Girgaum Chowpatty beach, or for those in the know, simply Chowpatty, is an iconic Mumbai landmark. Generations of bright-eyed outsiders have made sure to visit this beach as part of their tour of the urbs prima in Indis. Naturally, Bollywood, peddling dreams of the Big City to the masses, hasn’t left it out either: In Phool Khile Hain Gulshan Gulshan, Rishi Kapoor takes Manu Bhai’s motor out for a spin in the city and sings, Chowpatty jaaenge naa, Bhelpuri khaaenge (we’ll go to Chowpatty and eat bhelpuri).
Sung today, Kapoor would have to substitute the far less lyrical “Swaraj Bhoomi” for “Chowpatty”. As part of its development agenda, the Bharatiya Janata Party-led state government has renamed the city’s iconic beach “Swaraj Bhoomi” to honour Bal Gangadhar Tilak who was cremated in Chowpatty.
This is, of course, nothing new. If nothing else, since 1947, India’s politicians have left behind them a consistently stellar record of renaming things. If the British ever did come back and try and rule over us, they’d fail spectacularly simply because they’d be unable to recognise any place on a map or follow a road sign.
Cawnpore to Kanpur
To be fair, some renaming was needed: a few old names did reflect what was nothing more than a mispronunciation of the local language by the British. So “Cawnpore” became “Kanpur“, “Jubbulpore“ was changed to “Jabalpur“, “Simla” to “Shimla”, “Jullundur” to “Jalandhar” and “Nerbudda“ to “Narmada“. Fair enough. But sometimes the British names made their way even into the English the Indians spoke. While no self-respecting Indian English speaker would go to “Cawnpore”, living in “Bombay” or “Calcutta” was quite okay.
In effect, what happened was that through the process of history, a rather large number of places in India developed natural Indian English language names quite different from those in the local language. There was of course, Bombay, Calcutta and Madras but also Calicut (Kozhikode), Bengal (Banga) and Bangalore (Bengaluru). In almost all cases, for Anglophone Indians, the English name complimented the Indian language name. So “Calcutta” would be the name in English, "Kolkata" in Bengali and "Kalkatta" in Hindustani. It was a rather harmonious system.
Unfortunately, in spite of this nomenclatural equilibrium, politicians on the look-out for quick political points, harnessed Indian society's chauvinist soft spot and used it to kick out the English names. By fiat now, Indian English would be forced to use the local language name. This rule was enforced with rare enthusiasm in Mumbai, where local chauvinists used their muscle power to make sure “Bombay” was airbrushed away without a trace. So dire is the situation now that the censor board makes sure that the word “Bombay” isn’t even accidentally used in, say, a song lest it corrupt the youth of the city.
The renamers were driven partly by linguistics. The average Indian politician, post-Independence, was not an Anglophone. A “Bombay” or “Madras" held no appeal to him. This trend was also, however, driven by our political structures, which gave our cities very little independence, putting them completely under the thumb of state leaders.
Kicking out local names
These state leaders were outsiders to the cities that they came to reside in and, eventually, control. The rich histories and current social structures of the city had little meaning for them. Thus not only did they give English language names the boot, they also kicked out names that had been thoroughly absorbed into the local language.
Mumbai’s most iconic landmark was once called the Victoria Terminus or VT, in all the languages spoken in the city. Now, by government order, it is Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus. Calcutta’s main business district, Dalhousie Square is now Benoy, Badal and Dinesh Bagh (or BBD Bagh) and its most famous thoroughfare, Park Street, is now named after Mother Teresa (much, perhaps, to Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh chief’s chagrin). In Delhi, the inner circle of Connaught Place is now called Rajiv Chowk the Hindi word “chowk”, meaning junction or square, being an odd choice to call a circle. So taxed is the name “Rajiv Gandhi” – it lends itself to more than 200 government schemes – that perhaps it would be unfair to demand consistency in such minor matters of logic.
What makes the latest name change a little different from the other high profile ones in the past is that etymologically, Chowpatty is really Chau-paati or four channels or four creeks, as per the Bombay City Gazetteer, and thus has no colonial connotation. Many of the name changes may have been driven by nationalistic impulses, and not just chauvinistic ones, trying to replace names of people that would have resonance in Britain – Victoria, Connaught, Dalhousie – with those in India – Chhatrapati Shivaji, Rajiv Gandhi, Binoy, Badal and Dinesh.
While political leaders might decide the fate of the official names of the city’s roads, parks and beaches, the citizens of the metropolis still have one last mode of silent protest: oral preservation. Official names might change, but for the people of the city, the old names live on for decades after. "Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus" and "Rajiv Chowk" were names that were adopted two decades back but orally, most citizens still use abbreviation of the old name, "VT" and "CP" (though Rajiv Chowk is now making its existence felt as a Metro station). In Calcutta, the wholesale renaming of streets has bypassed the city’s otherwise knowledgeable taxi drivers. If you want to get anywhere in the city, you better have the old street names at hand.
Much the same will, of course, happen with Girgaum Chowpatty. “Swaraj Bhoomi" might be a fine name but when one wants to have a bhelpuri, Chowpatty will be the place to go to.
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Sung today, Kapoor would have to substitute the far less lyrical “Swaraj Bhoomi” for “Chowpatty”. As part of its development agenda, the Bharatiya Janata Party-led state government has renamed the city’s iconic beach “Swaraj Bhoomi” to honour Bal Gangadhar Tilak who was cremated in Chowpatty.
This is, of course, nothing new. If nothing else, since 1947, India’s politicians have left behind them a consistently stellar record of renaming things. If the British ever did come back and try and rule over us, they’d fail spectacularly simply because they’d be unable to recognise any place on a map or follow a road sign.
Cawnpore to Kanpur
To be fair, some renaming was needed: a few old names did reflect what was nothing more than a mispronunciation of the local language by the British. So “Cawnpore” became “Kanpur“, “Jubbulpore“ was changed to “Jabalpur“, “Simla” to “Shimla”, “Jullundur” to “Jalandhar” and “Nerbudda“ to “Narmada“. Fair enough. But sometimes the British names made their way even into the English the Indians spoke. While no self-respecting Indian English speaker would go to “Cawnpore”, living in “Bombay” or “Calcutta” was quite okay.
In effect, what happened was that through the process of history, a rather large number of places in India developed natural Indian English language names quite different from those in the local language. There was of course, Bombay, Calcutta and Madras but also Calicut (Kozhikode), Bengal (Banga) and Bangalore (Bengaluru). In almost all cases, for Anglophone Indians, the English name complimented the Indian language name. So “Calcutta” would be the name in English, "Kolkata" in Bengali and "Kalkatta" in Hindustani. It was a rather harmonious system.
Unfortunately, in spite of this nomenclatural equilibrium, politicians on the look-out for quick political points, harnessed Indian society's chauvinist soft spot and used it to kick out the English names. By fiat now, Indian English would be forced to use the local language name. This rule was enforced with rare enthusiasm in Mumbai, where local chauvinists used their muscle power to make sure “Bombay” was airbrushed away without a trace. So dire is the situation now that the censor board makes sure that the word “Bombay” isn’t even accidentally used in, say, a song lest it corrupt the youth of the city.
The renamers were driven partly by linguistics. The average Indian politician, post-Independence, was not an Anglophone. A “Bombay” or “Madras" held no appeal to him. This trend was also, however, driven by our political structures, which gave our cities very little independence, putting them completely under the thumb of state leaders.
Kicking out local names
These state leaders were outsiders to the cities that they came to reside in and, eventually, control. The rich histories and current social structures of the city had little meaning for them. Thus not only did they give English language names the boot, they also kicked out names that had been thoroughly absorbed into the local language.
Mumbai’s most iconic landmark was once called the Victoria Terminus or VT, in all the languages spoken in the city. Now, by government order, it is Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus. Calcutta’s main business district, Dalhousie Square is now Benoy, Badal and Dinesh Bagh (or BBD Bagh) and its most famous thoroughfare, Park Street, is now named after Mother Teresa (much, perhaps, to Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh chief’s chagrin). In Delhi, the inner circle of Connaught Place is now called Rajiv Chowk the Hindi word “chowk”, meaning junction or square, being an odd choice to call a circle. So taxed is the name “Rajiv Gandhi” – it lends itself to more than 200 government schemes – that perhaps it would be unfair to demand consistency in such minor matters of logic.
What makes the latest name change a little different from the other high profile ones in the past is that etymologically, Chowpatty is really Chau-paati or four channels or four creeks, as per the Bombay City Gazetteer, and thus has no colonial connotation. Many of the name changes may have been driven by nationalistic impulses, and not just chauvinistic ones, trying to replace names of people that would have resonance in Britain – Victoria, Connaught, Dalhousie – with those in India – Chhatrapati Shivaji, Rajiv Gandhi, Binoy, Badal and Dinesh.
While political leaders might decide the fate of the official names of the city’s roads, parks and beaches, the citizens of the metropolis still have one last mode of silent protest: oral preservation. Official names might change, but for the people of the city, the old names live on for decades after. "Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus" and "Rajiv Chowk" were names that were adopted two decades back but orally, most citizens still use abbreviation of the old name, "VT" and "CP" (though Rajiv Chowk is now making its existence felt as a Metro station). In Calcutta, the wholesale renaming of streets has bypassed the city’s otherwise knowledgeable taxi drivers. If you want to get anywhere in the city, you better have the old street names at hand.
Much the same will, of course, happen with Girgaum Chowpatty. “Swaraj Bhoomi" might be a fine name but when one wants to have a bhelpuri, Chowpatty will be the place to go to.