barefoot girl with shoes on

I used to really dislike my name. It’s too short, rhymes with a number of words that six to 16 year olds, especially a particular distasteful sort of boy, find hilarious and nauseatingly repeatable. It’s supposed to mean “beauty”, but I’ve always known that that was a poor translation of the Sanskrit word. I asked my parents once why they chose it, and they said that since they knew I would spend at least the first few years of my life in America, they wanted it to be something pronounceable by the ponderous American tongue. So they made a list of their favorite baby-girl names and tested it out on their American friends. And over names that sounded like blossoming things and spring-rained-on things and starry celestial things of multiple syllables, roiling consonants and exotic vowel sounds, they chose what I have now: two syllables, no nonsense. A name of convenience, but not one to own and love.

I have come to love it though. I’ve found translations of it that I’ve liked: “the subtle essence of form”, which sounds like it could be a book by Milan Kundera. Then there’s Rupa and the April Fishes, who Katie H. introduced me to… I really like them, and that they sound like they’re a bit from everywhere.

And it’s all in the way it’s said: I like it when people roll the “R” just right, and even more when they at least try. and I like it when they come up with sweet, personal nicknames that are more varied than you’d imagine for such a short and unassuming name. And I like that it’s special to my parents, even if it wasn’t their first choice. They made up for it with my 13-letter antiquated oddity of a middle name, but that’s another story…