Chandigarh: For over a decade, Prime Minister Narendra Modi has been doggedly pursuing an agenda to prise India loose from the inherited traditions, rituals and ceremonials of British colonial rule.In this atamnirbharta or indigenising endeavour, his Bharatiya Janata Party-led (BJP-led) administration has by fiat scrubbed imperial names from boulevards and institutions, reworked English laws and public ceremonials and bludgeoned the military away from hoary British traditions.Central to this effort has been the prime minister’s sustained vilification of Thomas Babington Macaulay, cast by him as the villain responsible for India’s cultural deracination, via the imposition of English education, mores, and language.Yet, despite such strenuous efforts, the Raj, ironically, proves far harder to dislodge from city pavements, public parks, and village squares – in the form of dogs who answer to names that still echo from an English village green, blissfully and insouciantly unaware of the imperial legacy they carry.Tens of millions of these dogs nationwide respond eagerly to names like Tommy, Rex, Buddy, Max, Caesar, Rocky, Charlie, Oscar, or Duke – along with countless other English monikers, each shouted with great gusto multiple times a day. In doing so, they become a small yet omnipotent symbol of active colonialism, carrying forward a legacy that defies the BJP’s Swadeshi campaign and reminding us that nearly eight decades after independence, the Raj’s shadow still lingers.Furthermore, English breeds like Labradors, Golden Retrievers, Cocker Spaniels, Beagles, and Pointers, to name a handful, dominate India’s urban dog-scape – a familiar presence on walking tracks at dawn and dusk, the sacred hours of the canine world. Once imported symbols of colonial taste and preference, these breeds have, over decades, become commonplace and deeply woven into everyday life, effectively serving as a continuation of the Raj, rather than remaining merely its relics.Even India’s native breeds – the Rajapalayam, Mudhol, and Chippiparai – together with the ubiquitous Indie street dog, often respond to English names like Bruno, Daisy, Rocky, or Rocket. In so doing, they underscore how colonial influence continues to echo not in grand symbols that the BJP objects to, but in the most ordinary corners of routine Indian life. “These desi dogs are drawn into this colonial legacy, showing just how deep and persistent the habits of empire persevere,” said dog lover Padmesh ‘Kitten’ Singh, whose two Indies are called Snowy and Duchess. In a curious twist of history, the New Delhi-based furniture designer noted, even India’s native dogs now live under the shadow of the Raj – answering to names that once echoed through colonial drawing rooms.In India, naming a child, for example, is rarely a casual act; it is a carefully structured social ritual involving family elders, priests, genealogies, and astrological charts. Auspicious syllables are debated and planetary alignments scrutinised, often over weeks or months, before a name is formally announced, sanctified, and socially accepted.By contrast, the naming of dogs is almost always immediate and impulsive, settled without ceremony and usually drawn from a familiar stock of English names. Desi names – Sheru, Moti, Kaalu, Hukum, or Shahji – do appear, but only sporadically, quickly submerged beneath a tide of foreign monikers that now populate Indian streets, homes, and kennels. The surprise is that it is precisely in this most informal of choices that colonial habit proves most durable – quietly, comfortably, and largely unquestioned.Online research revealed that Indian celebrities too were partial to bestowing English-origin names upon their dogs. Priyanka Chopra, for instance, owned Diana, Gino, and Panda, Salman Khan had Mowgli, Saint, and My-love, while Akshay Kumar and Twinkle Khanna have Cleo and Alex.Politicians, too, often follow this same naming pattern. Raj Thackeray, for instance, has three Great Danes named James, Bond, and Shawn; former Odisha chief minister Naveen Patnaik’s two Beagles are called Bruno and Roxy, while Priyanka Gandhi Vandra reportedly has two dogs called Luna and Simba.Besides, what makes the habit of giving these dogs English names especially striking is how effortlessly it cuts across class and educational divides. Even those with little exposure to English, and often no formal literacy in it, end up calling their dogs Bruno, Jackie or Rocky, or some other English name, largely unaware of etymology their colonial cultural baggage. For such dog owners, these names do not come from books or classrooms but are spread through imitation – picked up from Westernised neighbours, films, television or social media in a bid to appear modern.Before the arrival of the British in India in the 17th century, dogs locally occupied a symbolic place in society, largely shaped by mythology, folklore, and practical utility as guardians, hunters, and moral signifiers. In Hindu mythology, dogs often appear as agents of dharma, embodying loyalty, protection and moral rectitude, reflecting a nuanced understanding of the animal.One of the more prominent and delightful instances is in the Mahabharata, where Yudhishthira, the eldest of the Pandava brothers and a paragon of righteousness and virtue, is accompanied by a dog on his final journey to the Himalayas, seeking heaven. On their arduous odyssey, his other Pandava brothers and their collective wife Draupadi perish one by one due to their human failings, leaving Yudhishthira and his dog as the only survivors.At heaven’s gates, Indra tells Yudhishthira that he cannot bring the dog with him, but the latter refuses to proceed without him, valuing the dog’s loyalty over divine reward and readies to turn back. At that very moment, the dog is revealed as Dharma, highlighting the moral lesson that true righteousness embraces kindness to all beings.Dogs were also associated with Bhairava, a fierce incarnation of Shiva, for whom they serve as vahanas (vehicles). In this role, they symbolise guardianship, especially at cremation grounds and other liminal spaces – or sites on the threshold between life and death. Additionally, in Vedic and Puranic traditions, Yama, the god of death, is said to have two dogs who guard the path to the afterlife.But when the British established themselves in India in the mid-18th century, they steadily brought with them, not just new institutions and administrative and linguistic structures, but also a whole set of cultural markers – grand colonial style bungalows, orderly civil lines and cantonments, clubs, and gardens – that reshaped India’s landscape. Within these grand spaces, they propagated a distinct culture of dog-keeping, carefully breeding them, fancifully naming them, and walking them with ritual precision, reflecting their owners leisurely, orderly, and status-conscious lifestyle. Over time, the rituals surrounding these pets became as important as the animals themselves, reinforcing social hierarchies and signalling cultural sophistication.Thus, for privileged Indians like princelings, civil servants, traders and others who lived alongside the British rulers, these animals became markers of refinement and social aspiration; consequently they too gradually began emulating the Sahibs and Memsahibs by keeping English pedigree dogs as pets within their homes and lavishing affection upon them.Unsurprisingly, many of them were given esoteric English names, and over time wealthier Indians in small towns – and eventually even in rural areas – began keeping dogs for companionship as much as for protection, often following the same naming routine. By independence, this affection for dogs had become irretrievably entrenched, embedded in names, breeds, and daily routines, quietly signalling taste, care, and social aspiration for locals.This, however, sits oddly alongside the naming of other utilitarian animals in colonial times. Mules in the British Indian Army, from the 18th century onward were almost invariably given local, descriptive names by muleteers.Generations of mules that sustained these troops across countless domestic campaigns and through two World Wars, were variously called Chotta (tiny), Tez (sharp), Golu (chubby), Dhidh (stubborn), Bhola (simpleton), Nakhrewala (fussy), or Dabang (fearless) and other more robust regimental monikers like Bandook or Rifle Singh, Sheikh Chilli, and Majnu. Horses too were similarly given desi names.The distinction was and still is telling: English naming was selective, not universal, as dogs, unlike mules, occupied a special place in the eyes of the English and were christened differently: they were prized, visible markers of refinement and honorary family members. Conversely, utilitarian animals followed a practical naming logic, identified by their function, temperament, or quirks rather than affection or prestige.Meanwhile, in India’s major cities and even rural communities today, the practice of keeping dogs has undergone a remarkable metamorphosis since colonial times, with local owners often surpassing even the English-and other Westerners-in their display of prized pets.Dogs owned by the wealthy have become carefully curated extensions of their status, showcased as conspicuously as super-luxury cars or other nouveau riche symbols that abound presently in society. Esoteric breeds like Caucasian Shepherds, Belgian Malinois, Chow Chows, and imported Cane Corso mastiffs, amongst such others, are paraded on social media, in private clubs, and gated colonies, flaunting their rarity in a high-stakes game of one-upmanship in canine prestige.However, their walking, feeding, training, and grooming are routinely outsourced to hired handlers – dog walkers, trainers, and caretakers – who move through upscale neighbourhoods in clusters, managing several dogs at once. Dogs are routinely ferried to boutique salons for blow-dries, trims and adornment with fashion accessories, emerging as polished objects ready to flaunt, than being just endearing and comforting pets.In this, too, many Indian dog owners seem to be echoing an older colonial pattern – adopting the symbols of refinement while leaving the everyday care to household staff. But unlike the English, who involved themselves personally in the daily lives of their dogs, these pets in India, in many instances, often primarily remain four-legged symbols of prestige with fancy English names.In that sense, the Raj, much to the BJP’s chagrin, is no longer a distant memory in need of decolonisation; it is merely a shout away – and comes joyfully when summoned.