Arun Arora
LONG ago, before maps were redrawn and tongues forced to bend, names in India were like mantras – each syllable sacred, each name steeped in purpose. The river Ganga wasn’t just a river; she was a goddess. The mountain Himalay wasn’t just terrain; it was the abode of divinity. Even in ordinary homes, names like Sury, Ganesh, and Kanishk carried stories – of sun gods, wisdom, and royal legacy.
But when foreign rulers came, something subtle but lasting began to change.
They struggled with the sounds – those soft ‘sh’ sounds, the clipped ‘t’s, and the rolling ‘r’s. So, they reshaped them. Ganga became Ganges, Ram became Rama, and Himalay became Himalayas. Even the feared and revered villains of our epics weren’t spared – Ravan became Ravana, Kans became Kansa. And our beloved Krishan? He was reshaped into Krishna. Somewhere along the way, the change became normalised. Like the slow erosion of a stone under dripping water, we began to accept these versions without question.
What’s in a Name?
A lot, it turns out. Take Ashok, the great king whose name was morphed into Ashoka. His leadership unified Bharat (not Bharata)—and yet, even in our textbooks, he’s remembered through a lens not fully his own. Or consider Arjun, the archer whose clarity in Kurukshetr (not Kurukshetra) still guides leaders and seekers alike. His name, too, was softened, foreignised – it became Arjuna.
This reshaping didn’t happen across the board. The names of those who colonised us – Mughals, Akbar, Lord Mountbatten – stayed intact. It was our heritage that was flexible, our identities that were up for revision.
I often wonder: why?
Mames are the first thing our parents, and ancestor, give us. They are blessings, stories, and prayers in one word. They’re not just labels; They are legacy. And if we don’t reclaim them, who will? Even Ayurved – our gift to the world – was reshaped to Ayurveda. Ironically, while Allopathy and Homeopathy, which came from outside India, were preserved in their original forms, our own knowledge was altered. It’s time we paused and reflected.
Respecting authenticity
It is isn’t about language purism or nationalism. This is about respect. About authenticity. About honouring where we come from. So, here I am, making a quiet pledge – not just for myself, but for all who care about our shared identity: Let’s say Ganga, not Ganges. Let’s talk of Ram and Krishan, Ravan and Kans, Ashok and Bharat, Arjun and Kanishk, Ved, Ganesh, and Sury. Let’s bring the soul back into the syllables. This is not just a correction. It’s a celebration. Let’s begin where all good things begin – with a name.
