Kishore Singh: What's in a name!

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Worst case social scenario? When someone you've known off and on for years and keep bumping into at parties, looks significantly at your spouse with raised eyebrows. Or more pointedly, asks archly, "Won't you introduce us?" I would, if only I could remember his name. So, in weak defence (accompanied by a hollow laugh and much waving of hands), I stammer, "You mean you've never met! Ha ha. My wife...", significant pause, "...my dear friend, say hello to each other."

Mostly, it works. So, okay, the guy knows I'm bluffing, but at least we'll both know he's Ashok, or Rohan, or Zubin, as soon as he's introduced himself to my wife, because he just said so. Mostly, it used to happen with the corporate types, or semi-celebs that hadn't made it to the A-list, but these days it's getting worse. The other day, a slightly wild-haired and somewhat portly young man walked over at an extremely posh party, shook hands, and said (loud enough for everyone to hear), "Hello uncle."

Lots of people call me "uncle". It's all right, I don't like it but I live with it. Even if it's a whiny beggar at a red light, or the shop assistant at the drycleaner "" who I know for certain is older than I am "" and even the lovely young lady next door on whom my son has a crush (he's happy to run any errand that involves knocking on her door), but who shoos him off because she's so much older than he is.

But even I take exception to being referred to as family by someone who I'm definite I've never met in my life. "Uncle, it's me Angad," says Angad "" but I still don't him. "Jerry's son," he says, extending a paw. Jerry, I know.

I've even met Angad when he still wore shorts and had a runny nose and it was all right for him to call me "uncle". But I don't know this boy who's here with a slightly clad girl, drinking steadily "" and why is he calling me "uncle" anyway?

Seriously partying types, though, have a solution that simply avoids referring to each other by name, as I discovered this last week. Everywhere I went "" which was a lot of places, since the party season in Delhi has most resolutely taken off "" no one called anyone by their names.

Instead, the women now hug you the way men used to earlier, boisterously and with deep feeling (no more air kisses, that's so passe). "Darling," they'd say, "you're looking divine, sweetheart. How have you been, pet?" "Er, very well, and nice to meet you too," I'd stutter. "Meet his lovely wife," the hostess would introduce my wife to her spouse, "that's my darling husband, and this," introducing me, "is my darling friend."

Note: no names have been exchanged, but we've all shaken hands well and proper, and soon we might well be talking about the economy, or the entertainment, or the whisky, like the closest of buddies, but without knowing each other's names. The other evening, I sat on a round table where the only person I actually knew was someone whose name I had known for years. All the others "" and there were five of them "" were simply "darling".

If you've just met someone over dinner, it might seem flirtatious to say, "Could you pass me the bread basket please, darling." Especially if the person in context happens to be another man. But that's exactly what happened at the hotel porch when people who didn't know each other's names said elaborate goodbyes laced with "sweetheart" and "angel". And to think that just the previous week I'd taken exception because an acquaintance from Mumbai had greeted me with a "Nice to see you, dear."