https://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/city/goa/rename-game-from-west-bengal-to-bangla/articleshow/66308611.cms
“What’s in a name” asked Shakespeare in Romeo and Juliet, then answered himself, “that which we call a rose by any name would smell as sweet.” But the politics of language ensure things remain much more complicated. We find names matter very much indeed. The latest hullaballoo about nomenclature was stirred by Mamata Banerjee’s move to rename the giant Indian state of West Bengal (its population is approximately 100 million) to ‘Bangla’ after failing with her previous attempt to become ‘Paschim Bango’ in 2011. While the state legislature voted overwhelmingly in favour, the home ministry in Delhi has objected about the obvious similarity to the even more massive neighboring nation of Bangladesh (population 167 million). As with almost every incidence in the sweeping rename game so lastingly popular in India, the roots of the problem lie in history and its impact on identity. Bengalis are Bengalis everywhere they live, whether Kolkata or Kansas, but the provincial British Raj entity called Bengal encompassed immense numbers of people who were not the same, reaching through Odisha (itself renamed relatively recently), parts of what is now Bihar, and the compendium North East states under the rubric of Assam. All these were eventually cleaved away, just as the Nepali-dominated highlands seek to achieve via another partition in the 21stcentury to become Gorkhaland. But most damagingly, Lord Curzon split Bengal into West and East in 1905. Though his successor Lord Hardinge repealed the division, the impact would be felt through Partition in 1947. Mamata Banerjee and her language-proud advisers are entirely right that “West” Bengal is a relic of colonialism. But then so is India itself, especially the strangely constituted post-Partition collection of states and territories that had no connection to each other except as possessions of a ruthless, extractive colonial state. No better example exists than “West” Bengal’s own Siliguri corridor, where a strip of land that narrows to less than 30 kilometres connects “mainland India” to the North East states, with Bangladesh and Nepal on either side. There is no possible geographic, cultural or social good reason for this absurd “chicken’s neck”, which has hurt the furthest-flung states to incalculable cost over the past several decades. It exists as colonialism’s legacy. The main problem with the rename game in India is its misguided emphasis on “authenticity” which tends to be connected to regressive and often majoritarian impulses. This has played out with real costs in examples like Bombay-turned-Mumbai, where the highly cosmopolitan roots and culture of the city were subsumed to Maharashtrian assertiveness, and devolved quickly to mob rule. That might not be sure to happen with West Bengal, but Bangla pride is automatically exclusive to other communities. One probable outcome is Gorkhaland will be achieved faster than otherwise. Goa certainly has its issues in this regard. For one thing, if there is one city name desperately crying out for relief it is the linguistic obscenity of ‘Panaji’ which makes no sense in any language, least of all native Konkani. Ponnje would work, and also the more anglicized Panjim, but the status quo is purely ridiculous. Perhaps more achievable right away is the terrible habit of Goa’s political class of appeasing their parties in the centre, rather than naming India’s smallest state’s monuments and official buildings after its own great achievers. Over the decades, Goa has produced far more than its share of athletes, artists and thinkers. If they are not recognized here, where will it happen. Here is one aspect of the rename game that would be immediately welcome.
