(Source : The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri)
In September of 1973 Gogol was taken for the first time to the kindergarten at the town's public elementary school by his father, and as his mother tended to vomit the moment she found herself in a moving car, she couldn't accompany them. It was already the second week of the school year, but for the past week, Gogol had been in bed, just like his mother, listless, claiming to have a stomach ache, even vomiting one day into his mother's pink wastepaper basket. He didn't want to go to school. He didn't want to wear the new clothes his mother had bought him from Sears, hanging on a knob of his dresser, or carry his Charlie Brown lunch box, or board the yellow school bus that stops at the end of Pemberton Road. The school, unlike the nursery school, was several miles from the house and from the university. On numerous occasions he'd been driven to see the building, a low, long, brick structure with a flat roof and a flag that flaps at the top of a tall white pole planted on the lawn.
There was a reason Gogol didn't want to go to the kindergarten. His parents had told him that at school, instead of being called Gogol, he would be called by a new name, a good name, which his parents had decided on. The name Nikhil was not to the liking of Gogol, "why do I have to have a new name ?" he asked his parents, tears springing to his eyes. It would be one thing if his parents were to call him Nikhil, too. But they told him that the new name would be used only by the teachers and children at school. He was afraid to be Nikhil, someone he didn't know. Who didn't know him. His parents told him that they each have two names, too, as do all Bengali friends in America, and all their relatives in Calcutta. It was a part of growing up, they told him, part of being a Bengali. They wrote it for him on a sheet of paper, asked him to copy it over ten times. "Don't worry," his father said. "To me and your mother, you will never be anyone but Gogol."
At school, Ashoke and Gogol were greeted by the secretary, Mrs.McNab, who asked Ashoke to fill out a registration form. He provided a copy of Gogol's birth certificate and immunization record, which Mrs.McNab put in a folder along with the registration. "This way," Mrs.McNab said, leading them to the principal's office. CANDACE LAPIDUS,the name on the door said. Mrs.Lapidus was a tall, slender woman with short white-blond hair. She wore frosted blue eye shadow and lemon yellow suit.
Mrs.Lapidus assured Ashoke that missing the first week of kindergarten was not a problem, that things had yet to settle down. She shook Ashoke's hand and told him that there were two other Indian children at the school, Jayadev Modi in the third grade and Rekha Saxena in fifth. Perhaps Gangulis knew them ? Ashoke told Mrs.Lapidus that they do not. She looked at the registration form and smiled kindly at the boy, who was clutching his father's hand. Gogol was dressed in powder blue pants, red and white canvas sneakers, a a striped turtleneck top.
"Welcome to elementary school, Nikhil. I am your principal, Mrs.Lapidus."
Gogol looked down at his sneakers. The way the principal pronounced his new name was different from the way his parents say it, the second part of it longer sounding like "heel." She bent down so that her face was level with his, and extended a hand to his shoulder. "Can you tell me how old you are, Nikhil ?"
When the question was repeated and there was still no response Mrs.Lapidus asked, "Mr.Ganguli, does Nikhil follow English ?"
"Of course he follows," said Ashoke. "My son is perfectly bilingual."
In order to prove Gogol knew English, Ashoke did something he had never done before, and addressed his son in careful, accented English. "Go on, Gogol," he said, patting him on the head. "Tell Mrs.Lapidus how old you are."
"What was that ?" Mrs.Lapidus asked.
"I beg your pardon, madam ?"
"That name you called him. Something with a G."
"Oh that, that is what we call him at home only. But his good name should be--is"--he nods his head firmly--"Nikhil."
Mrs.Lapidus frowned. I'm afraid I don't understand. Good name ?"
"Yes."
Mrs.Lapidus studied the registration form. She had not had to go through this confusion with the other two Indian children. She opened up the folder and examined the immunization record, the birth certificate. "There seems to be some confusion, Mr.Ganguli," she said. "According to these documents, your son's legal name is Gogol."
"That is correct. But please allow me to explain--"
"That you want to call him Nikhil."
"That is correct."
Mrs.Lapidus nods. "The reason being ?"
"That is our wish."
"I'm not sure I follow you, Mr.Ganguli. Do you mean that Nikhil is middle name ? Or a nick name ? Many of the children go by nick names here. On this form there is a space--"
"No, no, it's not middle name," Ashoke said. He was beginning to loose patience. "He has no middle name. No nick name. The boy's good name, his school name, is Nikhil."
Mrs.Lapidus pressed her lips together and smiled. "But clearly he doesn't respond."
"Please, Mrs.Lapidus," Ashoke pleaded. "It's very common for a child to be confused at first. Please give it some time. I assure you he will grow accustomed."
He bent down and this time in Bengali, calmly and quietly, asked Gogol to please answer when Mrs.Lapidus asked a question. "Don't be scared, Gogol," he said, raising his son's chin with his finger. "You're a big boy now. No tears."
Though Mrs.Lapidus couldn't understand a word, she listened carefully, heard that name again. Gogol. Lightly, in pencil, she wrote it down on the registration form.
Ashoke handed over the lunch box, a windbreaker in case it gets cold. He thanked Mrs.Lapidus. "Be good, Nikhil," he said in English. .and then after a moment's hesitation, he was gone.
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