What's in a name!
How a passport officer, three cups of chai, and one stubborn initial permanently changed my legal name.
You know how they tell you, India is a land of diversity. Every state has its own language, food, customs etc. Everything changes every few hundred miles - so culturally diverse!
I've lived and traveled to most parts of India. I was born down south, moved north when I was 17 and then changed states once again. Work has taken me to almost every part of the country. I have visited golf courses in 19 states in the country and stayed atleast a night in 25 of the 29 states and all union territories baring one. Like I said, a lot of things are different in different parts of the country and it takes time getting used to. I want to share a story of how even my name changed when I moved from Salem to Delhi. No, not a nickname but my ACTUAL, OFFICIAL name!
Down south in India it is pretty common not to have a surname (last name). People go by their first name and have an initial before or after their name (in most cases, before); for eg - R Srinivasan, where 'R' the initial would be the first letter of their dad's name. It is also common to have multiple initials, for eg - PR Srinivasan, where the 'P' here stands for the village/city your ancestors belonged to. However, I was a North Indian born in South India; I had a last name and used the first letter of my dad's name as an initial, so I was V Sharan Godya. I always pushed to keep the V in the middle but it just confused people in the south as they were used to seeing the initial up front, so I was V Sharan Godya for the first 17 years of my life. More about South Indian naming conventions in this interesting article I found.
Now, fast-forward moving to Delhi. I'm submitting my paperwork to get admitted in University. They have a problem with my name. 'V' cannot be my first name and I agree; so they enter 'Sharan' as my first name and 'Godya' as my last name. Not knowing what to do with the 'V', they stick it next to the Godya and so my name with a slight revision reads Sharan Godya V. I live with it, no big deal! My bank account, rental agreements, telephone number use my college ID and use this name. Few places eliminated the initial but in general I was Sharan Godya V. No trouble till I had to get my passport made. Back in the day getting a passport made in India was a nightmare. A long-ass form, tons of documents, waiting in a series of queues, security checks, more waiting etc. The most critical part in this was the in-home verification, where someone from the passport department would come home, verify your address, documents and even get 2 neighbors to sign as witnesses. Freaking complicated! Even if one used an agent to get the passport made, this part is something you couldn't excuse yourself from (btw things have now changed and become very very seamless - more info here).
The day came when I finally got the call from the local police station saying they were going to come for the verification soon. And boom, it was holiday season and I was back home in Salem - 2400 kms away. I promised the person on the phone that I would be back the following week and he could send someone then. He was super annoyed, mentioned a number of times that I was causing him a 'HUGE' inconvenience and that he better be compensated ("khyaal rakhoge na jab hum ayenge" was the language he used) when he visited in person (read: he wants a bribe). I was desperate and mumbled that whoever came would be taken care of.
So I was back in Delhi and was expecting someone to come over for the verification any day. I had already scouted neighbors I would ask for the witness signature. One was my landlord's wife who lived next door and the other was an uncle on the first floor, he seemed to like me because I went to a good school and I would often help his son with Math homework. I instructed my cook that once the guy came for verification, he should offer him tea. Done - I felt everything was in control and nothing could go wrong.
The day finally arrives - my doorbell rings at 7 in the evening. A Sardarji enters, we exchange pleasantries, asks to see some documents etc. He is offered tea, everything seems to be going to plan. He now wants to get the witness signatures. We first go to the landlord's place. The landlord opens the door, in his usual grumpy state he says that his wife isn't there and that he wouldn't help us. Awful human being he was - Mr. Ramesh Sharma - in Hindi we call these kind of people 'Khadoos' (rude/ snobbish). I kept insisting that aunty said she would help us. I knew that there was a possibility that she was inside and she just might hear me. The door was slammed in my face. Dejected, I told the verification officer that I would figure it out and took him to the uncle's place on the second floor. Their door was locked - clearly the family wasn't at home; it was dinner time, they could've gone out for a family meal. I was cursing my luck...
Luckily, I heard some noise on the third floor and saw someone going upstairs. So, I knew that the residents on the third floor were there. I told the officer that we could ask the third floor residents to sign as witness. We rang their doorbell while they were in the midst of their meal. Luckily uncle opened the door and he recognizes me. What luck - he is a Sardar too and immediately hits it off with my verification officer. He agrees to help me and washes his hands midway through his dinner. He and his wife are so sweet that they bring us tea. I am in a not so pleasant mood; things weren't going according to plan but my verification officer was having a good time. He was sipping his second 'chai' in 30 mins, talking in Punjabi, making fun of this younger generation etc. We finished formalities and I was hoping that we could be on our way soon, however they kept talking for over 20 mins. Me - I just pretended to smile.
I was persistent and went back to the landlord's place and rang their doorbell. This time as uncle gave me a talking to and shoo'ed me away, I saw aunty in the background. I really hoped she saw me too. I took the verification officer back to my place and gave him his 3rd Chai in an hour. He was enjoying it, mentioned to me that if he had to wait any longer, he expected dinner. Luckily, aunty knocked on our door then. She apologized saying she was busy and just heard that I was looking for her. She completed her formalities in a jiffy. I was thrilled - finally relieved! Seeing me happy put off my verification officer. He asked me for more documents and then asked me the MOST important question - the reason for this entire post... What is the V in my name? He didn't like the V 'dangling' ("yeh 'V' udd kyun raha hai", he said) and the end of my last name and insisted it be expanded. Said, in the north, they didn't go by initials! V stood for Vashudev, my dad's name. He corrected my name there and I saw my name get changed right in front of me and I couldn't do anything. Sharan Godya Vashudev it read, with 'Godya Vashudev' being my last name - he was beaming as though he'd saved the world or caught a criminal. Imagine my plight explaining why I have a double-pronged last name to visa officers, the IRS etc. - go figure!
My social security number and all my official documents in the US go by this long-ass last name which I probably have to live with for the rest of my life. So - coming back. India is an interesting country. What works in one part of the country, doesn't in another. You just got to adapt. My name had to freaking adapt! Maybe I could have pushed back, maybe I could've found another way out but the truth is.... I had run out of tea powder!
THE END.