What's in a name?
My first attempt at story writing.
***
Little Pichu hated his name. It did not sound dignified enough to him. He was the seventh son of his family and the tenth born. His parents, at the time of his birth had been married for twelve years and his mother had religiously given birth to a child, year after year. Six of them had been still born. Two had died within the first few days of birth, and one had lived for two years and died of small pox.
Little Pichu's parents had almost given up on having a child when he made his entry, a wrinkled brown bag with large eyes and a loud wail - just when his mother had physically given up the energy for more children. During the first few days of his birth, his father regarded Pichu's life from moment to moment, checking the child now and then and thinking, "He is still breathing." His optimism had been eroded in the past few years and he was afraid even to hold the baby, lest he get too affectionate and the child died! His mother was too exhausted to feel glad of his birth. She lay down next to him, eyes closed - pale and a mere shadow of her usual self. It was the year 1918.
Only the neighbours flocked in to see him and place some sugar in his tiny puckered mouth that he promptly spat out. "Ah He looks just like his father. Just look at his imperial nose!" Pichu answered with a loud wail. He didn't care much about his looks and least of all about his name. Had he known they would name him Pichu, he would have crawled back into his mother's womb and never came out again.
When the issue of naming the child cropped up, it was not easy for the father to decide. He had already named his six sons, Ramaswamy, after his own father. And none had lived. He decided that the name was jinxed. This time, he would be careful. His wife wanted to name the son after her own father. But that was not the custom of the family. The first born cannot be named after the mother's father. The very thought was blasphemy!
The father racked his brains. He would not choose some 'common' name. He would not choose the name of any God. What if he named his son 'Sivaramakrishnan' (thereby appeasing Lord Siva, Lord Rama and Lord Krishna) but incurred the wrath of Lord Ganesha? His son would have a 'secular' name, open to interpretation. Any God could claim the baby to be his devotee. Let them fight among themselves and leave his son alone!
One evening the father sat mulling over this complex problem when a beggar appeared before their house. "Amma Thaaye Pichai podumaa!" he cried. ["O Mother, please give me some alms."] His wife's mother, at home helping her daughter recuperate, placed some rice and cooked vegetables in the bowl. The beggar was overjoyed. And so was the father. Inspiration had struck him. He felt like Archimedes and would have run down the streets shouting "Eureka! Eureka!" He did just that, except that he ran fully clothed shouting instead, "Kandu pidicuten!" [translating to much the same thing as Eureka]
He had found a name for his son - "Pichai"(alms). Later the father would claim that he named his son Pichai because he considered the baby to be the Pichai (alms) granted by the benevolent God. Whether he invented this reason to justify his choice of name (maybe he was influenced by the beggar's sing-song voice?) or the other way round, no one really knew or cared. Not even the father.
Except Pichu.
(Pichai had been shortened to Pichu for convenience and to add a touch of endearment to the name.)
The woes of the boy had just begun...
***
To be continued.
***
Little Pichu hated his name. It did not sound dignified enough to him. He was the seventh son of his family and the tenth born. His parents, at the time of his birth had been married for twelve years and his mother had religiously given birth to a child, year after year. Six of them had been still born. Two had died within the first few days of birth, and one had lived for two years and died of small pox.
Little Pichu's parents had almost given up on having a child when he made his entry, a wrinkled brown bag with large eyes and a loud wail - just when his mother had physically given up the energy for more children. During the first few days of his birth, his father regarded Pichu's life from moment to moment, checking the child now and then and thinking, "He is still breathing." His optimism had been eroded in the past few years and he was afraid even to hold the baby, lest he get too affectionate and the child died! His mother was too exhausted to feel glad of his birth. She lay down next to him, eyes closed - pale and a mere shadow of her usual self. It was the year 1918.
Only the neighbours flocked in to see him and place some sugar in his tiny puckered mouth that he promptly spat out. "Ah He looks just like his father. Just look at his imperial nose!" Pichu answered with a loud wail. He didn't care much about his looks and least of all about his name. Had he known they would name him Pichu, he would have crawled back into his mother's womb and never came out again.
When the issue of naming the child cropped up, it was not easy for the father to decide. He had already named his six sons, Ramaswamy, after his own father. And none had lived. He decided that the name was jinxed. This time, he would be careful. His wife wanted to name the son after her own father. But that was not the custom of the family. The first born cannot be named after the mother's father. The very thought was blasphemy!
The father racked his brains. He would not choose some 'common' name. He would not choose the name of any God. What if he named his son 'Sivaramakrishnan' (thereby appeasing Lord Siva, Lord Rama and Lord Krishna) but incurred the wrath of Lord Ganesha? His son would have a 'secular' name, open to interpretation. Any God could claim the baby to be his devotee. Let them fight among themselves and leave his son alone!
One evening the father sat mulling over this complex problem when a beggar appeared before their house. "Amma Thaaye Pichai podumaa!" he cried. ["O Mother, please give me some alms."] His wife's mother, at home helping her daughter recuperate, placed some rice and cooked vegetables in the bowl. The beggar was overjoyed. And so was the father. Inspiration had struck him. He felt like Archimedes and would have run down the streets shouting "Eureka! Eureka!" He did just that, except that he ran fully clothed shouting instead, "Kandu pidicuten!" [translating to much the same thing as Eureka]
He had found a name for his son - "Pichai"(alms). Later the father would claim that he named his son Pichai because he considered the baby to be the Pichai (alms) granted by the benevolent God. Whether he invented this reason to justify his choice of name (maybe he was influenced by the beggar's sing-song voice?) or the other way round, no one really knew or cared. Not even the father.
Except Pichu.
(Pichai had been shortened to Pichu for convenience and to add a touch of endearment to the name.)
The woes of the boy had just begun...
***
To be continued.
Meera @ 2:57 PM| permalink
2 Comments:
Hi Meera.. took me some time to figure out who you are..(are you who I think you are? MB 2nd block 3rd yr??) Anywayz.. gr8 work maan!!!wanna link up??
Yup I am the "fellow-convict" from the 2nd block :) - and you...?
I couldn't locate your blog to link up though. Just let me know...
Post a Comment
<< Home