An emperor cut down to size

Tweaking Chandragupta proved more troublesome than helpful.

The monikers ‘Rajiv’ and ‘Sanjay’ were trending when I was born in 1959 in Kaithal, Haryana. These were the names of the adolescent grandsons of India’s then Prime Minister Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru.

My parents, swayed by the popular sentiment, quickly chose the name ‘Rajiv’ for me. A few years later, my father even christened his newly bought house ‘Rajiv Kutir’ (hut).

Though my grandfather disliked this modern name, he kept quiet so as not to dampen the enthusiasm my parents felt at the birth of their first child.

In due course, I was admitted to a primary school by my grandfather, who handled such chores in our household. Seizing the opportunity to finally have his way, he registered my name at the school as Chandragupta, modelled on the famous emperor Chandragupta Maurya of ancient India.

My parents, deferential as they were, reconciled themselves to the new name conferred by my grandfather. As I was only five or six years old, I remained oblivious to the transition from Rajiv to Chandragupta. Until I started school, I was familiar only with my nickname ‘Titu’. 

Throughout the school years, I often faced moments of embarrassment when classmates teased me as Emperor Chandragupta Maurya. Whenever I told someone my name, the mocking question would inevitably follow: “Are you Emperor Chandragupta Maurya?” The teasing became something of an albatross around my neck in school.

Fed up, I cleverly split ‘Chandragupta’ to ‘Chander Gupta’ while filling out the forms for the matriculation examination. ‘Chander’ became my first name and ‘Gupta’ the surname, neatly matching with the family surname. 

Disappointingly, the manoeuvre did not yield the desired outcome. Tweaking Chandragupta to Chander Gupta created more confusion without freeing me entirely from the sobriquet ‘Maurya’. ‘Chander’ sounded like half a name.

People would variously assume my name to be Chander Shekhar, Chander Prakash, Chander Mohan, or Chander Bhan. Moreover, ‘Chander’ at that time was often used as a middle name, as in Ram Chander, or Harish Chander, much like ‘Kumar’. 

The thought that ‘Rajiv Gupta’ would have resonated much better always haunted me. I often felt disconcerted that my parents were not assertive enough to overrule my grandfather, who formally named me Chandragupta at school. It is rather ironical that we have no say in choosing our names, which are fixed when we are too young to grasp their nuances.

Names that were popular in earlier generations have now fallen out of fashion. My grandfather’s name, ‘Dalip Chand’, or my father’s name, ‘Lal Chand’, would hardly be given to babies today. One rarely comes across names such as Vidya Devi, Shakuntala, or Sulochana for girls or Girdhari Lal, Ishwar Chand, and Dharam Pal for boys anymore.

Perhaps the Shakespearean line, “What’s in a name?” offers some solace to those saddled with unpalatable names.

(Disclaimer: The views expressed above are the author's own. They do not necessarily reflect the views of DH.)