We, humans, have a need to name things. It aids memory. It creates identity. We name what we see, what we fear, or what we want remembered. This holds true across people, pets, politicians, brands and services. But is there an art of naming?
Mumbai’s underworld practised this with ruthless efficiency. There were no branding decks. Just instant recall labels that endured long after the individuals were gone. In contrast, there is a quiet honesty in how we name pets, and an almost theatrical dishonesty in how we name humans.
Take barfi. A white dog. Soft. Sweet. No debate. No committee and no consultant. Just: “He looks like barfi.” Done. Sheru is different. The dog may weigh 20 kg and be afraid of cats, but the name conveys ambition. It signals alpha behaviour, a leadership instinct spotted early. Sheru is less a name and more a performance expectation. Then comes Catrine. Not Katrina. Cat-rina. A cat that walks like it owns a runway. Tail up. Eyes judging. The name emerges from observation, with a touch of borrowed fandom. Conan exists because someone loved a cartoon detective. Pure cultural import. And my own Milo comes from the kids’ favourite drink. Was there an art of naming in operation?
The Mafia Art of Naming.
In the underworld, naming was brutally direct. Ustra, because that was the weapon of choice. ‘Lagda Tyagi’, because of a distinct limp. The body dictated identity, unconcerned with sensitivities. The ‘Doctor’ fixed the problems. ‘Chhota Rajan’ was not born ‘Chhota’; the name reflected hierarchy. ‘Bada Rajan’ signified status, not size. Daddy came from the chawl.
Tiger Memon earned his name through performance on a cricket field. Ravan (Amar Naik) for his cruelty. Salim Kutta for his growl. ‘Salim Passport’ for his trade. ‘Salim Mazgaon’ and ‘Salim Kurla ‘for where they lived. ‘Salim Haddi’ for a protruding Adam’s apple. ‘Tahir Taklya’ for baldness. ‘Fahim Machmach’ for persistent calls. ( More known names added as suggested by Uday Vijyan, my friend)
Karim Lala carried cultural authority. Haji Mastan signalled pilgrimage and legitimacy. Interestingly, Dawood Ibrahim did not require any label. His name became the brand. At peak power, descriptors become redundant. Though Muchaad and Don were used for him.
These names fall into clear buckets: physical traits, functions, or reputations. There is little aspiration and almost no irony. Names emerge from what is seen, done, loved or feared. No disguise. No invention.
Politics: Same Instinct, Softer Edges
Politicians rarely escape this instinct. Names are assigned by the public, the media, or party machinery, again based on traits, events, or personality.
Mahatma remains the most enduring example. Contemporary politics offers NaMo, Chaiwala, Hindu Hriday Samrat, Iron Lady or Durga, Didi, The Gipper, No Drama Obama, Orange Man and VVP.
Unlike street names, political nicknames are often negotiated. Some are imposed. Some are adopted, and some are engineered. Yet, they still follow the same underlying logic: they stick when they feel earned. Maybe they read a different book on the art of naming.
ART OF NAMING- The Human Ritual
Human naming rituals take a different route. We consult calendars. Align stars. Seek meanings not immediately visible. Names carry aspiration, not evidence. A “Veer” may avoid risk. A “Shanti” may thrive in chaos. Osho suggested that names are cages. Labels that arrest flow. Yet we accept them because they serve a purpose.
Names as Protection
In periods of high infant mortality in early Bengal, naming was totally sentimental, but for a few it was one more way to enhance survival. A widespread belief held that Yama, the God of Death, or jealous evil spirits, were drawn to beautiful, healthy, cherished children and would take them away. Families, especially those who had already had child deaths, gave a newborn an ugly, worthless or unpleasant name so death would pass over the child. The logic was simple: what appears undesirable attracts no envy.
So children were named Ghute (cow dung cake), suggesting worthless; Kharap (“bad”), to signal no value at all; Hada (“bone”), implying a frail, unhealthy child; Kutkute (“tiny” or insignificant), to appear too weak to matter; Bhut (“ghost”), making the child seem less human than spectral; and Aalo, used in some places to imply low worth or unattractiveness to name a few examples. What appears crude today was once protective psychology, parents using names not to celebrate identity, but to deceive fate. (added after inputs from Ashish Chakravorty- a colleague and friend from advertising days)
Brands: Between Truth and Theatre
Brand naming sits in a confused middle ground. It seeks the honesty of Barfi, the ambition of Sheru, the cultural relevance of Conan, and the recall of Milo.
Sometimes, it works.
Apple is simple and familiar, yet sells premium technology. Nike borrows from mythology. Slack redefines a word once associated with laziness. Names like Poison (restaurant) and Orange (telecom) shift in meaning over time.
Then come the functional names. The corporate equivalents of Ustra or Lagda Tyagi. Paytm. Google Pay. Dream11. Upgrad. Red Bull. Dropbox. Nykaa. Urban Company. Blinkit. Here, function becomes identity. No poetry. Just purpose.
But when brands try too hard, they invent names that mean nothing initially, hoping repetition will create meaning. These names avoid the obvious and chase disruption. They lack the clarity of Barfi or the ambition of Sheru. They are syllables waiting for substance.
When successful, brand names begin to behave like street names. They feel earned. They become easy to decode, and they carry a single, dominant signal. When they fail, they resemble committee compromises: careful, safe, and forgettable.
Three Naming Systems
There are three distinct approaches at play across pets, politicians and mafia:
- Observed Reality: Naming what we see. Fast, sticky, often irreversible.
- Projected Identity: Naming based on hope and aspiration. Common for children and brands. Often inaccurate.
- Constructed Perception: Naming to shape what others should feel. A negotiation between truth and ambition.
The Uncomfortable Question
The most memorable names, Barfi, Sheru, and Dropbox, emerge from visible truth or repeated behaviour. They are earned.
So why do we keep inventing names that avoid both?
Would a brutally honest name like Ustra or Lagda Tyagi survive corporate processes today? Or would legal, PR and global positioning erase it before it finds voice? And would other names not create issues like Trikal?
When we name brands now, are we observing reality? Or are we expecting the name to do the work the product has not yet done? Does changing the name of a city work? Will Jaswant Nagar be any better than Lansdowne? How the operations are coded– they too carry a meaning.
The underworld, uncomfortable as it may be to admit, mastered consistency between name and action.
That thought lingers. Like a dog named Sheru, staring at a ceiling fan, contemplating greatness.
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