What is your good name, kind sir?

In 1959 I was still Bobby

My grandmother called me Robin, my father called me Jumbo, my mother called me Bobby, my primary-school teachers mostly called me Robert, and in secondary school I was Harvey to both masters and my peer group.

Bob as a VSO youth-worker in Nairobi

As a volunteer in Kenya I was Bob, though I cannot believe I ever coached boxing! 

I think that was just for the benefit of the photographer from the Daily Nation or the East African Standard. 

Was I ever that slim?

I was slowly finding my identity and by the time I went to Sussex University, I was outwardly extrovert and inwardly very confused. Nothing unusual about that, I'm sure, because when you're a few inches taller than 99% of people you are bound to feel different and struggle to find your own identity. 

After graduation I started work for Bata in Aden (Yemen) and mingled with the Colonial Service crowd, (Yes, Aden was a British colony) Historical note: in 1967 I went to the last night of the Club, which was the last existing British colonial club in the world, others still existed but had relaxed their membership rules. In Aden, the membership rules insisted that all four grandparents had to be born British. Aden knew it was the end of an era and bid farewell with a few hard-drinkers and a couple of choruses of "Rule Britannia." 
My friends in Aden adopted my early childhood name of Jumbo, then in my next post I was Robert J. Harvey BA, MInstM. 

In my restaurant, with my Italian nephew, Aldo 

So I was then Corporate Man for about ten years, but I went through a series of consecutive executive failures, until I finally realised that my face just didn't fit in the corporate world. So I went back to my love of food, wine and cookery and for 15 years I ran a restaurant. My staff christened me "Mister H," because they were not comfortable on first-name terms. Even those who later became good friends found it impossible to call me anything else - to this day.

21st century
corporate Bob Harvey

After the restaurant closed I took a new route when I discovered that there was a dearth of corporate writers. For me, writing was really "money for old rope," and in three months my turnover was greater than if had been in any 12-month period of the restaurant.
And so I am, and have been, a writer ever since. Sometimes blogging, sometimes writing for magazines, writing copy for business brochures and editing books for children. I also write speeches for executives, and then train them in public speaking.
All very corporate and very boring, so when I hit the ripe old age of 70, last month, I decided it was time to rebrand once again. 
My son in America, Tobias John Harvey, had been known as "T J" from childhood, and the name "R J" appealed to me as a complete break from the past and an opportunity for yet another new beginning. 

I rebranded myself Arjay

I am not going to go through with deed poll and make it all official, and I will still be Dad, Grandpa, Pops, Poppa and various other names - including "Bob" to those who know me as such. However, with a certain circle of close friends I am becoming Arjay, and I like the sense of a new identity.

Coming to Kerala has been the first time in a long time that I have been asked for my name.
It was the masseur who asked, as he started to coat my chest with a liberal quantity of coconut oil. 
"What is your good name, kind sir?" was the quaint phrase, and he stopped and stared when I replied "Arjay."
"But that is my name, Sir, I am Arjay! Why are you having an Indian name?"  Which was a pretty fair question, but looking at the affinity I feel for the sub-continent, was really a question that answered itself.