Samuel Goldwyn (He of the Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer fame among other things) is supposed to have said to a friend once, "Why did you name your son John? Every Tom, Dick, and Harry is named John".
I would like to play the friend’s advocate here.
A few months ago, I was at the birthday party of my friend’s little girl. It was a bachcha party consisting solely of mothers and their children, and I was the only one with no child of her own. Young mums all over the place with their little kids screaming and shouting and fighting, and generally keeping the atmosphere lively and ripe for an economy-size headache. Being the ultra-polite girl that I was, I spoke to the proud mums, asking about their kids and trying to look wondrously surprised and pleased as the mum pointed at her little one in the brood. So in this manner, I was wading along the sea of mothers and stopped at yet another one.
“That is my girl there, in the pink frock.”
There were about 3-4 girls in pink, including the birthday girl. For some reason, all little girls in this country seem to wear only pink, I know not why. Anyway, I made the usual gushing sounds along the lines of, “Oh, she is sooo cute!” and so on.
Then I asked, “What’s her name?”
“Noosa.”
“Sorry? Noosa?”
“Yes.” The smile on the proud mum’s face hitched up a notch or two. “We conceived her when we went to Noosa for our honeymoon. So, we named her Noosa.”
I wasn’t very sure if I was supposed to say “Oh, what a lovely name!” I let the silence hang in the air like a dangling sword rather than lie so blatantly.
Now, for those who are not familiar with the geography of Australia, Noosa is a popular sea-side holiday town in Queensland. All I can say is, thank goodness the girl wasn’t conceived in Kalgoorlie or Dubbo. When I was in Perth, I always used to say that when I have kids, I will name them after two suburbs of Perth – Mirrabooka and Kalamunda. Who knew that my little joke would travel along the ethereal machinations of fate and crystallize into cruel reality for a little girl many miles away?
Noosa Chakrapani.
Why do parents give such names to their kids? What are they thinking when they do it? Is it just another way of living your life through your child’s?
“Oh, I could not become a doctor. So I want my child to be one when she grows up. I don’t care that her music teacher says she is gifted.”
“Oh, my parents gave me such a boring old name like Shanta. So let me give my child an exotic name. I think Miami sounds good.”
Little Miami grows up and as soon as she turns 18, a declaration appears in the local newspapers, “I, Miami Arvind Patil, do hereby declare that I change my name to Kanta Arvind Patil.” So much for Shanta’s dreams.
How many children have to go through the torment of odd names, not only at the hands of bullying school mates, but even more mercilessly, though more subtly, in adult life too? A distant cousin of mine was named Vamana. Sure it is one of the names of Vishnu, but everyone knows it to be a synonym for a dwarf. Thankfully, he was given two names and now he goes by his second name, Trivikram. His first cousins were named Kshitisha and Kritartha. Even the doctor couldn’t help but wonder aloud why they were labeled with such tongue-twisters.
And thusly I rest my case, Mr Goldwyn.
I am going to give my kids the safest, most boring names on earth. Something on the lines of all my cousins and I - Rohit, Ravi, Sarita, Rekha, Shrikant, Kanti, Jyoti. Kailash. I’d rather have my children be mildly annoyed with me than hate me downright.
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