Daily Times

When the British arrived in the Indian Sub-continent as colonisers they changed the names of places according to their own convenience. Anyone having a basic common knowledge of colonialism will be aware about this. So Vadodara became Baroda, Thiruvanthapuram was converted into Trivandrum, Kochy became Cochin, and a host of other names witnessed interesting transformations. The main reason behind the corruption of the original names was the discomfort the colonial tongue was subjected to by the “peculiar” native names. When the colonisers could not articulate the names as they were articulated by the natives they found it easier to write and speak about them as they felt appropriate. The other factor was psychological as the rulers asserted their supremacy and used the name-changes to symbolically put the colonised under their imperial writ. This practice was extended to other things, including the colonised- the latter remained helpless spectators as they found their names sounding different on the master’s tongue. It was a privilege to hear one’s names articulated by the master, and the idea of correction was far-fetched. The subservience was such that the native had no option other than mimicking the master and giving currency to this corruption by the coloniser. This practice continued for a long time until the native got some degree of freedom and he began to contemplate a return to the earlier nomenclatures.

Ever since independence, around 100 Indian cities and towns have changed their names, returning to the earlier names; and over 1,000 roads have been given a new identity. It is not that the imperial names were difficult to express for the natives, in fact most of them had become so popular and penetrated into the mass consciousness that many people refused to return to the earlier versions and demanded retention of those names. When Madras was changed to Chennai, a noted writer stated that the weather will remain same with either name given to the city, and it will hardly make any difference except that giving a new name will reflect a sense of insecurity among the Indians. The return of old names did not make any material difference to the lives of the people, nor did it change the economic condition of the masses. The poor continued to remain poor and the ruling elite continued to exploit the subjects as they used to do during the imperial period. However, the change in names gave a sense of pride and cultural assertion and empowerment to both the ruled and the rulers, the laymen and the elite; a sense that a vital link with the roots of culture had been restored. The new names did not wipe away the misdeeds of imperialism, nor did they make any difference to the country from where the imperial masters came but reaffirmed the idea that the colonial period and all that was done during that era was under the condition of force and without the consent of the natives.

The contentious discussion about the name of Pretoria in South Africa exemplifies the tension of the new demands for cultural affinity and nostalgia for the imperial nomenclature. The urge to remove the name Pretoria in favour of an older pre-apartheid name is redolent of need for assertion of cultural identity. The recent debate about the name of the Aurangzeb Road in New Delhi has similar underpinnings.

What happens when names are officialised and standardised not according to the will of the people but as per the sweet wishes of the rulers? To begin with, the masses who have their own names for places and things are rendered without agency. They lose self-esteem and are forced to accept through routine and practice what was unheard of before. The acceptance comes through repetitive use – officialisation and the systems of reward and punishment which accompanies it and the paraphernalia associated with it. Second, the imposed names make the users harbour grudges, which with the passage of time simmer, gather weight and wish to find an outlet through means which may not be palatable to the imposers. Third, the imposed names disturb a sense of continuity and belonging with the native moorings, creating a sense of artificial connection with the ideas and institutions which arrive with the imperial power structure. Fourthly, the usage of a name imposed by a “superior” power and culture produces what V.S. Naipaul calls mimic men – who go on to corrupt their native names after the corruption of the colonisers without feeling any sense of guilt or shame. In other words, the name-corruption at the top is multiplied in various forms and at various places by the natives themselves. So if the British made Madras out of Chennai, the natives anglicise the street next door because they have understood now what will be easier for the British tongue, and without the request of the latter make little linguistic changes, knowing well which sounds will flow smoothly out of the foreign mouth.

(to be continued)

The writer can be reached at:javjnu@gmail.com