One of them is almost certainly the fact that they are constantly outing your childhood pet names with alacrity, calling you Pappu, Bobby, Guddu, Noni, Chintu, Tumpa, Monu and so on in public, as if you are the chillar party in a family wedding
illustration/RAVI JADHAV
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There are many reasons to feel ambivalent about having family members as Facebook friends. One of them is almost certainly the fact that they are constantly outing your childhood pet names with alacrity, calling you Pappu, Bobby, Guddu, Noni, Chintu, Tumpa, Monu and so on in public, as if you are the chillar party in a family wedding.
While my immediate family members have been trained in this matter, those in my extended family have failed me hazaar times. "Very nice article, beta (insert pet name)" they will say. I heartlessly and instantly delete these comments. You might say this is draconian. I could just ask them not to. Anyone who has tried this will know it is useless. First, they will be wounded and utter filmi dialogue like "I am sorry I have done something improper. I won't darken your Facebook wall again." A few days later they will comment on your profile picture, "looking very nice (insert pet name)."
Why does this bother us so much? After all, it is the most natural thing to give silly names to people we love. Diminutives, nonsense words, private jokes, comical qualities that fill us with affection all make up the galaxy of nicknames. We don't seem to care when names our friends called us in youth emerge. It is the family pet name, yaniki ghar ka naam, that seems to mortify us.
Perhaps it is just the strangeness of being returned to childhood states that some don't like, a reminder of a time when we were taken less seriously and had little autonomy.
Maybe it is something about having the private emerge in the public, without our consent that makes us feel vulnerable. This may seem strange in times when privacies are constantly shared online, but it reveals how public privacies might be as much a construction as public selves. Perhaps there is an uncertainty, hovering on the edge of shame, about that private 'home' identity. Pet names are a reminder of the time before we learned to see our family as part of social hierarchies of caste and class, language and provinciality. For most, in a society as hierarchical as ours, the transition from childhood to adulthood is also one of painful realisation of difference, about our tastes and habits not always aligned to the social norms of upward mobility. A reminder of the first time someone mocked us for something unfashionable about our families.
This discomfort is far more prevalent among English speaking Indians, because it also exposes a certain sub-Englishness in our Englishness, the kitsch elements of families' aspirational cosmopolitanism. The careful facades dissolve as we build as adults suddenly seem like glass houses. Our insecurities that we will never really fit in, never be cool enough swirl up to the surface. We may develop ironic, even affectionate distance from many parts of the past, but the pet name is too earnest for that.
Only two types of people are not embarrassed by their pet names. Royal family types who go by Bubbles and Toffee and other names from P G Wodehouse, reeking of English aristocracy wannabe-ness. That tells us much about the casual confidence of class and caste. The other, are people supremely self-confident and secure about being loved. They are happy to be everyone's children, always, lucky things.
Paromita Vohra is an award-winning Mumbai-based filmmaker, writer and curator working with fiction and non-fiction. Reach her at www.parodevipictures.com
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