How I learned to reclaim my Hindi name
'My name was a source of shame and a constant reminder that I was different,' says Sheetal Vemannagari
This First Person story is the experience of Sheetal Vemannagari, who grew up with a complicated relationship to her name. For more information about CBC's First Person stories, please see the FAQ.
For many people who are part of ethnic diasporas in anglophone societies, their self-worth can be thrown into disarray by the seemingly trivial disregard for their name.
My name is Sheetal and I am a 20-year-old South Asian woman, born in Canada. At the age of 18, I reclaimed my name and never looked back.
Sheetal —pronounced "Sheeth-hull" — is a Hindi word that means "a cool breeze." My grandmother in India lovingly gave me my name, hoping it would help me stay connected to my roots.
In India, it's a name that is wildly popular and given to some of the most beautiful characters in iconic Bollywood movies. However, in Canada, the name is stripped of its meaning and often pronounced "shit-all," making it the butt of jokes.
"Why does Sheetal need toilet paper when she goes to the bathroom? It's because she has shit all over her," said one of my closest middle school friends — as if my identity was simply a spectacle to be mocked. I forced a laugh out of myself, trying desperately to fit in as our entire friend group erupted into laughter.
Compared to the Angelas and Sarahs around me, my name sounded weird, masculine and ugly. I always wished I had been named Sheila or Sophia.
Not like everyone else
As the title of my identity, my name was a source of shame and a constant reminder that I was different. In the classroom, my name was always preceded by an awkward pause and never pronounced correctly.
Every awkward moment communicated to me that I did not belong.
It was not long before this dissociation from my name manifested itself into the rejection of my ethnic identity — I wanted to be white.
Some of my closest friends would make comments such as, "I've never really seen a pretty brown girl before." As I looked around and failed to see the representation or general appreciation for brown girls in mainstream culture, I found myself agreeing.
Aiming to take up as little space as possible, I never made the effort to correct people when they mispronounced my name.
As a young girl, I was shy and constantly aware of my differences. Every breath I took or step I made seemed to be for the sole purpose of seeking public approval. I refused to appear demanding by speaking up, in addition to already being weird.
Life changing trip
Eventually, I had no preference between my real name and the horribly butchered version of it because neither resonated with me.
Things changed for me after a trip to India in Grade 12.
In Canada, I was ostracized for elements of my South Asian identity. However, the moment I stepped foot in my grandparents' house, I was ridiculed for mispronouncing my own name and not speaking Telugu, my native language, with the right accent.
Our neighbour gushed about my name.
"Sheetal is such a beautiful name!" she said. "I always wished I had your name as a child!"
Beauty in uniqueness
After being at odds with my culture for so long, I was shocked that someone found beauty in a name that I had hated my entire life.
The more people I met, the more compliments I received for the things that made me different in Canada — such as my thick black hair and Indian features.
These compliments were revolutionary to me. My differences were to be admired, not ashamed of. I realized that being different was not synonymous with weird or ugly but that there was beauty in my uniqueness.
I learned that when I place importance on the pronunciation of my name, it tells others my identity is important, and so are my opinions.- Sheetal
Coming back to Canada, I was a changed person. With newfound respect for my culture, I could not continue to dismiss my name and identity as a trivial matter.
My name was beautiful and my identity mattered.
I repeated this mantra every time I corrected someone's mispronunciation. Initially, I was terrified that they would see me as being picky or pushy. Instead, I was shocked to be met with guilt and respect which validated the right I had to my own identity.
After all, if one person was able to understand the importance and pronunciation of my name, then others would too.
As more people took the time to learn my name, it communicated that I mattered and deserved to take up just as much space in the room as my white peers.
I learned that when I place importance on the pronunciation of my name, it tells others my identity is important, and so are my opinions.
While newcomers to this country face many concrete and systemic hardships, something as simple as the pronunciation of a name can go a long way to make someone feel like they belong.
Reclaiming my name allowed me to feel confident in myself and my heritage. I now know that my differences should be valued, not shied away from.