Fun in the Name

                "What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet."

                                                                    William Shakespeare

I’ll start this story with my full name: Appasaheb Kadappa Malagaudanavar. "Appasaheb" is my given name, "Kadappa" is my father's given name, and "Malagaudanavar" is our family name or surname. Sometimes we shorten it to A. K. Malagaudanavar. I come from the northern part of Karnataka, Belagavi (formerly Belgaum) District. In that region of Karnataka and Maharashtra, the names typically includes the given name, father’s name, and family name. Names often reveal a lot of information—sometimes about religion, ancestry, or geographical background. They can serve as codes, rich in detail.

In India, naming conventions vary greatly. For example, in northern India, people often split their names into two parts, such as "Arunkumar," which becomes "Arun Kumar." You can sometimes tell a person’s language or origin based on their name—like "Banerjee," which suggests Bengal or northeastern Bihar, or "Savarakar," indicating Maharashtra or neighboring states. Names can tell you a lot about a person, and an entire chapter could be dedicated to what they reveal.

Surnames like mine are fairly common in my region, with variations such as Chinnannavar, Doddannavar, and Bharamannavar. People from our region find these names easier to pronounce. Over the years, I’ve encountered situations that were sometimes satirical or outright comical due to my name. Here are a few fun anecdotes:

 

 First Instance:

During my final year of engineering, our college hosted a Naval SSB interview. I submitted my name along with the others. As candidates returned from their interviews, they shared tips. Most said to expect questions unrelated to engineering—like one person who was asked how many steps he took to reach the hall. When my turn came, I entered the room, introduced myself, and took a seat. One interviewer, glancing at a file, asked, “Do you know your name?”

I replied confidently, "Yes," and stated my name.

He then asked, “How many A’s are there in your Name?”. 

I was taken aback, I started counting on the spot. But he stopped me, saying, “You don’t know your name; don’t count now. ‘A’ appears exactly twelve times as listed in your application. Thank you, you may go.” 

It was my first and the shortest job interview - certainly memorable due to my long name!

Second instances: 

 

After graduation I joined a PSU and was posted to Kanpur, Uttar Pradesh. No one could correctly pronounce either Appasaheb or Malagaudanavar. I was often called Appasheb, Apparao or simply “that lamba naam wala( person with the Long name)”. One person even dubbed me as “ Malgudi days “ , after the popular TV series of that time. It would be painful for me to recall what all they mispronounced for my Surname, so within a year, I settled on Appu (like the mascot for the 1982 Asiad games.) Many colleagues started calling me Appu. 

 

Initially, I was frustrated and even angered by the way they addressed me, but eventually, I learned to find the humour in it.  Interestingly, I interacted with people from various countries—Israelis, Germans, British, French, Russians, and Americans—who all managed to pronounce both my first name and surname accurately. It made me wonder why it’s so challenging for us Indians, given that names matter to individuals (as illustrated by the story of Xi Jinping and our DD). An interesting detail was that my colleague, Mr Kaushik Ghosh always addressed me correctly, using my full name. I admired his effort.

 

In the office, there was one common intercom phone for about twenty Officers and Employees working in in one large drawing hall. An attendant would take the call and call out the intended recipient. One day, a call came and the caller asked for someone by name. The attendant was puzzled, saying he didn’t know anyone by that name.

“अरे भाई साहब उस नाम का आदमी यहाँ कोई भी नहीं है|” ("Hey brother, there’s nobody by that name here"), he said, clearly annoyed as the caller insisted.

I asked him, what the problem was. He replied, "Sir, someone wants to speak to 'Mangal Gadbadwar,' and I keep telling him there’s no one by that name here, but he won’t listen."

 

सर वह किसी “मंगल गड़बड़ वार” के साथ बात करना चाहता है और मैं उसको बार बार बोल रहन हूँ कि यहाँ उस नाम का कोई नहीं है, वह सुनता ही नहीं|)

 

I smiled, realizing he had misheard my surname.  I took the call, and it was indeed for me. The caller, a customer, had read my full name in a letter but didn’t know “Appu” was my accepted nickname. Everyone in the hall burst into laughter when I told them, “In future, if anyone calls for ‘Mangal Gadbadwar,’ (मंगल गड़बड़ वार ) , that’s me..

Third Instance:

Back then, train reservations required a trip to the station, waiting in long lines. Whenever I wanted to visit my hometown, I had to go through this ordeal. There were two ways to reach my hometown:

Take a train from Kanpur to Bombay, then a connecting train to Belgaum or Miraj, followed by a bus.

Take a bus to Jhansi, a train to Sholapur, and then a bus home.

Each route had its own challenges, but with the introduction of the Nizamuddin-Goa Express around 1987, things became easier.

On one such occasion, after standing in que for nearly two hours in the summer heat, I handed my reservation slip to the clerk. He checked and said availability was a week later than my requested date. I agreed. Then he told me the fare, which seemed very high. 

I was surprised and said, 

“Bhai sahab maine First class ka ticket nahi Manga hai, please check karke bataye theek theek kitna Lagega” (भाई साहब मैंने फर्स्ट क्लास का टिकट नहीं माँगा है, प्लीज चेक करके बताये ठीक ठीक कितना लगेगा )

 (Bhai Sahab, I did not ask for a first class ticket, please double-check the fare.) “

 

The clerk smirked and replied

“Bhai sahab hum bhi second class ka hi bata rahe hain” 

(भाई साहब हम भी सेकंड क्लास का ही बता रहे हैं ) Brother, I am also telling you the second class fare only. “

 

I saw a wry smile on his pan ( Betel leaf) drenched mouth. 

I said 

“Bhai sahab kuch to galat hai, Railway ne kiraya itna jyada nahi badhaya hai aur ek admi ka kiraya itna nahi ho sakta hai” 

भाई साहब कुछ तो गलत है, रेलवे ने किराया इतना ज्यादा नहीं बढ़ाया है और एक आदमी का किराया इतना नहीं हो सकता है) 

Brother, something is wrong, the railway has not increased the fare so much and one man's fare cannot not be so much.

 

The clerk replied,

“ Bhai sahab, yahan teen admi mujhe dikh rahe hain aur aap ek ki baat kara rahe hai, Ye dekhiye isme “Mala” bhi hai, “Gaud” sahab bhi i Hai aur to aur “Anvar “Mia bhee hai, aur aap ek ticket maang rahe hain” 

 

भाई साहब, यहाँ तीन आदमी मुझे दिख रहे हैं और आप एक की बात कर रहे है, ये देखिये इसमें माला भी है, गौड़ sahab भी है और तो और अनवर मिया भी है, और आप एक टिकट मांग रहे हैं| 

 

Brother, I see three men in the list and you are talking about one.

See, it has a “Mala”, “Gowd sahab” and also a “Anwar” Miya, and you are asking for a single ticket?

 

I laughed realising he had divided my surname into three parts. Thought he must be knowing संधि विच्छेदन (sandhi vicchedan). 

Impressed by his wit, I clarified laughingly, 

“Bhai sahab is khoob garmi me aap bhi badhiya mazaak kar rahe hain, wo mera surname hai aur koi teen admi ka naam nahi” 

भाई साहब इस खूब गर्मी में आप भी बढ़िया मज़ाक कर रहे हैं, वो मेरा सरनेम है और कोई तीन आदमी का नाम नहीं |

“Brother, in this harsh heat you are making fun, that is my surname and not three persons’ name.”

 

Then he laughed along and asked how I Pronounce it and where am I from etc, while he was entering details in the ledger. As he handed me the ticket, he wished me a pleasant journey with a genuine smile. 

 

Fourth Instance:

 

In 1994, I was due for my second promotion. The process typically took place around Dussehra and I felt confident since people that matter knew me well, had a very good project on hand and I had aced the interview. 

One day, I got a call from the General Managers Office. 

 

He was on the phone and said “Appu, I am sorry, but I don’t know how this happened. Your name is not on the promotion list. It looks like someone with long name recommended by your boss got it instead.”.

 

I asked him very politely “Could you spell the name, Sir?”. 

 

He said “Malag…”, and I interrupted “Sir, that’s me. Thank you very much!”. 

 

The GM sighed in relief and congratulated me. He then asked me “Where are you from, you speak damn good Hindi” He never suspected that I am South Indian, as my Hindi was that good, the tone and the diction both. I told him I am from Belgaum. He asked me if I am a Maharashtrian. I said “No Sir, but I know little Marathi “. He occasionally spoke to me in Marathi afterward, recalling his time in Nashik.

 

Such is my unique surname! Even now, some people address me as Apparao or Appaji etc., but I no longer bother correcting them.

 

Note: All Names in the story are real, with no intent to offend anyone.