The romance of names – The Hindu

There is a certain romance in names. Not the names of people, but of places. Places I have never seen and may never visit, yet their names sound exotic, mysterious, and sometimes just beautiful.

In the early days of my career, I was enchanted by names such as Brundamal, Panki, Nayani, and Buda Phank — the way they rolled off the tongue was musical and rhythmic. They stayed with me long after the workday ended. Eventually, they became characters in the bedtime stories I told my toddler.

I had never visited any of these places. They were simply names I encountered in the course of my work, tucked away in freight schedules. But for me, they were more than dots on a map. They gave my imagination free rein. My creativity soared with the antics of Brundamal the dragon and his loyal friends Panki-Nayani and Buda Phank. Incidentally, Panki-Nayani was a two-headed dragon…drawn from the two-point rakes we ran to these destinations.

My profession in logistics might seem dry on the surface, but it kept introducing me to such lyrical names… like a hidden poetry scattered across India’s rail map.

A few days ago, work brought me to Taj Lands End at Bandra, Mumbai. That part of the city is actually called Lands End. It’s a peninsular tip where the city seems to merge with the sea… literally, the land’s end.

The name alone gave me jitters… in both a good and eerie way. It sounded like something straight out of an Agatha Christie novel, just waiting for a crime to be committed. The name carried mystery, a strange potential, and also a finality. Does the land give way to the vastness of the sea… or is there just a void beyond?

“Lands End”. I couldn’t stop rolling the name over and over on my tongue.

With these thoughts swirling in my head, I stepped out for a walk. The weather was pleasant, and I simply wanted to explore the posh neighbourhood — home to some of Bollywood’s biggest stars. The terrain was hilly. The side roads, as in most wealthy neighbourhoods, were deserted, save for the occasional BMW or Audi gliding by.

I walked through those quiet streets, trying to imagine what might be unfolding behind those windows. Scenes came to life in my mind: dim lights, silk curtains, clinking crystal glasses, and soft music… a piano, perhaps — and then suddenly… a silent scream no one hears. It played out like a Hitchcock film in my head.

Lost in such cinematic thoughts, I was startled by a gruff voice behind me: “Aapka ek mundi reh gaya, paise wapas kar dunga!”

I froze. Mundi means head, right? Had I stumbled upon some underworld dealings? I turned around slowly, cautiously, not wanting to witness something I shouldn’t.

It was a fish seller. On the phone.

An anti-climax? Yes.

But will that stop me from being a romantic?

Not a chance.

Not when names alone can spin entire stories.

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