What’s in a name?
photo by sophie mcleod
What’s in a name?
fourth year priya desai
Shakespeare had some good work, but he was wrong with Juliet’s monologue (soliloquy? I’m not sure). For any reader whose favorite class wasn’t literature, it went like this: “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet.”
I disagree – there’s a lot of meaning in a name.
Mine is Priya. Some background: an incredibly common name in India, of Sanskrit origin. Meaning “dear” or “beloved.” Sometimes used as a term of endearment. Pronounced pree-yuh.
Chosen by my parents deliberately and carefully to be a simple name, one that Americans would find easy to form the shape of in their mouths. Easy to spell. Easy to pronounce. I hate to say it, but it hasn’t worked out in the way that they planned.
It’s gotten worse since the world ended; people can’t read my lips under a mask as I speak and wind up creating some weird hybrid of their own. Bree. Hria. Triya, even when I spell it out for them over the phone. Then begins the back-and-forth, of me saying my name louder, or spelling it out, or writing it down. Even though my name isn’t difficult to pronounce in the context of the English language, or even all that uncommon!
When you have an “ethnic” name, you’re always given a running tally of everyone else a stranger has met (or heard of) with the same name as you, regardless of whether you asked. I’ve been told there’s a Priya on Love Island, one who worked for Bon Appetit, one on the Big Bang Theory. My individuality complex grapples with my desire for easy acceptance—years of having the supposed “uniqueness” of my name pointed out have left me with a resentment for the other Priyas of the world who threaten my identity. That’s MY name! I’ve heard that there’ll be a new Priya on our screens soon, from an upcoming Pixar movie, and I wonder if she’ll be the one to teach white children across America our pronunciation.
Names have value, power. I share both my middle and last name with my brother and sister, leaving only Priya for myself. I lived my childhood in a secret jealousy of those who had multiple names: one from the homeland of their parents, and one for the United States. Once, in elementary school, I got tired of people asking if I had another “Indian name” and told them it was Priyanka to fuck with them. A small consolation for the incessant questions. Another edit to my identity. It wasn’t worth it.
None of this is to say that I don’t love my name. I do! I think it’s simple and beautiful and forever connects me to the country my parents immigrated from, even if I’ll never speak Hindi, nor Sanskrit. I’ll always love my name, even after repeating it for the fifth time to a barista who couldn't care less but is still trying so, so hard. So, to answer Shakespeare, if I can be so bold – there’s a lot in a name, or at least in mine.