The Indian government has now rechristened Raj Bhavans as Lok Bhavans, a ceremonial cleansing meant to scrub away colonial legacies as though the Empire is still skulking in the corridors, whispering “Your Excellency” into the curtains. The move is being hailed as a triumph of decolonisation, except for one small problem: it changes absolutely nothing except the signage budget.But who cares about governance when you can wage a noble war against nouns? Frankly, we should have seen this coming. We live in a country where dangerous colonial vestiges, such as “Rajpath,” were bravely slain and replaced with “Kartavya Path,” a name so righteous that you automatically begin to hear motivational and inspirational music when you visit the place.So why stop there? A good old-fashioned name-purification drive is our favourite national exercise. Forget addressing the centralised bureaucracy or reforming archaic laws; those are tedious, structural, and require effort. But taking a brush dipped in nationalism and repainting boards? Now that is transformative nation-building.In fact, this renaming extravaganza feels similar to the great Mysore Pak Incident of Jaipur – the one where sweet-shop warriors rose one fine morning and declared that Mysore Pak posed a threat to national sovereignty because it contained the word “pak.” If a sweet can wage psychological warfare, imagine the havoc a Raj Bhavan could unleash! What if Governors (should we now call them Lok Sevaks?) emerged one morning, possessed by colonial nostalgia, demanding afternoon tea and railways built exclusively for plunder? Best to rename the building and exorcise the ghost of Mountbatten. Of course, renaming Mysore Pak to Mysore Shree was a masterstroke.After all, if removing “pak” from a sweet can safeguard borders, then deleting “Raj” from Raj Bhavan surely would protect democracy. However, imagine taking this logic seriously. Governors across India stepping into their newly christened Lok Bhavans, feeling immediately more democratic; men in crisp bandh-galas declaring, “I feel so decolonised, so local, so… Lok!” Meanwhile, quite ironically, their sweeping powers, which come directly from the same colonial architecture we claim to dismantle, remain sturdily intact. But why fret about constitutional substance when the marble plaque outside has discovered swadeshi enlightenment?In fact, this national enthusiasm for renaming is like watching someone repaint a leaking roof because the colour “looked colonial,” while water pours through at the same alarming rate. But that’s okay. Don’t we know when logic becomes inconvenient, rebranding becomes policy? Want to counter unemployment? Change place names! Want to fix schools? Rename districts! Want to fix policing? Call the Superintendent something more “indigenous” and hope custodial violence politely decolonises itself. One almost imagines a future prime minister standing at the ramparts of Red Fort, declaring, “We have replaced all colonial vocabulary with Sanskritised equivalents. The country remains structurally identical, but the vibes are immaculate.”And mind you, this is the same vibe that made those Jaipur sweet merchants fear Mysore Pak as though it were a sugary sleeper cell. If Mysore Pak could be an enemy agent, surely Raj Bhavan was an imperial plot hiding in broad daylight. Naming ceremonies now function like internal security operations.Now, picture a group of governors solemnly attending a renaming ceremony. A ribbon is cut, drums beat, and suddenly, all colonial influence evaporates. The district magistrate still has too much power, police ranks still resemble colonial paramilitary structures, land laws still carry imperial DNA. So what? The name has changed, so the Republic can now sleep soundly. Somewhere, Lord Dalhousie sheds a single tear, not because he is offended, but because he cannot believe we think this is how colonialism survives.Meanwhile, the poor citizens are dazed. They continue to wonder why roads still break, why schools still fail, why courts still wobble under colonial-era laws, and why the rupee is steadily falling into an abyss. But never mind all that. As long as the signboard outside the Governor’s mansion glows with nationalist virtue, we are apparently walking boldly into a decolonised and bright future.Perhaps the time has come for a radical proposal: if renaming actually solved anything, why not rename problems themselves? Ingenious, isn’t it? Call inflation Vikas, call unemployment Yuva Shakti, and call air pollution Deshbhakti Dhool. Remember our finance minister’s wise words on the performance of the rupee in 2022. She would not view it as the rupee sliding, but instead choose to view it as the dollar strengthening. Wow! Perspectives, you see! Of course, the issues will remain. So what? At least they’ll sound patriotic.So, as a nation, let us learn to take comfort in this: whether it’s Mysore Pak becoming Mysore Shree or Raj Bhavans becoming Lok Bhavans, we have finally mastered the art of solving imaginary problems with imaginary solutions, and congratulating ourselves for visionary leadership. However, quite unfortunately, as long as absurdity marches proudly under the flag, we’ll continue to mistake renamed walls for national progress, sweet shops for strategic command centres, and signboards for decolonisation. Well, that seems to be our karma…at least for now.John J Kennedy is an educator and political analyst based in Bengaluru.