We lived in Mexico City for four years in the late seventies, and there learned an important civic virtue: how to name our streets. Our first home was in a neighbourhood called Polanco, where all the streets were named after writers, and Shakespeare, Dickens, Tagore and other literary greats surrounded us. We lived on the corner of La Fontaine and Homer, while our friends lived between Dante and Cervantes.  To visit a colleague a few blocks away I had to cross Tolstoy, Goethe, Jane Austen and Ibsen. Once I got lost in the colony and by the time I found myself I had received a comprehensive lesson in world literature.

My secretary lived in a colony where the streets had painters' names, and her home was on the corner of Rembrandt and Vermeer, while her sister lived nearby on Michelangelo and Da Vinci. In my assistant's colony the streets were called after flowers, and in my driver's after musicians—he lived on Beethoven, between Bach and Mozart.

During weekends it was great sport for our family to drive around the city, honing up our general knowledge, and by the time we left Mexico our children had become experts in the names of rivers, birds, lakes, mammals, butterflies, mountains and you name it. And we will forever remember that 'higher intelligence' that named the streets of Mexico.

In Delhi, where we now live, names of streets change regularly and many colourful ones have come up. One of them is Sant Baba Shri Shri Ekso Aath Durbal Nathji Marg in Ragarpura; another is Chaudhary Jhandu Singh Marg in Raj Nagar; then we have Choudhary Bhola Ram Marg, Shri Dungar Mal Surana Marg and Ram Lubhaya Budhiraja Marg. What links these names is a link with politicians. On the corner of our lane sits a wise bhuttawali, who has been watching this name changing procession, tells me that if I want a road named after my uncle-in-law I should approach a municipal councillor at the MCD. This is what Poornima Sethi did. She was a minister in the Sahib Singh Verma government, and they renamed a road in Kalkaji after her uncle, Hemraj Sethi.

A friend of mine is appalled to see our small time politicians strut about changing the names of our streets and wants to replace all names by numbers. But I disagree. Surely one does not have to resign oneself to a number. I strongly believe, however, in observing two rules in the naming of our streets: one, never change a name, no matter how uncomfortable it may feel; thus, I would not change ancient Chuhia Galli or Gundi Galli, as some Chandni Chowk residents want to. A name is a piece of history and it is petty minds that want to re-write it.

My second unbreakable rule is that politicians should be banned from the names of public places. Thus, it was wrong to change Mount Road in Madras to Anna Salai. I have not forgiven the sycophants who changed charming Palam to IGI airport. Similarly, Meenambakkam was a lovely sounding airport until lackeys changed it to Anna International and Kamraj Domestic Airport. Nor do I condone Mani Shankar Aiyar for getting Connaught Place renamed to Rajiv Chowk.

There is a related problem that the names of many of our streets and institutions are reduced to initials. We love our Bapuji and Panditji, but we also love to initialise everything--every Indian town has an MG Road and a JN Road. I recently had lunch in KGR Hall of SVSP College on PJN Road.  

But we don't need to go as far way as Mexico City to find an excellent model for naming our streets. We have it closer home in Chanakyapuri in Delhi, where streets carry ancient names connected with diplomacy and statecraft—Panchsheel, Niti, Nyaya, Kautilya, Shanti, and so on. Let us draw inspiration from the planners of Mexico City and Chankyapuri and bring civilisation into the names our streets. There is something in a name.