Sangam Diaspora

The Namesake

By Aditi Bhattacharjee

I remember walking into the first day of kindergarten and joining the rest of my confused classmates in searching for my name on a bright, glossy strip of paper which would indicate where my assigned seat was. All of the names that I passed were written carefully and suggested order and neatness. However, when I got to my name-tag, this is what I saw: My eighteen letter name running off the name-tag and squished together like a mangled lemon. Later, as the kindergarten teacher called roll, she paused as she got to the B’s, frowned down at her list, and said “Um, A-dee-tuh, Buh-wha?”

And that’s when I started despising my name.

With every grade I progressed, I loathed it more and more. What kind of name was Aditi anyways? While I had yet to encounter another Aditi, my friend Courtney had at least two other Courtneys in each of her classes. I held countless conversations with my mom and dad, asking questions like : Why couldn’t I be named something generic, like Lauren or Katie? After my rants, they both would laughingly offer to start calling me a generic name, and then I would feel weird. After all, they were the ones that chose my name in the first place.

So, it went on. Scores of teachers and students alike stumbled upon the rocky boulder that was my name; and all I wanted to do was just blend into the crowd, not stick out like a sore thumb. I began accepting other versions of my name, like “Uh-dee-dee,” or simply “Dee-Dee”. Hey, at least it sounded more mainstream. As for my last name, well, let’s just say I endured countless nicknames for that, the worst being “Battery Charger.”

Then, in eighth grade, I decided to join the speech and debate program. I signed up for an event called Original Oratory, which required an individual to write his or her own speech and present it in front of a panel of judges. If they liked you, you went to Semis; if the judges there liked you, you went to Finals.

Call it irony if you want, but for my first tournament, I wrote a speech on believing in yourself. I went all the way to Finals with that speech, to my utmost shock. And at the awards ceremony, where all the schools would find out who placed first, second, and third in each event, I sat with my friends in contentment. I had made it to finals, and although I had probably gotten last in that room, all was well.

Then, the awards ceremony started, and after a while, the announcer got to Original Oratory. After a dramatic pause, she read out the name of the middle school third place winner, and people burst into applause. My name wasn’t third place, and neither was my friend’s (she had made it to Finals as well). We waited as the second place winner was called out in the same fashion; and then again, with bated breath, as the announcer said: “And for first place, from Rice Middle School…”

My school’s name! I was thrilled, because that meant my friend had won! I flashed her a thumbs up sign and waited for her name to be called. But instead, I heard “A..a…a….duh…um…”

I remember being confused and thinking “Wait, her name starts with an S!” As soon as realization hit me, my entire school’s table was cheering madly, and everyone in the hall had stood up in applause. I remained frozen in my seat, but my legs somehow managed to carry me up to the stage to receive my trophy. A bubble rose up in my chest as I thought “Good lord, did I really win?!”

I reached the podium and accepted my trophy, but the woman who was announcing stopped me and asked “How do you pronounce your name?”

I told her “Uh-dee-tee Bh-ut-uh-char-jee”. And she answered “Wow, that’s a lovely name. I certainly won’t forget that one.”

From that moment on, I have loved my name. I realized that it was a name that was uncommon and different, but certainly not one to be covered up or hidden. It gave me an opportunity to stand out from the crowd in a unique way. And with accomplishments and success behind it? It would be a hard name to forget.

So, sure, it is an unusual name in American society, and professors and students today still continue to butcher it in every way imaginable, but you know what? I’ll grin and I’ll bear it, I’ll correct them and I’ll keep it. Because regardless of how dumb it sounds, I’m proud to be a battery charger.