EVERYBODY
CALLS ME NAMES
Everybody
calls me names. It all started when I was born. My parents christened me
Antonio Francisco Savio Rodrigues. They named me after my paternal grandfather,
a gifted violinist (so I am told) who true to Goan tradition mixed his passion
for music with a fondness for alcohol. I did not learn to swing a violin but I
learnt to swing myself around after a couple of that other Goan passion.So that started this whole name-calling business. My maternal grandmother, seeking sweet revenge on those damned Rodrigues’, decided that I should have a nickname. So she nicknamed me Bunu. For the uninitiated, Goans besides the fondnesses mentioned above nickname all their children. So you have nicknames like Babush, Bachon, Paklo, Piku, Bushaan, Putlush, Baathush, Paasu, Aasoo, the list is never-ending. The name stuck and when I meet old friends from the old neighbourhood, they struggle between calling me Anthony and Bunu.
Not to be outdone, my maternal aunts got into the act and christened me Anthony. Those were the Swinging Sixties and the Beatles, Bobby Darin, Tony Brent, the Everly Brothers and mini-skirts were all the rage for the teenyboppers of that time. No! Latin names were a positive no-no. All the Latinos made their presence felt in this century. So Anthony it was and Anthony it stayed right up to Standard X. Prior to that, I was called Babyface. I still cannot fathom the meaning behind that one unless it was meant in a gangster sort of way.
In Standard
X, a new schoolmaster joined the ever-increasing band of people who shoved
education down your throat thus compelling Pink Floyd to sing their famous
ditty. Churchill was his name and he christened me Anton. In the beginning, it
irritated me like no other name did for the simple reason that it brought to
mind lackadaisical Goan waiters and bartenders doling and swilling copious pegs
of feni in dimly-lit taverns. People still call me Anton nowadays including my
in-laws, the exception being my mother-in-law who sticks to Anthony. God bless
her Anglo-Indian soul!
The name
Anthony continued its merry existence right through corporate and private life
with the shortened version, Tony, thrown in for good measure. Tony wasn’t so
bad, most of my colleagues who call me that are still close friends today. Here
I must mention this colleague named Suryanarayan who name me Duj. Suryanarayan
was a rabid cricket fan and he rooted insanely for the West Indian cricket team
and Jeff Dujon was their wicket-keeper. I used to sport a beard then (before the
1992/93 riots made me make a hasty beeline for shaving brush and razor) and he
felt that I bore a striking resemblance to the man.
Later on I
joined Samaritans and set the record straight by putting the name on my birth
certificate and everyone called me Antonio once again. Of course, there were
connotations even to this name-calling. The Parsees would stress each syllable
like they all stepped out of Rael Padamsee’s theatre academy. “An” would
commence with open mouth proceeding to the “to” with well-rounded lips forming
a perfect O and to the final crescendo “nio” like they were pronouncing some
shattering denouement in some obscure play! The Catholics, Bohris, probably
because of their collective convent school experience, would present me with a
rapid-fire “Antonio, Antonio” like they were playing some game in the school
lunch break – something like “Antonio, Antonio, you are the den!” There are
other variations like Entonio, Tonio with the first syllable lost in space. And
the Punjus, fortunately, do not double-barrel my name like they double-barrel everything
else with generous dollops of butter. “Hey Antonio, you coming to the party-sharty?
We will have some good daaru-shaaru! Khana-bhana badmein dekhenge! Everybody
calls me names!
Then there was this time I was at the food
mall off the Mumbai-Pune Expressway and someone with a perfect Italian accent
called out to me “Antonio, Antonio!” I turned around and met Sandeep C just
back with acquired accent and Roman (Jain food on request) package tour. A
Gujju, his package tour and his food are not easily parted. Well, so much for
name-calling and finally, the First Lady beckons.
“Tones,
dear, shut that computer and get into bed!” I like that endearment best! Hell,
I like that entire sentence best!
