The debate regarding changing the name of Akbar Road in New Delhi to Maharana Pratap Road triggered introspection into the dynamics of one’s name. Former Army chief and Minister of State for External Affairs General V.K. Singh had written to Urban Development Minister M. Venkaiah Naidu to press for the change earlier this week. Mr. Naidu, however, made it clear on Wednesday that the naming and renaming of streets is not on the government’s agenda. Shaina N.C., one of BJP’s official spokespersons, expressed herself with a particularly strong tweet on Wednesday noon: “#AkbarRoad should be renamed to Maharana #Pratap Marg. Imagine #Hitler Road in #Israel ! No country honours its oppressors like we do!!” (sic) It is a déjà vu of sorts of political name games.
Debating the analogy of Hitler to Akbar might require the space for another column. Scrutinizing the semiotics of the word “oppressor” is also equally tricky. An oppressor could be someone who resorts to physical torture. It might just as well be someone who prescribes a totalitarian rule and a regime that is peaceful and progressive to an innocent onlooker but which stifles individual freedom of the soul beyond redemption. Read 1984 by George Orwell to get goosebumps in this context.
Consider this issue from another perspective. Consider individual names and their inseparable connotations in building personal identity. An exercise, which I indulged in years back while thinking of another political name-change controversy, made me introspect the consequences of a name in terms of one’s individual frame of reference and the myriad things that are considered important in weaving identity.
If you are game, then imagine for some time that you have a new name from a different religion. Next, imagine the differences in your life growing up that you might have faced just on account of that assumed name. Ideas about minority-majority status, religious beliefs, sidelining of individuals based on racist notions will invade the security of your existence if you try to imagine your life in someone else’s shoes, in someone else’s name.
In India, a name is a complete give away. Hindu names often go a step further and signify the caste and creed of a person within seconds of a first introduction. This knowledge is subconscious, drilled into the Indian genetic makeup by years of debatable social conditioning. Without wanting to know, and without wanting to judge, the mention of a name in many cases leads to subsequent deductions of origins, family tree and so on.
Women traditionally change their surnames. In certain Hindu communities, even the first name of the bride is changed. According to the grandmother, there is nothing wrong with changing bridal names as long as it isn’t forced. She says that the practice signifies a complete acceptance into a new surrounding and willingness to mould. She didn’t change her name, btw. Ha! Now, more and more women insist on keeping their maiden name. Some find a midway and use dual surnames.
A lot is tied up with names. If you think otherwise, wait till your name is misspelt on the passport. Or, ask someone who has changed their name and indulged in the thrill of lengthy legal paperwork and newspaper ads to announce the same.
The issue of naming is not as simple as Shakespeare’s romanticism that claimed that a rose by any other name would still smell as sweet. True, in essence a person remains the same without their name tag. But, social experiences that define a person’s growth are often hinged on the identity of their given names. A few take up the initiative to change the names their parents gave them. Take the instance of Gogol, the character in Jhumpa Lahiri’s The Namesake. Gogol is named after his father’s favourite author and in spite of the deep emotional nuances, he eventually changes his given name.
Names are a matter of emotional identity, familiarity, a reminder of the roots, and comfort. If streets could speak up, they might be as touchy as an individual being randomly proposed a new identity on someone else’s whim. Such knee jerk reactions can hit the identity of place and in essence end up altering their soul. There is a fondness associated with old names of cities and streets. Changes can also bring up confusion in navigating roads for a direction-challenged person. It is a relief and absolute joy to find rickshaw-walas who correct you and pronounce with glee the streets in their old favourite names, as if in referring to a place by its ‘original’ name, they are taking relish in defying the new mandatories.
Name changes, when it comes to roads and public spaces, boil down to a matter of proving superiority. This practise also facilitates enforcing ideologies in subtle, seemingly innocuous ways. It amounts to denying the past for various reasons, obliterating crucial references from history and reasserting the present powers that be. We have seen these covert attempts move from changes in the names of roads to changes in educational syllabus and meddling with history in textbooks in recent times.
Names stick for a lifetime. Most slog through life even if they don’t like the sound and meaning of their names. Who forgets the cruel jokes at the expense of names that school kids come up with? Children, unwittingly, have a knack of twisting and changing names just for the fun of it. Sounds similar to our netas on many counts.
Gauri Gharpure studied journalism at Columbia University, New York, on a Fulbright grant. She makes paper jewellery. Follow her on twitter @gaurigharpure
