Names tell stories. They show what parents prize, what generations chase, and how society slowly changes.
At MGIMS Sevagram, I’ve been tending a simple spreadsheet since 2012, logging every student from the inaugural 1969 batch through to 2024 — 3,978 names across 55 years. I entered them myself, batch by batch, correcting misspellings and filling gaps in the records as I went, until it quietly grew into a hidden archive of our medical lineage.
One recent query cut to the heart of it: which first names appear most often? The results didn’t just yield a list — they told a quieter story of how India has changed.
For the men, Sanjay leads with 27 occurrences, followed closely by Ashok at 23, Anil and Abhishek tied at 20, and then Vijay, Sunil, Manish, and Ashish each at 19. Names a father could choose on instinct — victory, the sun, the beloved — without a committee or a consultation.
Among the women, Priyanka tops the count at 23, a fitting tally for a name meaning beloved, with Swati, Aditi, Sunita, Seema, Archana, and Anjali trailing in a graceful cluster. They roll easily off the tongue, suit a grandmother’s voice, and fit neatly on a brass nameplate.
Through the first three decades, parents leaned on the familiar — rivers, gods, virtues like strength, grace, or light — names that anchored a child to shared roots.
But then the shift came. Today, if you call out “Sanjay” in the wards, perhaps one head will turn. The once-common names have faded, replaced by ones that flicker once and vanish.
This is parental anxiety of a new kind — nothing to do with wealth or learning, everything to do with the dread of blending in.
Naming a child has become a full campaign now. It begins in the family WhatsApp group, where suggestions pour in from Pune aunties, Jersey uncles, and Sanskrit-quoting grandparents, sparking weeks of debate over names deemed too common, too dated, or too tricky for English spellers.
From there, it spills onto the internet — Sanskrit dictionaries, astrology sites, numerology charts, obscure blogs on meanings — followed by sound tests in Hindi, Marathi, and English, even imagining how a Canadian immigration officer might stumble over it, or what nicknames schoolchildren might cruelly coin.
An astrologer often intervenes at this point, at the insistence of some elder, demanding the precise syllable from the birth chart, which slims the shortlist further. After months of wrangling between families, stars, and search engines, a name emerges — unique, unmatched in the batch. The parents glow with satisfaction.
Their child will spend the rest of their life spelling it out for receptionists.
There is nothing inherently wrong with a unique name. But this shift is worth noticing — we have traded the confident, communal choices of old for anxious bids at distinction, moving from names that bind a child to a community toward names that set a child apart.
Sanjay, Priyanka, Anjali, Vijay — these were not lazy picks but assured ones, gifts of simplicity and shared belonging, easy to carry through life. Whether that reflects wisdom or just the spirit of those times, I’ll leave to you.
What I know is this: 3,978 names, 55 years, one medical college in the middle of rural Maharashtra — and the names alone tell a story that no syllabus ever taught.
The data is from the MGIMS Alumni Registry, 1969–2024.
Beautifully written, as always!
One big problem with current day names (difficult to pronounce, difficult to comprehend the meaning of) is that the child is loaded with a baggage – a name he himself finds difficult to pronounce, asked a million times aboout it through the childhood by elders, and ultimately, and most unfortunately, coming to hate his own name!
Wish parents had more empathy and less penchant towards choosing a “unique” and “modern-sounding” name.
Well written Sir . We went through the same process while naming our grandchild. We found newer names Myra, Kiara, Kia, Mia, becoming common. Meaningful names taken over by these
Nice reading.
The result of logical but intriguing names often end up differently depending on the location where the child ultimately ends up .
A child named Vikas staying later in Mumbai would end up as Vikky, Sudhir from Nagpur , now staying at vanadongri becomes Sudhya and same Sudhir at Washington becomes Mr Suds.
Gokul becomes Gokya in Bhandara, and becomes Gok in New York, Goki in England.
Vishwanath becomes Vish in Toronto , Vissu in Chennai.
The most changed are in complicated names like Anirudhha or is it Aniruddha, is shortened as Anu or Annie.
Best are off course simple four or three letter words like Joy, Jim , yash which are not usually changed.
Many a times a letter R in the name is misspelled by the person himself till the child gets older. Atharva , named after lord Ganesha is one such .
I was named Shivnarayan , often difficult to pronounce or remember and end up as Shiv or Sibu.
In Bengali , Durga name is common but end up as Dugga.
Beautifully written Sir! Now the fad is more sanskitised names with some meaning which only parents know.
Sir, your article felt like a gentle walk through time,each name carrying its own story.
My mother named me Priyanka, and years later, she lovingly chose names for my children too,Akshat and Kashish. Reading your piece made me pause and truly appreciate the meaning and emotion woven into our names. Seeing Priyanka mentioned felt quietly special.
Thank you for helping me fall in love with our names a little more.🙏🙏
What an amazing amazing write up respected sir.
‘From names that bind a child to community to names that set a child apart’.
So well said sir.
Good to know my breed is getting extinct.
A beautifully observed piece, sir—thank you for sharing it.
As a pediatrician, I see this transition unfold in real time. Alongside the familiar Sanjays, Anjalis, and Priyankas, we now meet children with carefully chosen, unique names—each reflecting a shift in how parents view identity.
Perhaps we have moved from “belonging” to “being distinct.” Neither is right or wrong. A simple name offers ease and instant connection; a unique one can carry individuality—provided the child grows into it comfortably.
In the clinic, a name is never just a label—it is a child’s first social introduction.
Your reflection gently reminds us that while names may change with time, their meaning—and their impact—remains constant.
Thank you for sharing this interesting write up.
I think it was my grandfather who named me Sanjay and sadly as fate would have it, I was reading the newspaper, books or whatever he wanted me to read to him as lost his eyesight to glaucoma in his seventies. As soon as I would start reading he would interrupt and say with a smile “Sanjaya uvach” and then let me continue. One of the interesting reading was a chapter on Virology from a book authored by Dr Panicker, Professor of Microbiology. He was fascinated to learn about viruses as he said he didn’t learn or know enough about when he was a student.
Such a beautifuly articulated piece, sir..
The way you have captured the evolving trends is thought provoking…these insights points out that this ritual of naming the child is deeply personal and subtle mirror of the time we live in…..
Thank you for remembering…
It has always been a feast to read you..every single time…