A FEW OLDIES: THE RUMINATIONS OF SU AND MAU

Mau was sitting very still and looking straight ahead at the white board of her cubicle. Su was watching Mau and oddly enough both of them were thinking the exact same thing, the very same thought. Now what would they say if they knew that?

They were both wondering about Mau’s name. Su was short for Suresh. People nowadays have a propensity to shorten names to single syllables, even ones that are already short and easily pronounceable by the most unwieldy tongue – Suresh. Straight, simple, steady – the very reasons that annoyed Su. He had always felt that his commonplace name, unconsciously and automatically, turned him into a commonplace entity, a nonentity, of course he acknowledged that the thought was indeed ridiculous and was well aware that the rose by any other name etc. Still that offered him no comfort and whenever he introduced himself he felt the need to urge upon his new acquaintances the shortened version – Su. Su was short, novel – Su felt like a more authentic and valid representation of himself.

It is unfair, thought he, that the one thing that remains with you all your life, through thick and thin, prosperity and poverty, illness and health – your name, is something you cannot choose. Possibly, a subtle, ironic joke on every man and woman in this world, hinting slyly that hey hotshots, even your name is not really your own. And most of us miss out on it; the joke is on us, thought Su, sullenly.

But of course this wasn’t the thought Su was sharing with Mau.

They were wondering about Mau’s name, at the exact moment, synchronised and in tandem. Now, Mau, how did she get that name? It is highly unlikely that her parents were exceedingly original and thought up this supremely individualistic, even enviable name for their daughter by themselves. The thought is even ludicrous; Mau was born at least thirty years ago or perhaps earlier, thought Su. Did they even have the Internet here, thirty years ago?  Did she perhaps change her name later on? Su had never thought of officially changing his name. It wouldn’t really make a difference. Once you are named, you are tagged forever, thought Su, miserably. I am Suresh, now, here and forever. I can never be a Mau (it did not disconcert him that Mau, was apparently, a feminine name, that the sole possessor of that name as far as he knew, was a woman. Mau was a very unisexual name, a symbol of all that is different and unique – something Su had, tragically, lost because of his stolid and unimaginative parents.)

Mau, Su had thought before this entire train of philosophising on names, M-A-U.

Mau, thought Mau, M-A-U. Mau was a source of worry and perpetual confusion to Mau. Her parents were either unable or unwilling to give a coherent explanation as to the origins of her name. How were they able to be unconcerned about the terrible baggage they had shoved onto her shoulders the moment she was born, without so much as even considering her opinion, requesting her acquiescence? Of course, Mau knew that she had to be called something. But why Mau? What sort of a name is that?  An annoyed sigh escaped her lips, rather like the hiss of an asp, only much less sinister of course. There were any number of straight, simple, steady names. Any one of them would have sufficed. And yet, here she was, Mau. She felt like an anachronism – something that belonged to some other era, past or future, by virtue of her name, and she certainly did not like it.  It would have been better had she known her namesake, if any, thought she. She must have had a namesake, she reasoned. She could not imagine her otherwise regular, commonplace parents deciding on impulse to call their first-born Mau.  But they simply could not provide her with the solace of a namesake. Why would it be better if she knew that there was one? Possibly she might feel an invisible hand lift the burden of the tragic name from her shoulders, redistribute it across the unfortunate unwitting possessors of the said name, make it okay in some manner.  There are probably several Maus in Thailand or China or Japan, thought Mau suddenly. People there had names like that, she reasoned vaguely. But no, that did not make it better. A Mau in India could share her distress, one in Thailand was of no consequence, thought Mau sullenly. Perhaps she wouldn’t have despised her name quite so much, if she didn’t associate so very many annoying memories with it – amused glances; quizzical expressions; questions regarding the meaning (meaning!) of her name from inquisitive strangers to which she could only respond with the blank stare which was her parent’s standard reply; teachers remembered her unusual name and made it a point to pick her out in class during Q&A; kids poked fun twisting her name around to mean an amazing gamut of things, and moreover she had to turn her head and acknowledge every time someone called out “Maaaauuuuuu…!”. It felt like a primeval animal call and it always drew attention to the addressee, more so than the addressor. Mau’s life, therefore, had been spent in the fatiguing exercise of staying in the background.

Mau and Su stared sullenly at the white boards of their cubicles and scowled. They were both getting ready to leave the day behind and walk into their respective sunsets as the lift clicked open and an intensely efficient looking courier guy, walked in.

“Is there a Mr. Suresh here?”

“Yeah. Right here. Hello!”

“Oh, right, if you could sign here sir, you have a courier.”

“A courier? I am not expecting one.”

“You are Mr. Suresh?”

“Is that a Suresh N or a Suresh M?”

“Don’t know. I thought you were Suresh.” The courier guy’s eyebrows contracted into deep furrows of thought.

“I am Suresh. Is there an initial on your note there? Is that an N or an M?” Suresh felt his temples ache.

“I’m… not sure. Aren’t you Suresh?” The courier guy’s eyebrows now betrayed distinct annoyance. He could not decipher the handwriting on the box, the staples were right across the finely printed name of the recipient on the cover receipt and the last thing he wanted to do was to pore over inconsequential extensions of inconsequential names.

“Yes I am. But, there are others.” Suresh’s temples were throbbing at the unfairness of it all.

“Hey man, why did you say were Suresh if you weren’t?”

“I am Suresh, damn it. I wasn’t expecting..”

“Yeah, I mean if you aren’t the Suresh…”

“How was I supposed to know who you were referring to?” Suresh’s nerves were stinging like a hundred hypodermics stuck all over his body. Was this guy a moron?

“Where is the other Suresh, if this isn’t yours?”

“I didn’t say it isn’t mine. It could be.  I only said…”

“Eh, what are you saying.” The presumptuous little prick, thought Su.

“Maaaaaauuuuu… I got this letter here, it’s for you, was lying on my desk. Take it when you leave” yelled Rishabh from the cubicle across the room. The courier guy turned an interested gaze at Mau, and grinned, presumably at the name, and Mau wilted.

“Could you please check the damn initials? Is it an N or an M?”

“I can’t see. You don’t know sir? How will I know? You check by yourself” Said the courier guy, turning his attention to Su from the interesting female specimen with the unusual name in the other cubicle. Su’s temples burst into a cloud of frustrated despair.

“Keep the fucking courier, you moron.” Said Su, and gathered up his belongings and walked resolutely to the lift that opened with a click, leaving a surprised and wounded courier guy behind. Mau joined Su in the lift, as did several of their co-workers. The courier guy was looking curiously at Mau, perhaps also at Su, we will never know.

“Damned name.” thought Su and Mau, at the exact same moment.