Ana Megawati
Priti Ubhayakar’s life journey has been profoundly shaped by her given name, Priti, one of five bestowed upon her during her Hindu naming ceremony. This deeply personal narrative, spanning continents and decades, illuminates the complex interplay between individual identity, cultural heritage, and societal acceptance, ultimately culminating in a powerful reclamation of self through the simple act of correct pronunciation.
The Roots of Identity: A Hindu Naming Ceremony
In Hindu tradition, the Namkaran Sanskar, or naming ceremony, is a pivotal ritual, typically performed on the 11th or 12th day after birth. Far more than merely assigning a label, this sacred event is steeped in astrological significance, cultural heritage, and familial blessings. It is believed that a name carries vibrations and influences a child’s destiny and character. For Priti Ubhayakar, this ceremony saw her imbued with not one, but five names, each carrying its own resonance, but it was Priti—a Sanskrit word meaning "love," "affection," or "joy"—that became her primary identifier. This name, carefully chosen by her parents, was intended as a beacon of warmth and positivity, a reflection of their hopes and love for their daughter. Her early life began in the United Kingdom during the 1980s, a period marked by increasing cultural diversity but also by the nascent stages of understanding and integrating non-Western identities into the mainstream.
Navigating a Labyrinth of Mispronunciation in Western Education
For many children with names originating from cultures distinct from the dominant Western phonetics, the annual ritual of the first day of school can be a source of profound anxiety. Priti Ubhayakar’s experience was no different. The dread would mount as her new teacher methodically worked through the class register, anticipating the inevitable struggle with her full name: Priti Ubhayakar. The internal monologue, "If the first name doesn’t get you, the last name will," encapsulated a recurring ordeal that was both personal and widely shared among peers from similar backgrounds.
The phonetic challenges were immediate and often humiliating. In an effort to preempt the teacher’s awkward fumbling and the ensuing classroom discomfort, young Priti would often interrupt, hastily offering a simplified or anglicized version. In primary school, this often led to her being called "pretty," an unintended homophone that, while seemingly innocuous, became a crucible of shame. Children, often unthinkingly cruel, seized upon this phonetic approximation, transforming it into a weapon: "Pretty? You’re not very pretty. Pretty ugly, I would say." Such taunts, rooted in linguistic misunderstanding, inflicted deep wounds, fostering a profound sense of embarrassment and a desire to conceal her true name. The psychological toll of chronic name mispronunciation has been well-documented in various studies, revealing its capacity to erode self-esteem, diminish a sense of belonging, and even manifest as a form of microaggression, leaving individuals feeling invisible or disrespected. For Priti, this constant phonetic struggle fostered a deep-seated aversion to her own name, a name her parents had given with such care and affection. She felt compelled to assimilate, never correcting her teachers or friends, internalizing the idea that her name was a burden rather than a gift.
Transatlantic Identity Crisis: From UK to US
The challenges intensified for Priti when her family relocated from the UK to the United States in the mid-1990s. This geographical shift introduced another layer of complexity to her name dilemma: the nuances of accent. When asked her name, she found herself trapped in a linguistic bind. Uttering "Priti" with her native English accent often prompted attempts at imitation from Americans, making her feel self-conscious and foreign. Conversely, attempting an American pronunciation of "Priti" felt unnatural and, to her own ears, even worse, further deepening her discomfort.
This ongoing struggle profoundly impacted her social interactions. The mere thought of introducing herself to new people would induce trembling, a visceral desire for "the ground to swallow me up." To navigate this persistent anxiety, Priti developed a strategic coping mechanism: she would remain silent in new social settings, relying on her American friends to introduce her. This tactic, though effective in avoiding immediate discomfort, came at the cost of genuine self-expression and perpetuated her feelings of inadequacy regarding her identity.
The problem, far from being confined to childhood, shadowed her through significant life stages. During her university years, ordering coffee at Starbucks, or even navigating the corporate landscape of America, the issue persisted. Over time, she accumulated a litany of phonetic variations and nicknames: "Perdy," "Petri," and "Prit the Brit"—the last of which, she notes, at least offered a momentary chuckle, a rare respite from the constant strain. These misnomers, though sometimes offered innocently, underscored a pervasive lack of recognition and respect for her authentic identity. The impact of name-based biases is not merely anecdotal; research indicates that individuals with "ethnic-sounding" names often face subtle, yet significant, disadvantages in professional settings, from hiring processes to daily workplace interactions. The constant need to correct, or the resignation to being misnamed, can drain mental energy and contribute to a sense of otherness.
A Homecoming of Sound: The Mumbai Revelation
Just as Priti began to resign herself to a lifetime of linguistic struggle, a remarkable shift occurred. In 2004, after a period of travel exploring the United States and Europe, she secured a job in Mumbai, India. This move to her ancestral homeland, though significant in its own right, held an unexpected, profound revelation for her personal identity.
On her very first day at the Mumbai office, Priti walked in with her customary trepidation, extending her hand to introduce herself, fully braced for the usual awkward pause and mispronunciation. However, her new boss, shaking her hand in welcome, uttered her name perfectly: "Hi, Priti." The pronunciation, "Pree-thi," rolled off his tongue with natural ease and accuracy. This seemingly small gesture elicited a "double-take" from Priti. She had prepared herself for the familiar dance of nerves, the internal debate of how to respond, but suddenly, it was entirely unnecessary. The immediate relief was immense, a physical weight lifted from her shoulders.
From that pivotal moment, Priti’s experience in India became a continuous affirmation. Everywhere she went, her name was pronounced correctly, resonating with the sound her family had always used. Making reservations at restaurants, engaging with local shopkeepers eager to address customers directly, or simply interacting in daily life—the sound of her own name, spoken with accuracy and respect, became "music to her ears." This pervasive validation provided an unexpected sense of comfort, filling a void she hadn’t consciously realized was there. It was an immersive experience of cultural belonging, where her name, once a source of anxiety, became a harmonious part of her environment.
Reclaiming Self: The Enduring Legacy of Cultural Acceptance
The period Priti spent in India was more than just a geographic relocation; it was a profound journey of self-discovery and cultural reclamation. She was "surrounded by people who gave my name the respect that I had never given it myself." This consistent, effortless validation allowed her to dismantle the deep-seated shame associated with her name. She no longer had to feel embarrassed by the identity her parents had lovingly bestowed upon her. The previously unshakable feeling that "there was something wrong with my name – and, in turn, that there was something wrong with me" began to dissipate.
Her name, which had once been a painful "symbol of all the distorted feelings I had about being Indian and growing up in England and then living in the US," transformed into a source of strength and pride. The experience in Mumbai served as a powerful crucible, forging a new sense of confidence and self-acceptance. A year and a half later, when Priti returned to the United States, she was no longer the same person who had trembled at introductions. The experiences in Mumbai had "steeled her," equipping her with an newfound assurance in asserting the correct pronunciation of her name.
Even two decades after that initial, transformative exchange in the Mumbai office, its impact on Priti’s life remains profound and far-reaching. The simple act of being correctly named catalyzed a deeper integration of her identity. She now makes "references to my Indian heritage that feel natural and meaningful," no longer feeling the need to hide behind past insecurities. This newfound confidence extends beyond herself; she actively embraces and advocates for linguistic respect. Priti now consciously goes "out of my way to pronounce other people’s names properly, even if it takes a few tries," recognizing the profound impact such an effort can have on an individual’s sense of worth and belonging.
Broader Implications: Fostering Inclusivity Through Linguistic Respect
Priti Ubhayakar’s personal narrative serves as a compelling microcosm of a broader societal issue: the critical importance of names as fundamental markers of identity, culture, and self-worth. In an increasingly globalized world, where diverse communities intertwine, the respectful recognition of names is not merely a matter of politeness but a cornerstone of genuine inclusion and empathy.
Psychological research consistently underscores the significance of a person’s name in their self-concept and social interactions. Studies indicate that when an individual’s name is consistently mispronounced, it can lead to feelings of disrespect, alienation, and a diminished sense of self-worth. Conversely, making the effort to pronounce a name correctly—even if it requires practice—validates an individual’s identity, acknowledges their heritage, and fosters a powerful sense of belonging. This is particularly crucial in educational settings, where children’s identities are still forming, and in professional environments, where feelings of invisibility can hinder career progression and engagement.
Priti’s journey highlights the imperative for institutions—schools, universities, and workplaces—to cultivate environments that actively embrace and respect linguistic diversity. This includes training staff on the importance of name pronunciation, providing phonetic guides, and fostering a culture where individuals feel empowered to correct mispronunciations without fear of embarrassment or retribution. Such practices move beyond superficial diversity initiatives, embedding true equity and inclusion at a fundamental level.
Ultimately, Priti Ubhayakar’s story is one of transformation—from dread to empowerment. Her journey from a child ashamed of her name to an adult confidently asserting her identity underscores the profound, transformative power embedded in the simple act of hearing, and saying, one’s own name aloud, correctly and with pride. Now, when she enters a room, Priti no longer seeks others to make introductions. She confidently extends her hand, saying, "Hi, my name is Priti," embodying a full circle of self-acceptance and a powerful message for a world striving for greater understanding and respect.
