Musings: Notes on Nikki, Nimarata, and Other Names
Hearing or seeing their names distorted—though, often, it’s done unintentionally—is a common experience for immigrants and their children.
I can’t help feeling sorry for Nikki Haley, though not because she lost or because I’m a fan. It’s because she’s been mocked, with Trump calling her “Nimbra” and “Nimrada” instead of Nimarata. When it comes to xenophobia, even U.S.-born children of immigrants are not spared. Yes, race and religion play a role, but so does the native land of their parents. Kamala Harris, too, has been mocked, most notably by former Georgia senator David Perdue.
Of course, deliberately mispronouncing, misspelling, or misgendering a name is not the same as making an honest mistake. Names, even first names, can be hard. So, I admire people who display grace—and humor—when their names are unintentionally mangled.
My first name can be challenging, unlike my last name. To make it easier, I say “Mu-rah-li” when introducing myself. Sometimes, however, that makes matters worse—for I’ve been called Raleigh, Ollie, Riley, Morley, Marley, even Molly. The last one, I admit, was over the phone. Like others who tweak their names, I’ve tried to come up with a simpler version. Don’t get me wrong. I’m proud of my name, but for interactions with strangers, an easy name is convenient sometimes. MK is my so-called Starbucks name. Mack, which had initially seemed promising, began to grate, making me feel like a computer technician. Not to mention, people often confused it with Max. No, it wasn’t short for Maxwell, I’d explain, before I switched to MK.
It’s great when Indian Americans can pick Nikki, Ricky, Bobby, Paddy, etc. No such luck for me. Nikki Haley has used Nikki since childhood (it’s her middle name), and Haley is her husband’s last name. Contrary to malicious claims, she didn’t adopt “Nikki Haley” out of political expediency. My childhood name—Chinni—has little appeal, reminding me how I used to cringe as a teenager when people used it. Names can be so personal, even visceral, and it’s not always clear why a name works for us. Our age increases, our body changes, our hair falls out. What remains constant is our official name, identifying us in life (and death) like nothing else.
But what if you find your name awkward? I’ve wondered about folks who’re called Happy, Sweetie, Bright, or Lucky. While the names sound cute when they’re young, how many adults would be comfortable with them? And names that sound ordinary to us can sound mysterious to others. I was once asked if Subbarao—meaning, auspicious—had anything to do with Subaru! Once in a restaurant, I overheard a woman complain that her baby’s name, Nikhil, had raised questions in her neighborhood, with one boy asking why she’d named him after a coin.
Short names are more popular nowadays. And polysyllabic names, if they have multiple words, are shortened with the use of initials—as in K. V. S. R. Murthy. However, in the case of rap musician Lakshmi Narasimha Vijaya Rajagopala Seshadri Sharma Rajesh Raman, he’s not known as L. N. V. R. S. S. R. Raman. He’s called BlaaZe. The late President Kalam’s full name was Avul Pakir Jainilabdeen Abdul Kalam Manakkayar, but we knew him as A. P. J. Abdul Kalam. While initials are handy, what do you do if the name is Venkatanarasimharajuvaripeta? Fortunately, it’s the name of a railway station.
A short first name doesn’t automatically mean it’s easier to pronounce. Ravi frequently morphs into Rah-vi. There’s that ‘rah’ again, which seems easier to say in this country than the more abrupt sounding ‘ra,’ in my lay opinion. Indian names can be tricky indeed. Rah-man, after all, is the right way to say Raman, even if Ravi isn’t Rah-vi.
Truncating a name, if doable, is an option. Jayaprakash and Jayalakshmi become Jay or Jaya, just as Salimuddin becomes Sal. It doesn’t work for me. Somebody I knew used to call me Mu, which I didn’t care for because it sounded bovine. Also unsuitable were Li and Ali. So, I’m keeping Murali. You’re more than welcome to call me MK, but please don’t ask me to spell it.
Murali Kamma is the managing editor of Khabar. A slightly different version of this column appeared in The Quint, a news and opinion media outlet based in India.
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