Is the changing of street names across Karachi a slippery slope which ultimately leads in the direction of the very identity of the city being threatened? And, even if it is not, is it an acceptable phenomenon?
There I was, sitting in my office, minding my own business (literally) and cursing the ineptitude of Pakistan at Test cricket, when the Karachi Electricity Supply Corporation decided to throw a further furball in the mouth of my malcontent.
We received our first ever electricity bill.
On the face of it, this is not really an event that would cause much wailing and gnashing of teeth, but it did get me started on a train of thought which I feel compelled to share. On the bill, our street address was recorded as ‘McLeod Road’. My immediate thought, when I noticed this, was, ‘I wonder how many people (besides my own ignorant self) work on this road who know that it is/was/should be called McLeod Road, and not I.I. Chundrigar Road at all’. Following closely on the heels of this thought was another: ‘How common is this phenomenon, and should we care?’
Answer number 1 is: not many at all, but more than expected. In a poll conducted at a gallop, less than 5% of people who have their own transportation knew what I.I. Chundrigar road was called before it was called that. For people who travel by bus, though, the number was greater, as some conductors still insist on calling it by the old name. Similarly, people under the age of thirty were more likely to be ignorant of this fact.
Answer number two, undoubtedly, is: fairly common. A cursory look at bank branch names and the more battered signs on business establishments, especially in the older parts of town, would testify readily to this. Stratchen Road is now Mohammad Bin Qasim Road; Bunder Road (Named not for any simian connections, but for the fact that it led to the harbour) is now M.A. Jinnah Road. Also, there is Elphinstone Street, better known as Zaibunnisa Street, and Dr. Daudpota Road, formerly known as E.I. Lines. And, of course, who can forget Drigh Road, a.k.a Shahrah-e-Faisal? The list goes on and on.
Digressing a little, even the names of roads that have remained unchanged have been affected by the inflections of the populace. Burns Road is now universally ‘Bunceroad’, and those bus conductors and old timers who still remember it by that name call McLeod Road, ‘Macklow Road’. This seems to suggest that such name changes are, at least to some extent, part of the anthropological evolution of a city, as local tongues change names so that they can be better wrapped around them.
On the topic of anthropological evolution, then, we come to the crux of my thoughts over the past few days. Have we, who have scoffed at the Hindutva-isation of India, ignored a similar malaise which has been creeping up on us all the while? Or is our own rewriting of history, in street name terms at least, a natural progression of a city constantly redefining itself? In other words, should I be employing this piece to glorify this trend, or to gripe about it?
My first instinct is to gripe. I am acutely aware that changes in street names are often a reflection of the changing balance of political power in the city and the nation as a whole and, being both aware of the damage that politics has caused to the fabric of the city in the past and politically apathetic in general myself, I am cautious of any moves which could polarise, jeopardise or any-other-ise the city.
There I was, sitting in my office, minding my own business (literally) and cursing the ineptitude of Pakistan at Test cricket, when the Karachi Electricity Supply Corporation decided to throw a further furball in the mouth of my malcontent.
We received our first ever electricity bill.
On the face of it, this is not really an event that would cause much wailing and gnashing of teeth, but it did get me started on a train of thought which I feel compelled to share. On the bill, our street address was recorded as ‘McLeod Road’. My immediate thought, when I noticed this, was, ‘I wonder how many people (besides my own ignorant self) work on this road who know that it is/was/should be called McLeod Road, and not I.I. Chundrigar Road at all’. Following closely on the heels of this thought was another: ‘How common is this phenomenon, and should we care?’
Answer number 1 is: not many at all, but more than expected. In a poll conducted at a gallop, less than 5% of people who have their own transportation knew what I.I. Chundrigar road was called before it was called that. For people who travel by bus, though, the number was greater, as some conductors still insist on calling it by the old name. Similarly, people under the age of thirty were more likely to be ignorant of this fact.
Answer number two, undoubtedly, is: fairly common. A cursory look at bank branch names and the more battered signs on business establishments, especially in the older parts of town, would testify readily to this. Stratchen Road is now Mohammad Bin Qasim Road; Bunder Road (Named not for any simian connections, but for the fact that it led to the harbour) is now M.A. Jinnah Road. Also, there is Elphinstone Street, better known as Zaibunnisa Street, and Dr. Daudpota Road, formerly known as E.I. Lines. And, of course, who can forget Drigh Road, a.k.a Shahrah-e-Faisal? The list goes on and on.
Digressing a little, even the names of roads that have remained unchanged have been affected by the inflections of the populace. Burns Road is now universally ‘Bunceroad’, and those bus conductors and old timers who still remember it by that name call McLeod Road, ‘Macklow Road’. This seems to suggest that such name changes are, at least to some extent, part of the anthropological evolution of a city, as local tongues change names so that they can be better wrapped around them.
On the topic of anthropological evolution, then, we come to the crux of my thoughts over the past few days. Have we, who have scoffed at the Hindutva-isation of India, ignored a similar malaise which has been creeping up on us all the while? Or is our own rewriting of history, in street name terms at least, a natural progression of a city constantly redefining itself? In other words, should I be employing this piece to glorify this trend, or to gripe about it?
My first instinct is to gripe. I am acutely aware that changes in street names are often a reflection of the changing balance of political power in the city and the nation as a whole and, being both aware of the damage that politics has caused to the fabric of the city in the past and politically apathetic in general myself, I am cautious of any moves which could polarise, jeopardise or any-other-ise the city.
Also, having freely and happily derided every one of our Neighbour to the East’s changes of city names, I am more than a little worried that my house may have been made of glass after all. This feeling is made even more acute when it seems that roads and roundabouts are being renamed throughout the city either after someone wielding a chequebook, or after the neighbour’s cousin’s son-in-law’s uncle of whoever is in power at the moment.
And speaking of roundabouts, the submarine roundabout continues to be called that, despite the fact that neither submarine nor roundabout remain any more. This is, I feel, a case of the mind sticking to what is familiar, in the way that old-timers still use the colonial street names. So that, too, would appear to be a name that is fated to be lost; it is a mere matter of time. After all, why should my daughter, who was born after the submarine ceased to be, have any reason to call it that? She has no mental reference point such as I do.
On the other hand, there are new names which not only catch on but are also embraced by one and all in a remarkably short length of time. A classic case of this is Schön Circle, which, despite being named recently and a clear case of corporate name-dropping, has been absorbed into the Karachi street lexicon in a manner that makes it hard to believe that there was actually a time when the name did not exist., and still persists even though the Circle, and Schon, are both long gone.
What, then, makes some names persist, and others fade away? Why are some names met with instant acceptance, and others are consigned to be used only in maps and official documents? I feel that the reasons are, in each case, unique. Bunder Road was, of course, immortalised in song, which can never hurt. In other cases, such as Schön Circle, perhaps, a landmark was just crying out for a name. The circle may now be long gone, but the name shows no sign of weakening its grip.
I realise that, in my own meandering way, I am no closer to reaching a conclusion on whether these changing street names are a first step towards the ‘Mumbaification’ of the city, or whether it is a case of a city forever on the move running to keep up with its own evolution. I guess in the end that is a decision that each one of us would have to make on our own.
None of this explains, however, why ‘Marine Promenade’ was renamed ‘Beach Avenue’, and that, ultimately, makes my mind up. A lot of street name changes are arbitrary, frivolous, unnecessary and unwelcome. They remove the romance and history of the city with banality or, worse, barely suppressed political rhetoric. In other words, what I call the ‘Mumbai Syndrome’. I do not think that the city is due to be renamed ‘Kolachi’, or ‘Krokola’ even, any time soon, but I still feel that in most cases this reverse colonisation is either unnecessary or unwelcome, or both.
What this means in the short term, is that I need to think of a suitable story for my daughter, so that she too can call the submarine roundabout by its proper name. Suggestions to this end are welcome.
And speaking of roundabouts, the submarine roundabout continues to be called that, despite the fact that neither submarine nor roundabout remain any more. This is, I feel, a case of the mind sticking to what is familiar, in the way that old-timers still use the colonial street names. So that, too, would appear to be a name that is fated to be lost; it is a mere matter of time. After all, why should my daughter, who was born after the submarine ceased to be, have any reason to call it that? She has no mental reference point such as I do.
On the other hand, there are new names which not only catch on but are also embraced by one and all in a remarkably short length of time. A classic case of this is Schön Circle, which, despite being named recently and a clear case of corporate name-dropping, has been absorbed into the Karachi street lexicon in a manner that makes it hard to believe that there was actually a time when the name did not exist., and still persists even though the Circle, and Schon, are both long gone.
What, then, makes some names persist, and others fade away? Why are some names met with instant acceptance, and others are consigned to be used only in maps and official documents? I feel that the reasons are, in each case, unique. Bunder Road was, of course, immortalised in song, which can never hurt. In other cases, such as Schön Circle, perhaps, a landmark was just crying out for a name. The circle may now be long gone, but the name shows no sign of weakening its grip.
I realise that, in my own meandering way, I am no closer to reaching a conclusion on whether these changing street names are a first step towards the ‘Mumbaification’ of the city, or whether it is a case of a city forever on the move running to keep up with its own evolution. I guess in the end that is a decision that each one of us would have to make on our own.
None of this explains, however, why ‘Marine Promenade’ was renamed ‘Beach Avenue’, and that, ultimately, makes my mind up. A lot of street name changes are arbitrary, frivolous, unnecessary and unwelcome. They remove the romance and history of the city with banality or, worse, barely suppressed political rhetoric. In other words, what I call the ‘Mumbai Syndrome’. I do not think that the city is due to be renamed ‘Kolachi’, or ‘Krokola’ even, any time soon, but I still feel that in most cases this reverse colonisation is either unnecessary or unwelcome, or both.
What this means in the short term, is that I need to think of a suitable story for my daughter, so that she too can call the submarine roundabout by its proper name. Suggestions to this end are welcome.
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Originally published in The Friday Times, 2006. This was the first ever piece of writing of mine that was picked up by a mainstream publication, so it's particularly close to my heart. I have tweaked a few words here and there to bring it a bit up to date.
