Colonialism is something we need to live with—at least in memory. And the memories might persist in bittersweet ways and spawn delicious ironies at times.
"What's in a name?" asked William Shakespeare. The Bard of Avon might have been surprised by Bollywood's response. Vishal Bhardwaj's trilogical tribute to the litterateur changed his plays’ names to much acclaim. Othello was renamed Omkara, Hamlet as Haider, and Macbeth became Maqbool. Each of these films manages to convey the essence of Shakespeare's deeply human perspectives to a distant, post-colonial audience in a language and ethos alien to the original playwright, precisely because the director manages to make viewers from another culture relate to the core of the works. Name changing was a part of the effort.
The politics of renaming re-emerged last week as the Union home minister announced that Port Blair would be renamed Sri Vijaya Puram, raising cheers in some islands of humanity and jeers elsewhere. The new name’s signal of shedding the colonial baggage seems appropriate enough.
But name changes are not necessarily game changes.
The government renamed the capital of the Andaman and Nicobar Islands because Tamil king Rajendra Chola had used the archipelago as a naval base to launch an attack on Sri Vijaya, as a part of modern-day Indonesia was once called. It’s ironic when a decolonisation effort takes a name from a campaign linked to what looks like a colonisation effort by an ancient ruler.
From all indications, residents of the Andamans who trace their ancestry to freedom fighters exiled to the islands or jailed by British rulers are wondering how they got left out in a name change that jumps back 1,000 years in preference to 100. It might have something to do with the assumption that renaming the place after its most Sangh-friendly inmate, Vinayak Damodar Savarkar, would have been seen as an irony by those critical of him for writing an apology to British rulers in exchange for freedom.
It must be pointed out that Sri Vijaya Puram's airport was named after Savarkar in 2002 when the BJP was in power. Ross Island in the Andamans has now been named after Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose, something that would be more acceptable to the ruling party’s rivals.
There are other ironies, too. It’s fine to see Calcutta renamed Kolkata, and lovers of the erstwhile Bangalore may yet learn to live with Bengaluru. Tamilian locals always referred to Madras as Chennai when speaking their own tongue.
But it is rare to find a Dilliwala referring to Connaught Place as Rajiv Chowk, and even rarer to see anyone referring to Connaught Circus as Indira Chowk. Congress leader Mani Shankar Aiyar worked hard to rename the landmarks after leaders he was loyal to. But he met with partial success. Thanks to the fact that the metro station there was also named Rajiv Chowk, the change earned some currency.
Some things sound cooler in their older references, at least to the locals. In Bengaluru, Frazer Town, where I used to live once, has been renamed Pulakeshi Nagar, but only the local police station bears that name. Everybody else prefers the old tag. Political pressures can go only so far. The locality was named after slightly-differently-spelt Stuart Mitford Fraser, a tutor and guardian to a Mysore king. That is a mix of Hindu heritage with a colonial twist .
I can personally also relate to the fact that tongue twisters don't work. Kerala may be god's own country, but the tourists thronging the state are far more comfortable using the colonial Trivandrum than the mouthful of Thiruvananthapuram.
The jury is still out on whether one renames something to please oneself or others. Port Blair, named after British naval surveyor Archibald Blair, sounds much easier on the tongue than Sri Vijaya Puram. Reverse-swinging colonial names is a collaborative project. If the locals don't like it, it would be a tough call. Some names have positive memories or global reach not worth tampering with. Bombay has a fine ring of familiarity to it, at least to me. As has Bangalore.
Ironies abound in rebound, too. While Port Blair may have been renamed after an ancient Chola king’s naval offensive, there is not one street in the national capital of Delhi named after any king from Tamil Nadu, though 20th century leaders such as K Kamaraj have their street tributes. Even Kargil War heroes of recent vintage have Delhi landmarks named after them, but not Tamil warriors or kings of yore.
Renaming of colonial symbols, much like colonialism itself, is an ad hoc, often arbitrary make-it-as-you-go project. The prime minister installed in the new parliament building a gifted symbol of Chola glory, the sceptre called Sengol, amid much fanfare. But one is tempted to ask why the party did not even mention anything like it in all these decades, whether in power or out of it.
A lot has to do with contemporary politics. The Mughals did it. The Dravida parties have done it. The Congress also indulged in name-changing in a post-colonial zeal. But there is only so far that can take you. Changes can bring joy, but history cannot be just wished away. “You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.”
Madhavan Narayanan
Senior Journalist
(Views are personal)
(On X @madversity)