Written Thu 21st Feb, 2002 in Varanasi, Uttar Pradesh, India
What is your good name? This is a question I have been asked many times since arriving in India. Such a simple question, asking someone's name, highlights so many subtle differences here from my normal Western existence.
The English phrase 'What is your Christian name' is completely meaningless and inappropriate in a majority Hindu country with large minorities of Muslims, Christians, Sikhs, Buddhists and Jains. Even in a secular or non-Christian environment, we might be asked for our first name. This, too, may not help here.
In the state of Rajasthan or within the Sikh community, the surname 'Singh', meaning 'lion', is common, so the first name becomes more prominent - particularly when there are two Singhs playing in the Indian cricket team. And, of course, if you are Sachin Tendulkar, currently India's top cricketer, then you are known to all simply as 'Sachin'.
Elsewhere, though, many Indians utilise their initials much more prominently than in the West, to the extent that some politicians are known and quoted almost exclusively in the media with only their initials followed by their last name. Most Indians would probably be hard pressed to tell you what the initials stand for. But there is good reason for this - many names become extremely long and complicated with the addition of names identifying place of origin or family profession. So a simple use of initials is often enough to provide a unique identification.
In some areas, particularly in southern states such as Tamil Nadu, the person may be known by their last name, which typically can be up to seven or eight syllables long. The preceding initial might represent the father's name, in much the same way as the Russian patronymic middle name, or a Scandinavian surname with -son or -dotter suffix.
Incidentally, my first encounter with last names as the 'given name' was in Mongolia, a country with a population small enough that a single name can often be enough to identify an individual.
Part of the immensely bureaucratic process of making a seat or berth reservation on Indian railways requires the filling in of a form which, along with the obvious details such as route, class, date of travel and train number, also requires the name, age and gender of each passenger. These details are then printed on the ticket and also on a printout stuck beside the carriage door listing all the reserved occupants. It is therefore possible to get an idea about your travel companions before boarding.
The system is surprisingly efficient, given the immense size and complexity of the Indian rail network. Every ticket has a unique number, and it is now even possible to check the status of your ticket on the Internet - especially useful if you are on the 'Waiting List' or did not have a confirmed berth number when the ticket was issued.
Indians, certainly railway officials, seem to have trouble differentiating 'T' and 'D' in a Western accent, so I have given up on spelling out my surname. Now, whenever I travel by train, I appear on the printout with just my 'Good Name', Nigel.
I have experienced dramatic cultural and religious contrasts in the past week especially. I spent a few days in Goa, a small state on the Arabian Sea coast south of Mumbai. Goa used to be a Portuguese colony and so has a primarily Roman Catholic Christian population. It is markedly different from other parts of India in all sorts of ways - the food available includes pork and beef, and women are more likely to be seen wearing a skirt than a sari. Most tellingly, though, it becomes apparent that in ALL of India religion is prominently displayed in everyday life. It is as common to see a crucifix or other christian symbol hanging in a shop or a bus in Goa as it is to see Hindu gods and shrines elsewhere. Because of my own Catholic upbringing, these symbols are very familiar to me, but their deliberate and outward display in everyday life is not something I am used to, which adds a strangeness to the familiarity.
Travel from Goa to Varanasi was by two separate trains totalling 43 hours, separated by six hours in Mumbai (formerly Bombay), India's largest and most cosmopolitan city. Here, evidence of Britain's colonial past is immediately apparent on arrival at the large terminus station now officially called Chattrapati Shivaji Terminus (CST), but still known affectionately to all as 'VT' (Victoria Terminus). Any Londoners would feel instantly at home walking out of the station to be confronted with large red double-decker buses, provided of course that they could read the Marathi route numbers on the front.
A ride on the suburban train was necessary to get to another terminus for my next train. Every passing train heading into VT was crammed to bursting with a mass of humanity hanging on and leaning out of all the open doorways. There are separate carriages for 'Ladies Only' and a small First Class section for those like me who didn't feel like braving the crush with my heavy backpack!
During the 31 hour journey to Varanasi I was sharing a 'compartment' with a Muslim couple and two Hindus - we shared food and found out more about each other in a mixture of languages and sign-language, with the occasional mis-translation and a lot of laughter along the way.
Now I am in Varanasi, the city of Shiva and one of the holiest Hindu sites in India. The old city is a maze of twisting streets too narrow even for rickshaws. It is very easy to get lost, much like in the old city in Jerusalem. But all streets eventually lead to one of the more than one hundred ghats along the Ganges River, the 'Great Mother'. Here, Hindus come to bathe, pray, and to die. It is considered particularly auspicious for a Hindu to die here, and two of the ghats are used for cremations twenty-four hours a day, the ashes then being deposited in the river.
There is a stark contrast within the city. Walking the streets and narrow alleys is a constant assault on all the senses, and something of an obstacle and survival course for the hapless Western tourist, who must negotiate cycle-rickshaw jams, fresh cow dung and countless touts and rickshaw men calling 'Hello Friend' or some other equally original enticement.
But get on a small boat just before sunrise and set off down the Great Mother, and all is different. Everything is peaceful as Hindus bathe in the soft dawn light. The sun, a low orange orb, gradually rises from the flat flood plains on the Eastern bank, and the whole length of the city on the waterfront becomes flooded in early morning sunlight which gradually dispels the mist. A Kingfisher waits patiently on the bow of a boat while the cremations continue at Manikarnika Ghat. Further downstream, dhobi wallahs wash huge piles of laundry by beating the wet clothes against flat stones, then spreading the clean garments over the ghats to dry in the sun.
Such contrasts and experiences are a reminder to any traveller, and to all of us, of the importance of recognising, respecting and celebrating our diversity in a world whose news programs are full of incidents from regions where this has been forgotten by groups who believe they hold a monopoly on truth and deny others their right to be different. The most fascinating advocate of this view was the Mughal emperor Akbar the Great. He believed in the principle of Sulh-i-kul (peace for all). His three main wives were Christian, Persian (Moslem) and Hindu. His perfect city, Fatehpur Sikri near Agra, now abandoned, emphasised his tolerance of all major religions in its architecture and design. It is possible to see Christian, Jewish, Persian, Hindu and Buddhist symbols and designs on the same building face and even on the same pillar. A walk around the ruins of this impressive 400-year old city provokes much thought.
What is your good name? This is a question I have been asked many times since arriving in India. Such a simple question, asking someone's name, highlights so many subtle differences here from my normal Western existence.
The English phrase 'What is your Christian name' is completely meaningless and inappropriate in a majority Hindu country with large minorities of Muslims, Christians, Sikhs, Buddhists and Jains. Even in a secular or non-Christian environment, we might be asked for our first name. This, too, may not help here.
In the state of Rajasthan or within the Sikh community, the surname 'Singh', meaning 'lion', is common, so the first name becomes more prominent - particularly when there are two Singhs playing in the Indian cricket team. And, of course, if you are Sachin Tendulkar, currently India's top cricketer, then you are known to all simply as 'Sachin'.
Elsewhere, though, many Indians utilise their initials much more prominently than in the West, to the extent that some politicians are known and quoted almost exclusively in the media with only their initials followed by their last name. Most Indians would probably be hard pressed to tell you what the initials stand for. But there is good reason for this - many names become extremely long and complicated with the addition of names identifying place of origin or family profession. So a simple use of initials is often enough to provide a unique identification.
In some areas, particularly in southern states such as Tamil Nadu, the person may be known by their last name, which typically can be up to seven or eight syllables long. The preceding initial might represent the father's name, in much the same way as the Russian patronymic middle name, or a Scandinavian surname with -son or -dotter suffix.
Incidentally, my first encounter with last names as the 'given name' was in Mongolia, a country with a population small enough that a single name can often be enough to identify an individual.
Part of the immensely bureaucratic process of making a seat or berth reservation on Indian railways requires the filling in of a form which, along with the obvious details such as route, class, date of travel and train number, also requires the name, age and gender of each passenger. These details are then printed on the ticket and also on a printout stuck beside the carriage door listing all the reserved occupants. It is therefore possible to get an idea about your travel companions before boarding.
The system is surprisingly efficient, given the immense size and complexity of the Indian rail network. Every ticket has a unique number, and it is now even possible to check the status of your ticket on the Internet - especially useful if you are on the 'Waiting List' or did not have a confirmed berth number when the ticket was issued.
Indians, certainly railway officials, seem to have trouble differentiating 'T' and 'D' in a Western accent, so I have given up on spelling out my surname. Now, whenever I travel by train, I appear on the printout with just my 'Good Name', Nigel.
I have experienced dramatic cultural and religious contrasts in the past week especially. I spent a few days in Goa, a small state on the Arabian Sea coast south of Mumbai. Goa used to be a Portuguese colony and so has a primarily Roman Catholic Christian population. It is markedly different from other parts of India in all sorts of ways - the food available includes pork and beef, and women are more likely to be seen wearing a skirt than a sari. Most tellingly, though, it becomes apparent that in ALL of India religion is prominently displayed in everyday life. It is as common to see a crucifix or other christian symbol hanging in a shop or a bus in Goa as it is to see Hindu gods and shrines elsewhere. Because of my own Catholic upbringing, these symbols are very familiar to me, but their deliberate and outward display in everyday life is not something I am used to, which adds a strangeness to the familiarity.
Travel from Goa to Varanasi was by two separate trains totalling 43 hours, separated by six hours in Mumbai (formerly Bombay), India's largest and most cosmopolitan city. Here, evidence of Britain's colonial past is immediately apparent on arrival at the large terminus station now officially called Chattrapati Shivaji Terminus (CST), but still known affectionately to all as 'VT' (Victoria Terminus). Any Londoners would feel instantly at home walking out of the station to be confronted with large red double-decker buses, provided of course that they could read the Marathi route numbers on the front.
A ride on the suburban train was necessary to get to another terminus for my next train. Every passing train heading into VT was crammed to bursting with a mass of humanity hanging on and leaning out of all the open doorways. There are separate carriages for 'Ladies Only' and a small First Class section for those like me who didn't feel like braving the crush with my heavy backpack!
During the 31 hour journey to Varanasi I was sharing a 'compartment' with a Muslim couple and two Hindus - we shared food and found out more about each other in a mixture of languages and sign-language, with the occasional mis-translation and a lot of laughter along the way.
Now I am in Varanasi, the city of Shiva and one of the holiest Hindu sites in India. The old city is a maze of twisting streets too narrow even for rickshaws. It is very easy to get lost, much like in the old city in Jerusalem. But all streets eventually lead to one of the more than one hundred ghats along the Ganges River, the 'Great Mother'. Here, Hindus come to bathe, pray, and to die. It is considered particularly auspicious for a Hindu to die here, and two of the ghats are used for cremations twenty-four hours a day, the ashes then being deposited in the river.
There is a stark contrast within the city. Walking the streets and narrow alleys is a constant assault on all the senses, and something of an obstacle and survival course for the hapless Western tourist, who must negotiate cycle-rickshaw jams, fresh cow dung and countless touts and rickshaw men calling 'Hello Friend' or some other equally original enticement.
But get on a small boat just before sunrise and set off down the Great Mother, and all is different. Everything is peaceful as Hindus bathe in the soft dawn light. The sun, a low orange orb, gradually rises from the flat flood plains on the Eastern bank, and the whole length of the city on the waterfront becomes flooded in early morning sunlight which gradually dispels the mist. A Kingfisher waits patiently on the bow of a boat while the cremations continue at Manikarnika Ghat. Further downstream, dhobi wallahs wash huge piles of laundry by beating the wet clothes against flat stones, then spreading the clean garments over the ghats to dry in the sun.
Such contrasts and experiences are a reminder to any traveller, and to all of us, of the importance of recognising, respecting and celebrating our diversity in a world whose news programs are full of incidents from regions where this has been forgotten by groups who believe they hold a monopoly on truth and deny others their right to be different. The most fascinating advocate of this view was the Mughal emperor Akbar the Great. He believed in the principle of Sulh-i-kul (peace for all). His three main wives were Christian, Persian (Moslem) and Hindu. His perfect city, Fatehpur Sikri near Agra, now abandoned, emphasised his tolerance of all major religions in its architecture and design. It is possible to see Christian, Jewish, Persian, Hindu and Buddhist symbols and designs on the same building face and even on the same pillar. A walk around the ruins of this impressive 400-year old city provokes much thought.