The Name Was Everything—Until Numbers Took Over
A name, once upon a time, meant everything. It carried one’s identity, lineage, culture, and belonging. Numbers were nowhere in sight. Today, however, they have quietly replaced names and become our new identifiers.
I, bearing the name T. V. Gopalakrishnan, was born and brought up in Palakkad—a district in Kerala known for its conservative lifestyle and its deep agricultural roots. When I entered first standard in 1954, I officially became “Gopalakrishnan,” though at home I answered to affectionate pet names, each reflecting the intimacy of the relationship with the person calling me.
As I approached the X Standard public examination, the authorities insisted that every student finalise their name; any change later would be cumbersome. With youthful enthusiasm and family tradition in mind, I declared my full name as Gopalakrishnan T V—Gopalakrishnan as my personal name, T for my village Thrithamara, and V for my father’s name, Venkatachalam. In those days, no one complained about long names or the time taken to write them. A name carried a story, and we took pride in wearing it fully. Of course, this long name was often an irritation for officials—particularly at international airports—when they struggled to match the visa with the passport entries.
Through school, college, and postgraduate studies, this name journeyed with me. When I earned my postgraduate degree, adding it after my name felt like an honour—an unspoken badge of aspiration and achievement. Gradually, the etiquette of the time nudged me to place my initials at the front and my qualifications at the end. Every degree added a new suffix; every stage of life added a new nuance.
In the late 1960s, I began my career as a Lecturer in a reputed college in Coimbatore—a Tamil Nadu city known for textiles, engineering excellence, and its forever-pleasant climate. Life was comfortable, stable, and filled with academic possibilities. Names in Tamil Nadu reflected a culture quite different from that of Kerala.
Yet destiny had other plans. A delayed job offer from a major institution redirected me to Mumbai—an abrupt shift from a peaceful town to a bustling metropolis. But professionally, Mumbai proved transformative. It broadened my worldview and exposed me to every shade of human experience—materialism, spirituality, struggle, privilege, and the deeper values that anchor life.
It was in Mumbai that I encountered an entirely different universe of naming conventions. Forms suddenly demanded “surname,” “first name,” “middle name,” “last name”—each interpreted differently across agencies. Ration cards, driving licences, passports, PAN, Aadhaar, railway and airline bookings—every standardised form required perfect consistency across dozens of documents. What had once been a simple, dignified matter of identity now became a bureaucratic puzzle. In some places, my village name, Thrithamara, became my name; in others, my father’s name took that place. My own name, Gopalakrishnan, slowly lost its primacy—at least in the world of forms, records, and travel documents. There were moments of embarrassment, but I eventually learned to compromise with whatever the situation demanded.
As life progressed, so did the titles. Earning a PhD brought both the honour of “Dr.” and the deep satisfaction of academic achievement. Dr became a prefix and educational qualifications a sufix to my name. But soon, technology and administrative reforms swept through quietly and decisively and to my surprise—followed by reluctant acceptance—names and degrees gradually began losing their importance.
Numbers had taken over.
Today, we are recognised not by our names but by Aadhaar numbers, PAN numbers, mobile numbers, pension IDs, provident fund accounts, and insurance codes. These numerical identities, though impersonal, have undeniably made life convenient, simpler, faster, and more efficient. And so, after decades, a curious realisation dawns: Numbers help not to expose the religion, caste, race , gender, status in society and brings in equity and equality to the advantage of humanity in general .
The world now prefers our numbers to our names.
Names still carry emotion, heritage, and personal pride. But for systems, processes, and daily transactions, it is our numbers that matter far more. Perhaps, then, the modern advice to new parents should be: Choose a beautiful name for sentiment—and be ready for the various systems to assign a dozen numbers for convenience.
Sarve Jana Sukhino Bhavanthu.
T V G Krishnan
(personal Views).
