Twenty-year-old Neeraj Gurjar from Hasiyawas village in Rajasthan’s Ajmer district knew she was an unwanted child. The name the family gave her had their unhappiness over her birth spelt in each letter of the name. As the second girl child in the family, the grandmother named her Neraj (colloquial for naaraaz, upset).Her mother a daily-wager and father a cattle guard with the forest...
Twenty-year-old Neeraj Gurjar from Hasiyawas village in Rajasthan’s Ajmer district knew she was an unwanted child. The name the family gave her had their unhappiness over her birth spelt in each letter of the name. As the second girl child in the family, the grandmother named her Neraj (colloquial for naaraaz, upset).
Her mother a daily-wager and father a cattle guard with the forest department, ‘Neraj’ was named so to express the family’s disappointment on the arrival of a girl child, years after their first one.
“I was born seven years after my sister, and even after a long wait, the family didn’t get a boy, so I was named Neraj. There is a belief in the village that naming a girl like that would ensure the next child wouldn’t be a girl. I know three other Nerajs,” she says.
Named Neraj (upset) by the family, the 20-year-old has added positivity to her name and life.
In Rajasthan’s rural belts, unwanted girls are given names that express the unhappiness over their birth. Many girls have been named Ramghani (God, we’ve had ghani — enough), Haichuki or Achuki (girls are already there), Dhapudi (dhaap gaye — tired of girls), Manbhar (done with), and Mafi (apology), apart from being addressed as Neraj. However, young, educated women, who have been carrying the burden of these names, are now relooking at them and their attached legacy and finding newer dimensions of meaning within and outside them.
‘Neraj’ too refused to accept her destiny. As she grew up, she created not only a different spelling but also a new logic behind it. “I split the idea behind my name into neer (water) and aaj (today). Neeraj, for me, is fresh, flowing water that finds its way, getting over all hindrances trying to block it. The water is flowing now and here,” shares the 20-year-old undergraduate student with conviction. She travels every day to a library in Ajmer city, where she can study uninterrupted for a few hours.
The hope in her heart matches her determination to make a name for herself.
Hope is also what 26-year-old Ramghani Meghwanshi from Pech ki Baori in Bundi district associates with herself. While her sisters Rani, Suman, and Nikita got positive names, as the fourth daughter, she was named Ramghani. This name was not given by any member of her family but by the teacher of the school she was admitted to.
“The primary school teacher suggested that I should be given this name. After all, there were enough daughters in the family. As I grew up, my aversion to this name went on increasing,” she shares.
The irony was that when she asked her father about it, he said she was going to be named Kiran, but he went along with the teacher’s suggestion. Ramghani tried to change this name when she came to Class X.
“By then, all my documents were made, and it would lead to an additional financial burden for my family. The process is cumbersome as well. I decided that even if I am Ramghani on paper, I will call myself Kiran,” she asserts, adding, “There are different times of the day when the sun shines differently, but in all those phases, can anyone ever stop the sun’s rays? I think of myself as that ray of light that shines on, irrespective of circumstances.”
Once a child bride and now a mother of a three-year-old, Ramghani is pursuing nursing and wishes to make a career in this field. Recently, in her husband’s village, Khawas, an eighth-born girl child was named Neraj. “I asked her mother to keep her name Tejaswi instead. I shared with her how I am suffering the consequences of a bad name; why let this ill practice continue? Nobody can say if this girl will become a burden or a boon. But the family didn’t listen to me,” she tells The Federal.
Ajmer-based social activist Indira Pancholi, who has extensively worked in Rajasthan’s villages, has observed the impact of these names. “These girls already live amid challenges — being a girl child, early marriage, and dropping out of school. This social challenge of their names furthers the stigma of being an unwanted child. However, now that the rural girls are associating themselves with various opportunities and making a space for themselves through sports, technology, and education, they are bringing about changes,” Indira shares.
These girls may have names that ordinarily imply a particular negative trait, but they are altering and changing those meanings. Among the girls associated with Mahila Jan Adhikar Samiti, the organisation Indira works with, there is a teenager called Manbhar from a family of five sisters. “We know how she got that name, but today, she believes her name indicates — manbhar — a sense of fulfilment. Manbhar says we should live and celebrate life to the fullest,” Indira explains.
This celebration of themselves is an essential aspect of the lives of Dhaneshwari (27) and Kajol Parihar (23), two of seven siblings from Azad Nagar, Kishangarh. Dhaneshwari’s name on paper is this, but she is called Dhapu or Dhapudi in her family and neighbourhood. There were four sisters born before her, so the family began addressing her by this name. Her younger sister, Kajol, is called Achuki, going by the same logic. Dhaneshwari, also a victim of child marriage, did not identify with either her formal name or the one by which she was popularly addressed. She teaches different dance forms as her profession, so she goes by the name Danisha, as it is more contemporary and has the sound of her work.
“I am earning my own money; I have won many prizes in dance and even won a beauty pageant. People know and recognise me for who I am. I don’t want to go by the name I was given,” she asserts.
Kajol, on the other hand, does not mind her name. “My own family and my in-laws call me Achuki. I know the implication of the name, but for me, it indicates arrival — I have come. And that isn’t wrong. When I was born, I came to my parents’ house. Now that I am engaged, I have arrived at my in-laws’ house,” she says with a smile.
Ramghani (God, we’ve had ghani — enough) was named thus not by her parents but teacher.
Whether they change their names or own them, these young women are certainly claiming their identities and rights, rightfully making a name for themselves. Besides education, perspective-building, and financial independence, awareness of their sexual and reproductive health rights (SRHR) is critical to this journey.
According to Indira, “Once they are aware of their body autonomy, they can exercise their agency in family planning as well. No mother should have to join her hands in helpless submission at the arrival of a child and exclaim, ‘Ramghani’.”
The women of today are breaking free from the negative associations of these names so that they can truly become who they are and flow like fresh water, shine with hope, and dance with reckless abandon in a space where they get to make the rules and own their lives. The quest for that space reflects in new associations with their names.
