Name

Dear Conscience,

It’s simple. Pick a part of my name, replace it with a word that rhymes, add it to the rest of my name, butcher my last name and gallop along the hallway yelling it and pointing at me. Feels great doesn’t it? That’s because they have simple names, fancy ones, and they have a bunch of minions who would stand up to someone who does the same to them.

I’m different. So is my name. I have been named by my paternal grandmother, pretty much after her name itself. My name stands for the richness of my culture and the diversity of my country. It stands for the legacy of the women in my family. My mother was overwhelmed with joy the day I was born, she always wanted a daughter. My mom had faced many difficulties in her life because she was a woman and her parents never stuck up for her, which is why she wanted a daughter, a daughter whom she could raise to be a strong, intrepid, puissant, and independent woman who can stand through the harshest of storms and that is who I’m going to be. My mom wanted to name me “Dedippa”, a name that had the sound of authority and the blush of rhythm. But my grandmother wanted my name to be taken after hers, so she named me Ritushree, after her name, Manjushree. “Ritu” means “season” and “shree” means “beauty of”, so my name literally means “Beauty of seasons”.

“Sh*toopee”, “Poopshree”, “Sh*tshree”, these are some of the many names that i have been called. I cried. I even dreaded being born. Thanks to bullies! At one point, hearing my name made me feel like a bullet just lacerated through my heart. It made the beauty of a waterfall feel like a landslide. It mangled me apart. I tried to walk in and out of class trying to pretend like I was never there, but like that was ever going to work. I finally decided to stand up to them. They didn’t see me coming and I hit them like an avalanche. I left them broken the way they left me shattered. And I said, “My name is Ritushree, and I know you will remember that”.

When I moved to the United States and started schooling here, many of my teachers ended up mutilating my name. I don’t blame them. They are probably just not used to saying such exuberant names. As days went by, the teachers finally started to get my name right. But when substitute teachers came into class, I just sat at my seat, patiently waiting for them to say my name while calling role and completely butcher it. Over time, my mind started to lose its poise. It was swaying from one side to the other, confused if it should change the label of its identity, like many others, just to escape the province of embarrassment. “I go by Ritu by the way….. Yeah just that….. The first four letters of my name... mhm.” I decided to shorten my name. I took pride in this decision. Neither did I zap my identity nor did I abjure my culture.

I like being called Ritu. It is who I am, it is who I was born to be and it it who I will continue to be. I am unique and that is something that I am not ready to give up at any cost. My name is beautiful. It is the embodiment of an aspect of nature. My name brings the WINTER to my rage, the SUMMER to my flaws, the SPRING in my step, and the cushion to my FALL. I am the beauty of seasons. What is more grandiose than that?

Yours Lovingly,

Ritushree.

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I am not what just meets the eye. I wanted to write this to let everyone around me know that you may think that I hate my name because almost everyone mispronounces it, guess what? You're wrong. I love my name, I love what it means and I love what it stands for. Ain't nobody going to change that!
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