<b>Kishore Singh:</b> Paging the lovely Mr Lovely

The wonderful folk in Mumbai have a way of using adjectives that cause those of us from the north to protest by jumping to the wrong conclusion. "You're lovely," Mumbaikars are prone to saying, which we take to mean "You're Lovely," because - in Delhi - it is a legitimate name, along with Happy, or Silky (and even, I kid not, Sulky). "But I'm not Lovely," you remonstrate, hoping you're setting the record straight, only to hear the refrain, "But you are, really!" Really? Oughtn't I to know my own name? "You're wrong," you're still struggling to clear the air, which Mumbaikars take as proof of your humility. "Oh, but you are." "Am not." "Are."

Of course, you can never be too removed from cousins whose parents gave them names without thinking. So I have a Hoppy on my side and a Jumpy on my wife's, and darn if we both don't have a Creamy each. Bengali friends have nicknames that resemble sounds but mean nothing that is tangible. In the far south, names can be so lengthy, they shorten them to a string of alphabets to resemble an acronym.

But whether you're happy, or Happy, names in Delhi have a way of tripping you up. You have an appointment to meet Tiny without any indication whether that will turn out to be a Mr or Ms, but what you weren't expecting was big, or huge, as opposed to small like the name. "Loin" Ajit's Mona Darling is more likely to be a hirsute teenager when what you were hoping was for at least a tiny connection to the filmy image. Baby will probably be a middle-aged accountant. Sweety? Goldy? I've met my share of Mr Sweetys and Ms Goldys, and sometimes the other way around. What's not to be happy about?

Those of us who've had the dubious distinction of having been in boarding schools forever suffer the ignominy of absurd names carried over into real life thanks to the alumni network. Jhand? Khoka? Pondi? Are they even names? Would you take seriously someone called Bonda? Or work for a boss whose friends call him Princy? Seriously?

Sometimes confusion is caused not just by the way names are spelled but also by how they're pronounced. My daughter has a (male) friend called Bunny, and my wife has a (female) friend called Bani, and since there's no difference in how you say them, my wife has come rushing from the bath to find the wrong Bunny, and my daughter has similarly responded to phone calls from Bani who is definitely not Bunny. As for Honey Singh, when he's not singing "yo yo", she's a neighbour with a gutter mouth.

Back home, the macho Dharmendra has represented Bikaner as an absentee MP, but in Jaipur my comely friend Dharmendar (note the subtle difference in spelling) is a writer. Gurinder Chadha might be the film-maker who directed Bend It Like Beckham and is most certainly not male, just as Gurinder Sandhu is a "stud" who is most certainly not female. You may or may not have seen Monty Python, but Monty Aunty lives down the lane and you'd be better off not seeing her after a night out at the club getting tipsy with the "girls".

So when I'd done protesting about not being Lovely, a group of acquaintances took me out for a drink with their friends, and who should they include but the lovely Ms Luvli and the less lovely Mr Luv. Me? I have it on good faith that even though I'm no Lovely, I still qualify for lovely.