Behold! My name is .....

“What’s in a name?” quotes Shakespeare in his popular works of Romeo and Juliet. Of course, he was alluding to the fact that a rose wouldn’t be any different if it was called a sunflower. Some fodder for the grey matter there, but of late I have come across people with some unusual names that I can’t help digging in the deep recesses of my memory to credit as many as I can remember.

Let’s begin at the beginning. When a couple brings a child into this world, I am positive, one of the first things that they as parents of a newborn do would be to discuss what to name it. You just can’t keep referring to it as ‘tch tch’ or ‘hey you’, for that matter. You also don’t name it ‘Surf XL’ or ‘Lays’ because you have not manufactured it; you have given birth to it. If a man has put in effort and if a woman has borne the child for nine months, it’s only fair that they spend an hour if not days to freeze on a nice name that the worthy child can carry it for the rest of its life.

Just the other day, I came across Perpetual, a cousin of mine, (Perpetual, as a name, has always been a muse when discussing names) and after the initial pleasantries were exchanged she launched on a barrage of everything unpleasant in life, so much so that despite valiant efforts on my part (which included flailing my arms in the air) to escape the incessant chatter, I was rooted to the spot. Poor me thought I was perpetually screwed… to the ground, I mean. Another name that baffles me is Immaculate and if I come across someone who’d introduce herself as “Hi. I’m Immaculate” I’d surely retort “What makes you think I’m not?”. A classmate of my brother went by the name Assumption. The list could go on but some people ought to have paid more attention in the grammar classes or should have been detained in the same class for another year if they could not tell the difference between an ‘Adjective’ and a ‘Proper Noun’. Equally amazed am I when come across people named after flowers e.g. rose, tulip et al. or colours like Pink, Violet etc., my only concern being one can get carried away and start naming children Burgundy or Bluish-green. A few years ago, on my trip to Kerala, I had come across a man whose name was Baby Jacob and no kidding about this. This was one Baby that was neither a girl nor a baby. This Baby was a towering 5’11”, had a rough and loud voice, sported a moustache and was forever seen in a lungi, an end of which he held in his left hand as he walked a masculine gait, partially exposing a hairy lower leg. I stopped referring to any girl as ‘Baby’. Another incident reminds me of how misled I was when I was in the eighth standard in school. I had always been under a preconceived notion that ‘Durgaprasad’ was the typical second grade eatery or restaurant in the bylanes of any streets in Mumbai until in std VIII, I came face to face with a bloke who went around with the same name and when we were introduced I couldn’t help but exclaim ‘Holy Prasad!’. I am reminded of yet another chap from std. VIII whose name was Y.P. Reddy. Even the teachers addressed him as YP. And if you are wondering why, YP had a unique first name which if one attempted to pronounce, would result in a knotted tongue in the mouth. If his elder brother is to be believed, it was on one of those days when YP was just born and his father had reached out and affectionately lifted him from the cradle when, without warning and in probably one of his mood swings, YP swung his leg and hit his father right in the family jewels. You don’t need a Sherlock Holmes to deduce how his father got even with him. Now he’s got a name he can’t pronounce and initials of which rhymes with ‘Why pee?’.

This reminds me of the time when my dad told me how I got my name. I was the first born and my parents were debating on what to name me. My dad had a list of names and when he discussed the list with my mom, she disapproved the list. She wanted her first born to have a typical regional name. My dad waved his list at mom; my mom counter argued. My dad recalled that even I raised objection to mom, but my wails from the crib fell on deaf ears. Just when it seemed like my dad was about to give in, one look at this helpless child gave him some inner strength and he stood his ground, refusing to be cornered. He launched a staunch tirade against mom till she relented, however with one condition that he would not have any say when naming future children. True to her word, she carried on with her threat and named my siblings that followed ‘Anita Lopez’ and ‘Preeti Lopez’ and I still get the shivers when I think about how narrowly I escaped being named something like ‘Ramu Lopez’.