Imagine James, the suave spy from Ian Fleming’s novels, going around saying his name was “Secretan”. Would it have been half as attractive or so redolent of the superspy’s exploits in staving off the world’s evildoers for the good of peace-loving millions? It’s one of the flukes of history that Fleming scored “Secretan” out and stuck to the simple Bond!
Not even the villainous Mr Big’s riposte “Names is for tombstones, baby” could take away the sheen from Bond that has resonated worldwide in the 60 years since a naval intelligence officer found his forte was the pen: as shown by the 100 million books sold since Casino Royale was first published on April 13, 1953.
Imagine if M’s redoubtable secretary was named Pettavel rather than Miss Moneypenny — sounding more Kollywood than Hollywood, where Albert Broccoli and Harry Saltzman spun the tales into superhits and touched a chord with millions who began fancying themselves as world-saving spies in debonair evening attire, cavorting with the prettiest women and imbibing cocktails shaken, not stirred.
It was perhaps destined that the surname would be Bond, always and forever. Numerology-loving Indians would swear that the four-letter word had everything to do with the phenomenal success, even though Fleming himself was from a wealthy family of bankers and may not have missed the hard currency of success as much as the adulation his creation generated in six decades through 23 movies and six heroes who invariably mouthed the classic line — “My name’s Bond, James Bond”.