What's in a name?

If you ask me, almost everything! When Shakespeare penned that immortal line, he hadnt met any of my namesakes.

I have never been lucky with names, from the looks of it. Most of my life, all my family has, with love, called me by a sound that stands for 'doll' in some Neanderthal language. Even my youngest nephew calls me that. I have had nightmares where people would throw away my wedding invitation thinking it had reached them by mistake, since they didnt know the groom, and definitely not the bride! My parents would have to reprint the cards, putting an alias next to my real name. And a few years from then I would have my grandchildren calling me that, with a 'paati' added to it. I tried shaking it off, until I saw what happened to those who called me by my official name.

My father is a nice man. He used up all the sadism and cruel feelings towards the rest of mankind, in one act. He named me. I was born in Calcutta, but immediately after my naming ceremony we shifted to Bangalore. Dad had a transferable job, but he made sure that he moved not more than 30 miles from the previous location. The result, I have never known any but South Indians with long names. In my growing up years, I didnt think names were such a big deal. I responded to most of what people called me, including my kid brother's 'ga-ga'. A little later, it was in fashion to represent second name by the initial only. The initial came sometimes before and sometimes after the first name. When in tenth standard, I was asked to pick a name which would stay with me the rest of my life, I decided to append my already long name with my father's full name. And so here I am, a tongue twister!

When in Madras, my name made up for what Tamil I didnt know. The Tams I knew, defeated by the fact that I had a longer name than them, disregarded that I couldnt speak a word of that language and took me in as one of them. Also, at around the same time, I met four old men, aged 60 and something, who thought I had a beautiful name. All in all, I actually had started to believe that my name wasnt so bad after all and only begun to forgive my dad for the one thing I held against him. Then, I landed in the United States.

My name has been the single most embarrassing thing in my short existence here. The day I came here, I noticed my Uncle and Aunt who had come to the airport to pick me up, think twice before addressing me by my name. I thought it was the joy of seeing me that had gotten them tongue-tied. After two days, I attributed it to the fact that having been here long, there had crept up an American accent in their speech. Maybe the accent didnt quite agree with the complex syllables that exist in the Indian language. I came to the University, and found a lot of Indian friends. Most of them Tams again. I forgot about my name until the first day at school.

Day one, while I wandered the corridors, hopelessly lost, an American chap found me. He seemed friendly, and offered to escort me to my destination. We walked along, me thinking that I would have no problems making friends here and he thinking 'what a strange creature!'. Oh yes, I who while in India, made my mom beg me to wear a salwar, had decided to wear one for the first day of classes. With jhigale earrings, bracelets and all. Anyway, in course of our conversation, he suddenly put out his hand and said a name. His, I suppose. I said mine. Short chuckle, ' Can you say that again please'. I did. Flush, 'Once more?'. This time, realising that he was mentally demented, ( he couldnt even say my name, remember?), I gave him a sympathetic smile and did a school-for-differently-abled pronounciation of my name. He turned pale, offered me an incoherent excuse and left. I later saw him in my class. But he looked through me like I didnt exist. Maybe it was a twin I met? Or maybe he thought, I had been pulling his leg, real hard!

As days passed I said my name and added a 'I know its tough'. Two months and when people asked me to repeat, I said a very indifferent ' forget it'. Nowadays, when someone asks me for my name, I usually go, 'Why dont you tell me?!'. I called myself SS, someone asked me to elaborate on Nazi history. My department wanted to unofficial christen me Sarah. But with the profusion of Sarahs here, I, who had been used to uniqueness, could not settle for it. So I remained still, my full name.

Not all is bad though. My name has helped me pick out real friends. It has served as the acid test. For those foreign nationals who have remained, have learnt it. I wouldnt say it sounds like what it used to, but seriously, I would be cruel to not recognize sincere effort such as this. Also, all my professors know me, by default. In the rare case that a roll-call happens, my existence is acknowledged by looking up from the record-sheet and a raised eyebrow. Not once am I needed to go 'Present, saar'. Also, when papers are distributed in class, the teacher walks up to me to hand me my paper, while he just calls out the others, who have to themselves walk all the way and collect it. I'd like to believe, that in these 6 months, they have seen some hidden brilliance me, that makes them want to treat me with this kind of respect!

Meanwhile, I still have one small problem. I dont have a middle name. Maybe I should get one that starts with an 's' and definitely has a 'shree' in it. Yes?