I had only to read Cross Talks, Straight Talks, and the editorials in the newspaper, for example, to realize how trivial this talk would look in comparison. I pondered over his arguments for a long while before finally rejecting them. I concluded that it was not bunkum to talk about names.

Names dominate our ethos, the subconscious of the individual, and our political thinking. Grand designs have foundered on grand names. Petty politicians have made great personal fortunes under pet names. What is wrong, then, with writing about names? So I wrote. Socrates watched.

Take, for example, the great labours of Professor Muhammad Yunus, the Nobel Laureate and our national asset, to create a political party that would be squeaky clean of corruption. Those were the days when talk of a break with the sordid national politics of the past was on just about everybody's lips.

People, not least the laureate, began to proclaim that the award of the Nobel Prize had, overnight, transformed the country beyond recognition. Soon, there rose a clamour for a new political party under the leadership of the Nobel Laureate, and composed of the pure and the uncorruptible. Professor Yunus duly floated the idea of a party.

He also chose a great name for it: Nagorik Shakti. In his enthusiasm for an eye-catching name, however, he seemed not to realize that the Bengali acronym of the new party would be a jinxed Naash, which, translated into English, is destruction. The party soon self-destructed. To vary the imagery, the idea sank no sooner than it was floated. The name doomed it. Which is not to suggest that there weren't other more weighty reasons. But don't let them detain us here.

We Bengalis have a great fascination for names. The choice of Nagorik Shakti suggests as much. The fascination is not limited to names of political and social organizations and institutions but extends to those of individuals. A blind child may not be christened "lotus eyed" in Bengal, but the very existence of the Bengali ridicule "name a blind child padmalochan" actually confirms the fascination.

Parents generally choose long, flowery, or glorious names for their children. More often than not, they also choose a pet name (daak naam, in Bengali) for them. Rowshan Gulshan Ara Begum might have a pet name of Beli (the flower) and Abul Hasanat Abdullah Mahmud might be given an additional Benu (flute). Pet names -- I prefer the term to nicknames -- are actually terms of endearment bestowed in childhood, that carry with them the added advantage of being much shorter than the main, or official, or "good" name (or bhalo naam, in Bengali) which tend to be rather long. In fact, the pet name, once given currency, takes on a life of its own, often eclipsing the bhalo naam except to the close relatives of the named.

A strange thing appears to have happened in recent years, however: the pet name began to be appended, sort of umbilically, to the bhalo naam. Thus, the aforesaid Rowshan would become Rowshan Gulshan Ara Begum Beli, while her male counterpart would be known as Abul Hasanat Abdullah Mahmud Benu. Such umbilical appending of the pet name was almost unknown to my generation, whose members are now in their early or mid-seventies.

At this point Socrates came back with a loud interjection: "What on earth are you talking about?" I told him this was what had been bothering me for quite some time: a surge of politicians with pet names caudally attached to official ones in our national political arena.

I reeled off a long list of such names, with no particular order in mind -- Bulu, Falu, Khoka, Maya, Pintu, Alal, Dulu, Minu, Lobi, Tuku, Mintu, and, most tellingly, Potol. The list could easily be lengthened, but there wouldn't be any point in doing so.

Suffice it to note that members of parliament, ministers, and mayors are among the bearers of these pet names.

Note that the pet name does not have to be particularly attractive. Potol is, after all, a vegetable. In fact, the daak naam, coming at the end of a gorgeous bhalo naam can look like a descent from the sublime to the ridiculous. Note also that since the name comes at the end of the full name, it works like a surname and this makes it somewhat embarrassing to use it as such.

It hardly looks respectful to address someone as Mr. followed by his pet name. One might expect these considerations to diminish the attractiveness of pet names to politicians. This has not happened.

My interlocutor still looked distinctly unhappy. "So?" he frowned. I asked him to consider the number of politicians against whom the present administration of the country has taken action on charges of corruption. Among them, there appears to be a disproportionately large number of politicians with pet names attached to their official names.

Observe at the same time that the surge in corruption in the country over the last few decades has coincided with the deluge of pet names among politicians. It is reasonable to conclude that there might be a significant connection between the increased use of pet names among politicians and the spread of corruption in the country. At the very least, the hypothesis of such a connection cannot be rejected outright.

Of course, connection, or correlation, to give the matter statistical sophistication, does not necessarily imply causation. But surely, the line of causation could not have run from increased corruption to proliferation of caudal pet names. It is far more plausible to argue that an influx of proper nouns of this variety has somehow contributed to the rise of improper politics over recent decades.

Socrates mellowed a bit. Perhaps the term correlation was a bit too much for him. But I had still to explain how caudal pet names of politicians might lead to increased corruption of politics. My reasoning here had, of necessity, to be a priori. I insist there is nothing wrong with this type of reasoning. It is used even in academia, especially when hard facts are not easy to come by.

Pet names are of course terms of affection, as I mentioned earlier. But they can manifest themselves in various others, less innocent, and protean ways. In public life, a pet name conjures up a closed, playful circle of chums and sycophants, a coterie, a clique with the pet-named politician at the centre.

Other politicians, those with more mature names may, of course, be surrounded by chums and scoundrels. But the circle of politicians with caudal pet names seems to belong to quite a different world. Barring some honourable exceptions, they will probably replicate in their new role as politicians the lives they once led in their drawing rooms, or boithok khana, as gregarious children or young adults, dreaming of power but oblivious of responsibility to society.

The very fact of their dogged insistence on keeping their pet names of childhood firmly appended to their bhalo naam tends to ensure that the replication is complete. Young politicians who make a transition from childhood fancy for power to responsibility of adulthood would dump their pet names at the very first opportunity and get on with their job. Those who dreamed in their childhood of service to their country would probably cast aside their pet name even faster, as something unworthy of adults.

"So, what do you suggest? Abolish pet names of politicians?" Socrates demanded to know, before storming out. I did not have an answer. I still do not.

Mahfuzur Rahman, economist, is an occasional contributor to The Daily Star.