My Mom Didn't Approve

This is a true story. It's about my parents. And about names.

It happened while my parents were engaged. My Dad lived in Calcutta, my Mom in Bombay, at that time. (Calcutta and Bombay, now called Kolkata and Mumbai respectively, are two cities in India, one in the east, the other on the west coast.)

My Dad received a letter from my Mom one day, and it made him 'tut' and smile. Those, of course, were the days of snail-mail. There was no email, and phone calls across cities were rare. People exchanged letters. Real letters, in real envelopes, with real stamps stuck on them.

So anyway, the letter made Dad 'tut' and smile.

See, Dad had a convertible Standard Avon (1935 model, so it shared his year of birth) which he raced on the Alipore Circuit on weekends. It was, to use today's term, pre-owned, which meant that it was second-hand and he had restored it to be able to race it.

And he wanted to give it a name.

He decided to name it so that the name reflected what he thought it looked like.

Only, his future wife didn't approve.

He folded the letter and put it aside. He'd have to think of another name.

She had written: "Darling, if you won a race and your name came in the newspaper, I'd want to show it to my friends. And I'd be very embarrassed to show them a newspaper clipping which said that Arun Bhatia had won the race in THE BATHTUB. Much Love, Gita."

A few years later, they were married, and a few years after that, I was born. He wanted to name me Sonali, and that was allowed and approved of.

So this isn't about naming a car at all. It's about NOT naming a car, but naming a baby.