Name is a peg to hang our identities on. It is the wind to fly our personalities, the rainbow to color our lives, the anchor to stabilize our erratic natures. It lends a uniqueness to our individuality and creates those indelible first impressions. It differentiates a Rose from a Lily, a Lily from a Jasmine, a Jasmine from a Daisy, a Daisy from an Aster and so on, if you get my drift. But the Bard said, “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” He might just have been befuddled with all those names he had to deal with – Romeo, Juliet, Montague, Capulet, Mercutio, Tybalt – you can imagine his confusion. There is also a behind-the-scenes rumor that he wanted to take an underhand jab at the not-so-optimal sanitary facilities at the
In short, to me, a name matters. So when I come across bland names, unimaginative names, curiously unfunny names, tongue-twister names, names that make you squirm, for which I have enough opportunities in the work I do, I tut-tut in my mind. Here are some examples. Sometimes I find action words used as names, often provoking a mild snicker – Mr. Sweat, Mr. Boring, Mr. Leaking, Mr. Hunting, Mr. Pershing, Mr. Peed, etc. (the title of “Mr.” is just a totally subjective gender preference). So are body parts and physical attributes common among surnames – Mr. Head, Mr. Hand, Dr. Skelton, Mr. Cheek, Mr. Balls, Mr. White, Mr. Black, Mr. Big, Mr. Little, Mr. Brown, etc. ad infinitum. Tongue-twisters are usually a legacy of foreign names. When a Ukranian can give his beloved son a surname as unpronounceable as Krzyzrwski or Mraynczak, an Albanian will name his daughter Shqperije with least concern for so many conflicting consonants in conjunction. An Indian will gladly go by the name Balasubramaniam Kunchithapadam thus threatening to tie every foreign tongue into knots whereas a Chinese will look at you in askance if you are not able to decipher which is the surname in a totally baffling trio of names such as Yick Ng Yee. Yet, he/she will just as nonchalantly mispronounce a seemingly innocuous two-syllable name such as Roopa and wonder why you don’t respond to your own name when spoken to. Which brings me to the crux of my pet peeve – my name.
Roopa had been a pretty safe name, a bit too commonplace no doubt, but I quite like the rumbling R and the soothing “oo” – a nice juxtaposition, I had always thought. Until I reached a foreign land. Here, I am more often called Aruba, and my efforts at educating the populace that Aruba is an almost invisible island in the Caribbean Sea have been ineffectual, to say the least. And with my name closely resembling the vernacular for “forget” which is “lupa,” I often have irritatingly funny moments when people actually believe that I have forgotten my name. My name, come to think of it, is indeed quite forgettable.
To add to my woes, I have totally confusing names that go along with it. My surname is the maternal family name of “Madampath” (being a matriarchal matrilineal Nair to boot), which is not a bad surname as surnames go, but with my father’s name of “Sreedharan” as my second name, matters do get complicated. So I have a girl name as the first name, a boy name as the second name, and an obsolete ancestral family name as the surname. And to make matters even worse, in the cobwebbed recesses of Calicut Passport Office, these three names have inexplicably switched around, and now for all official purposes, my first name is Sreedharan, second name is Madampath, and the surname is Roopa!!! Now each time I travel, I have to look into my passport to verify my set of names before confirming them, more often than not evoking suspicious glances in my direction. Some sympathetic customs officials do tut-tut. I try to look unperturbed. “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet,” I echo the Bard. He does have a point there, after all.
(Rekz, I am sorry I am using the same title that you had used in one of your posts. But since we are both echoing the big S, I guess it is okay. He wouldn't mind.)
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