I had delusionally hoped that by the time it was time for me to put ink to paper this blotting out of names, given the current climate, would not be over, but would have toned down to a point where one was not having to attend a rechristening ceremony every day of the week. Perhaps, “rechristening”, the word, would not go down well with the Name Annihilation Brigade because of the connotations that come with rechristening: conjuring up images of a cathedral. But alas, how wrong could I be! This renaming spree is here to stay, what with the millions of towns, streets, stations and lanes Bharat, India, Hindustan has. Simla became Shimla decades back and more recently Madras is Chennai, Bombay Mumbai and Calcutta Kolkata, Bangalore Bengaluru, Orissa Odisha…But this rampage of, with vindictive fervour, defacing history indicative of a people gone, to put it light-heartedly, “Mad as a Hatter”.
A few densely smoggy mornings ago over green tea (the last thing one would want on a damp morning is this kind of bland beverage—piping hot masala chai with crushed ginger infused in it while it was on the boil, the only drink to perk one up but…but did not want to put my host through the trouble, so dutifully, gently gulped it down as it grew lukewarm), I was informed that when Aurungzeb Road was renamed A.P.J. Kalam Road back in September 2015 it sat well with most.
The most unpopular Mughal Emperor being ousted in favour of India’s most popular President, the effortless, five-finger exercise explanation. Okay, but precisely a year later why should Race Course Road, the place which is the home to our Prime Ministers, acquire the title Lok Kalyan Marg? Some well-known person, obviously a politician, said that the former address misrepresented us culturally. Now one would only hope that the change of address would do the Kalyan, be beneficial for the people, generate employment, provide free healthcare etc. and etc.
Overnight Faizabad becomes Ayodhya and Allahabad Prayagraj and the audience—it’s irrelevant whether one wants to be part of the theatre because one is padlocked—is fed with more of more. No foreign sounds in any names so sarais, baads shown the door; if you happen to hear the letter “Z” in any name, instant inking out. A few weeks ago, Uttar Pradesh’s Yogi Adityanath defended, no, justified, as the unvarnished truth the name-changing policy by demanding to know whether we would think it befitting to name a child Ravana or Duryodhana ?! Must doff one’s hat for such an uncomplicated plain-sailing clarification.
A Master Stroke, re-eally. Roping in the name of the game of one religion, without mention of the other. Brushing briskly, deftly under the cushiony carpet the reality that the rebranding was being only done to peripheralise the other Faith. It definitely is not about taking a leaf from Pakistan’s tome, and following in our bordering country’s footsteps… To, however, move forward the Namkaran thesis. Yes, we, by and large, put a high premium on the meaning and significance of a name down to the first letter it should start with—the last part a diktat issuing from the starry alignment at the birth of a child. So but of course, Ravana, Surpanakha, Kumbhkaran would never figure in “The Book of Baby Names”. (Here, Shakespeare’s, what is in a name surmise falls on its head, a la Humpty Dumpty—”that which we call a rose by any name would smell as sweet”.) However, another politician, Hardik Patel I think, as a retort to Yogi’s “who’d name their child Ravana” contention, wanted to know if prosperity could be brought about by name-changing then all Indians should be called Rama. Rather smart, I’d say.
We would, thereby, but naturally, be hailing in Ram Rajya. Then there is another Neta, whose name thankfully, eludes me—some legislator in yes, yes, yes in Uttar Pradesh, who wants the Taj Mahal to be re-titled. Taj should sound Indianised is his petition. Before going ahead, with what in his head, should be the revised name of one of the Wonders of the World, where people believe, a trip to India is incomplete, if one has not visited the majestic monument, he lauds praise (almost singing hallelujahs) to UP’s Chief Minister for doing away with Mughal Sarai town and railway junction, and presenting it in its new avatar. He is, more than sure, that the day is not far when the Taj would take its Indian name. Ram Mahal or Krishan Mahal. The name-switch of other cities on cards—Aurungabad to Sambhaji Nagar, Osmanabad to Darashiv, Ahmedabad to Karnavali, Hyderabad once-upon-a-time was Bhagyanagar—must halt lest scrolling through this endless, mindless list gives us a collective migraine. Simla, sorry, Shimla is readying itself for a new name. Shyamala. That’s the Queen of Hill’s original name, an archival musty voice enlightens us lesser mortals. The Summer Capital of India when the Angrez reigned supreme—the lesson dully drones on. The British could not pronounce Shyamala, and so called the charming township they created Simla. Now it was time to go back in time—if that is ever possible—and retrieve its “lost identity”. It seems that our government is suffering from serious memory lapses—we, as a nation, do not belong to a singular stock. Heard of the expression, Salad Bowl ? And does our Sarkar have nothing better to fret over, than going on a name-eradication drive?!
If transforming the country’s fortunes was so elementary, a child’s play, then all one would have to do was rebaptise India, naming it America…
Dr Renée Ranchan writes on socio-psychological issues, quasi-political matters and concerns that touch us all