(In a lighter vein)

Right from childhood I have had problems with my name. In fact, it wasn’t me who had a problem. It was the others who were not familiar with the name ‘Vincent.

We were the only Christian family in the colony and the others were unfamiliar with Christian names. So, they took the liberty of calling me by whatever name they felt like. That made me furious at time.

When we were young we would go to the playground every evening after doing our homework. One of the first guys I met at the playground wanted to know my name. When I told him my name, he asked me to repeat it again and again. At last, he got it…he started calling me Vicent.

I told him my name is not Vicent…it is Vincent with an ‘n’ in the middle. He tried but couldn’t remember it. He kept calling me Vicent. One day when he invited me to his home I made a mild complaint to his mother about it.

She scolded him and told him that people should be called by their correct names. And, then, she asked me what my name was. So, I told her my name.

She gave me a puzzled look. She said: “You are not pronouncing your name right. The correct pronunciation is “Vineet.” Say…Vineet! I felt the floor giving way under my feet.

Another friend of mine was even more funny. He used to call me “Besan.” Now, besan is the Hindi word for gram flour! I didn’t like any of it.

When I was in class V, I filled up the form for taking the Sanskrit examination conducted by Bharatiya Vidhya Bhawan called ‘Bal Bodh.’ I filled up my father’s name as “Van Ross.” My teacher gave me a curious look when she checked what we had filled in.

“You don’t know your father’s name?” She asked. It should be Andrews…what is this you have written? I insisted my father’s name was Van Ross. But, she wouldn’t believe me. She sent for my elder sister who was in the same school. When my sister gave the same name as I had given, my teacher stared at us in disbelief!

When I took up my first job, the Managing Director of the company was on a foreign tour. It was a family business. His son was the Director, Administration and Accounts, who appointed me. I was introduced to the MD when he returned.

For some reason, he started calling me Nelson. It was a new job and it was quite embarrassing. I hoped somebody would correct him. Nobody did. So, one day I decided to take it up with him. I told him my name was Vincent not Nelson. He dismissed my objection with an expansive gesture of his hand. He said it does not matter…he said I was like a son to him! That gagged me.

All these names relate to the spoken language. People have not spared me even in writing. So, I have been variously addressed as: Vinsent, Winscent, Windsend, Windsent, Wusent, Wilson and what have you? In fact, I have lost count of such name.

But, this one takes the cake. My friend had invited me over to his place for Diwali. He belonged to a traditional Haryanvi family. He lived in a haveli which had the hookah, aangan, gai-bains et all. When I knocked at the door, an elderly woman dressed in a gaagra and a short shirt opened the door.

I told her that I was there to meet Sanjiv. She told me that he wasn’t at home. So, I asked her to tell him that Vincent had come visiting. Several days later when I met him at college, he complained that I did not take his invitation seriously. When, I insisted that I had visited his place and that a lady had told me that he way away, he said: “That is what I was wondering…mother had told me that somebody called Bhim Singh had come to see him and I was wondering who it was!”

That was not the beginning. Nor is it the end of it. But, you cannot imagine how a person feels when you tell him that he does not know his own name or that of his father’s. And, come to think of it...people who call me names get away with it!