They had known it all along; the moment was fated to come. And come it did. The month of October ushered in a toothless, long-limbed wonder. All parts (and spares) in good working order. Thank god for the spares, his mother thought. There must have been some deep wisdom in deity for it to decree, not one, but two kidneys. If one failed there was the other, ready to take on the duty of purging piss with doubled vigour. If both failed, then we can always get him a transplant. After all, what’s one kidney from another? But the name sticks forever, his father thought. If the boy’s name was in bad shape, he would be stuck with it forever. Unlike a kidney, if he changed his name at the age of eighteen, his high school friends would say, weren’t you called Abhimanyu in school?
Abhimanyu? What type of name is that? she asked. Her boy wasn’t going to have a vile, common name like that. Her son would be named for enigma, for beauty, and for victory. Enigma Shenigma! his father said. He’ll have a good Indian name, one that honours his family. After all, he is our firstborn. My firstborn’s fate will not be decided by your whimsy. Whimsy? She had dreamt all her life of naming her son after someone great. Maybe for Milan Kundera. Maybe for Alexander the Great. Something lofty, beyond the parochialism of her small-town life. Milan!? That’s a bloody girl’s name. Or a city.
But, as in all things, they managed to make a deal. A compromise acceptable to all concerned parties. They had decided upon a good name, the best kind of name, with tradition and spice, and everything nice: Avijit Arthur Michael.
*Note: any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.
