzon park and so on. Every time I pass by them, the events of their reign cross my mind, at least whatever I can remember of class 9 and 10 history :)While I understand renaming the main thoroughfares after Indian freedom fighters, maybe the side streets could have been left alone, for people still refer to them by their old names anyway. Calcutta’s only boulevard, Southern Avenue goes right beside the Lake, and is also called Meghnad Saha Sarani.The name makes me wince and cabbies will stare blankly at you too. Same goes for Gariahat as Leelavati Sarani.

I must add that some names just sound better, my personal idiosyncrasy, if you like. So I
do think Udhagamandalam sounds better than Ootacamund (Ooty for you) though Calicut I prefer to Kozhikode.About Kanyakumari am confused. Though Kanyakumari sounds better to me (maybe because of allusions to kanya and kumari :) Cape Camorin is more informative as the southern most point of the Indian mainland, like the Cape of Good Hope.

It’s just the sheer lyrical beauty or musicality of some names I suppose. So if I had my way, I would prefer aerodrome to airport. In nursery that’s what I was taught and the only aeroplanes I knew then were toys. And I hate American airplanes-it’s always aeroplanes for me. Thank God they still call it aerodynamics, or am sure many students of air dynamics would have changed their majors:) In Rudraprayag at the confluence of Alaknanda and Mandakini, I was bowled over by Alaknanda, not so by Mandakini.

Do I sound like a petulant child when I say this? My blog is the only place where I can say such things, some of which I have held onto since childhood.
That’s all I have to say about this. I hope you found this post entertaining. But I will leave you with a final thought-what if Delhi was renamed Indraprastha? :)

Finally, my dear readers, am sure you must have such quirky preferences too-some names that you like, some that you hate-anything irrational or illogical:) If so please share them with me, I am keen to hear it.

Androids

Since I am desperately in search of something to constructively engage my attention,I thought of resurrecting this blog.A pity that things in life cannot be undone as easily as this blog can be brought to life again.While cleaning up my desktop,I came across this travesty of a short story,written, so it says, on 25 th July 2006,around the time that I started blogging.I thought of it then as a juvenile attempt and didnt post it.But ironically,as time passes,opinions change, and so has mine.I have realised that you can make a career out of stating the obvious,the only pertinent question being obvious to whom.There are different levels of obviousness.The lowest level among these in my opinion,is populated by the ranks of management and HR "consultants". And in this circumlocution do not forget that I was actually lazy enough to write nothing new and pass this off as new instead.On with the story! I would be keen to see what comments it brings......
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The man walked on. His pace had increased. Thoughts churned his head furiously. The 3 females following him continued doing so. The hunter and the hunted both knew which foot the boot was on.

“If they get me”, thought the man,"tommorows headline would read: Adam teasing reaches epic proportions: Roadside Juliets claim another victim” He thought, with irony, of the apposite name for this evil. It had become very unsafe for males to be travelling unaccompanied after sunset, yet he had ignored warnings. Why was I born a man?
He thought for the umpteenth time that God must be a She, for only then could She inflict such pain on men.

The mere birth of a boy was becoming a rare occurence, for male infanticide was a prevalent menace. The Government was trying its best to curb it; male infanticide was declared a major offence. Various groups were trying to spread awareness of this. The Presidents Award for Best Film had gone to "Pitrbhoomi", which dealt with that subject. Apparently the film showcased a perverted society where men have become extinct, and one man was husband to a family of 5 women.Well...that day is not far off...he thought morosely.

And even if boys do manage to cross infancy and puberty, very little could be done about benzene deaths.Yes, it was gross injustice but what could you say when the laws were not stringent and lawmakers themselves women. His own brother had been ignited with benzene for not conforming to demands made before marriage. He had paid 12 lakhs, got a ladies scooty, and could not do anything else.

And the android cycle and andropause.The lesser said the better. He often wondered why men should bear offspring. It was his misfortune that he carried the Y chromosome and he knew that it was not his fault if a boy was born. But he got beaten for that though the sex determining chromosome comes from the female. Right and wrong are decided by who is in power at the time. The laws of Fuzzy logic told him that. It indeed was fuzzy.

Come to think of it, he was one of the rare ones who was educated. Why education when you are going to become a househusband and merely an instrument of copulation, was the common refrain. Yet he had doggedly refused to listen. He was highly qualified now, despite all the quarrels with his wife over his job.

And the females were closer now. One more turn and he knew he would be safe.
Even as he broke into a run to take the corner quickly, he thought of particles and anti particles. He knew all about atomic and particle physics. Of every universe that has an anti universe which is diametrically opposite. He wondered idly where the alternate universe to this would be. He would give anything to be there. But he didn’t really believe in its existence. People can’t be so cruel anywhere else, he thought.

He turned blind at the corner and raced over the footpath.

It was a cul-de-sac.