When we were scouting for a name to bestow upon our firstborn, a very close friend of mine remarked - "Why bother? His pals are gonna call him something embarrassing anyway." Yea, nicknames. Sometimes embarrassing. Sometimes funny. And almost always makes you wonder "where did THAT come from?" Because each nickname is a unique story. A celebration of one very personal relationship. I'm not talking about those nicknames widely used, but the special ones. The one nickname that only one person (or a close group) calls you by. The one nickname that you feel inherently protective towards. The one nickname that you wouldn't allow anyone else to utter.
It's not the same with our "real" names. We all dream that our name will one-day spread wide and far. We all want our name to live on in history forever. And to achieve so, we spend a lifetime doing what they call "making a name for ourselves". But how about relishing the nicknames, instead? How about cherishing them, appreciating them, celebrating them? How about spending time with that one person (or that close group) who simply refuses to remember what your actual name is? Because your name may very well be forever, but your nickname lasts only as long as the other person does.
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A very close friend of my dad passed away today. He was the only one in their group who called dad "Johnny!" I always assumed that's an intentionally corrupted form of my dad's name. Never really asked. Or even if I had, never really got an answer. I'd like to believe there's a little story hidden there, from back when they were in college. I guess I'll never find out. While speaking to dad over the phone, a few hours ago, he tells me - "Aar keu konodin aamay Johnny bole dakbe na" (Nobody will ever call me Johnny again).
