What's in a NAME?

Ambarish. I love my name. I adore it. An unique identity. One of it’s kind. Fashionable and presents the image of a suave aristocrat. A rare spectacle in my state amongst the more prevalent balajis, aruns, srinivases, santoshes, venkats and the krishnas. A peculiar happening in a city where most of the grandchildren have their grandparent’s name and hence a whole family survives on just 2 or 3 names. Bless my dad for giving me such a name and also bless him for not giving me the name vandhiyadevan which he thought suited me better. His intentions were noble, I agree, but bless my mom too for not letting him do that. Bless my dad again for not letting my mom name me Balaji. Imagine my life with a name like vandhiyadevan, a legendary Tamil warrior. My friends would have called me vandhi, short for vandhiyadevan which translates to puke in Tamil. So much for the legendary war hero! I would have been famous, no doubt, for people would have just called me just for comic relief. My name would have been in everyone’s mouth, fitting for its Tamil translation.


I was christened R.Ambarish when I stepped into my earthly abode, r for my dad’s name, Ravichandran. We tamilians do not have a surname, just the father’s name which constitutes the initial before the name. Ambarish means the sky god, which my friends are so much familiar with now and frown upon, after my innumerable rants. But to stick my thumb under their noses, it was with this explanation that my first job interview started, which ended with me bagging the job. It’s the name of an epic character from The Mahabharata, the great-great-grandson of Arjuna, again a story well known in my friends circle. All was well till then, until something happened on that fateful day. My dad came to know about a famous (?) numerologist and with my uncle as his accomplice embarked on the journey that changed my life forever, from extra-ordinary to truly extra-ordinary. The astrologer summoned all his knowledge and prowess to totally mutilate and annihilate my beautiful name. All the numbers added up to a staggering preposition and the consequence is the present form, S.R.Sriambharrish. The result of all the calculations was the extra r and h and the sri which is supposed to enhance my wealth. Must say that it hasn’t done much till now! At least he didn’t end up adding an x,y or a z in my name


I had to endure the occasional jibes at the extra r and h in my name, what with people driving cars with their mouth when pronouncing the extra h. Point driven home my friends. As if this wasn’t enough, there was always the embarrassing juncture when I had to explain how my name was among the last few names in the class roll though my name was ambarish. My friends just called me ambu, which would have been the case even in the original form. This was ok, actually good and I liked it pretty much, though I despised the occasional ambi, amba, amber and ambuli. The nick name I would have liked to have had is ambush rhyming with George Bush, which gave a sense of grandeur and power. But all this I could endure with a wry smile. My life went on, until another defining moment arrived. I was the day I cannot forget ever, the day I filled the passport application form.


It was a bright shiny day, but there were thunderstorms in my world. Huge, dark, gloomy clouds lumbered over my head. The realization hit me like a typhoon, that I hadn’t suffered anything at all compared to what was to come in the near future. There it was, looming large in front of my eyes, the column which asked for my surname. What was my surname? It was the expansion of SR, Srinivasan Ravichandran, Srivasan being my great-grandfather’s name. Back to square one, the square I hate the most. The square of the commoners. The srinivasans are back in my life. The name that spells terror to me. The name, when u call out makes at least 10 people turn in a small crowd, thinking that they were being called. The name that a kid in every third bench in school has. The name that I had ridiculed all my life. That was the first blow.


The second one struck me even harder. I was filling the applications for a MS degree in the USA. I was entering my surname in the given column when the name got truncated. Srinivasan Ravichandran had become Srinivasan Ravichand. I transformed overnight from a Tamil Brahmin down-south to a northerner. Chandran became Chand and I became stunned. The column didn’t have enough space to contain my surname. My sufferings and anger became manifold. Woe was I, when a horrendous realization dawned upon me. People in the USA referred to others by their surname. So I was going to be called Mr. Srinivasan Ravichandran, or worse Mr. Srinivasan. I fought with my dad and made him agree that he made a terrible mistake 21 years ago. But now it’s too late. I cannot possibly change my name in all the legal documents, for there were simply too many. It would take a name with many more `lucky’ syllables in it to endow me with the kind of luck to get the herculean task completed before I die.


So, am still living with it, afraid of all the ignominy I would have to face in the faraway land. My mind is still a vortex of misery as I sit now waiting and trying not to think of the unspeakable torture that awaits me. Who was the guy who said ` what’s in a name?’