My brother used to have more than 30 names for me. A lot of them, even I can’t remember. And all these names got stuck and were used liberally by my parents/childhood buddies as well. I dont recall ever having been called by my “legal” name ever….and this continues till today….my mom still uses 2-3 different names for me.
So much so, that, in my head, for some abstruse reason, a correlation formed – that is you cannot maul and mollify a name – you are not really close enough yet. I still recoil a bit, when I hear my “legal” name used in non-office and non-legal scenarios…..and vice versa….I can never be comfortable unless I invent a name for loved ones. Its like a bone hitching and kitching stuck in my head….
Yesterday, as I was talking to someone at night, I suddenly recalled, one my bro’s names for me was Hamied – a middle eastern phonetic hotch potch of my name.
This game of inventing names and (sometimes) slurring…was a lot of fun one. Even as a kid, I immensely enjoyed it. My bro’s repertoire of adjectives for “fat” – some “english”, some “hindi”, some invented – all became my alter names.
My “positive” association with “fat” and “naming” became so strong, till today, I call my loved ones with adjectives of fat(even if they are like drumsticks). For me, they continue to remind me of a familiarity and love that was very precious.
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