Coalition of Hindus of North America

What’s in a Name?

Fall brings new backpacks, sharpened pencils, and the excitement of a fresh start. But for some of us, that excitement is mixed with a knot in our stomachs—the moment when our names are called aloud, only to be stumbled over, mispronounced, or changed into something unrecognizable. 

Picture this: a young Hindu girl sits at her desk while her teacher calls names for attendance. The teacher struggles with the non-Western names and grows more agitated with every student who corrects her. Finally, she gets to this young girl’s name and struggles to say it. She then utters the words, “Why can’t your name be something simple like Mary?”

Many Hindu students ask themselves a similar question every time they’re in a Western classroom. People don’t understand how often situations like this occur. Hindu students are constantly singled out for their “different” or “exotic” names. Some of us even go as far as changing our names.

I know a girl named Vrithika—pronounced Vri-thih-kuh. Since kindergarten, she has gone by Rit-tea-kaa. Her reasoning? “No one, not even the teacher, could get it right.” So, instead of correcting them, she changed her name because she didn’t want to be “different” or “create a problem.”

Even I have succumbed to situations like this, where I let teachers or even my peers call me My-raa instead of my correct name Mee-raah. It felt easier than “making a big deal about it.”

But there are so many meaningful things about the names we are given at birth. Some come from Sanskrit, one of the world’s oldest languages. Some are connected to our gods and goddesses, others to nature, or even to qualities our parents want us to carry as we grow older. Like Bhavya, which means great or greatness, or Ananya, which means unique, and is often used for Goddess Parvati. Or Lakshmi, the name of the goddess of wealth and good fortune. Every part of our name holds a special meaning, like a little gift passed down to us.

Our names are also anchors to our roots. Think about it—during colonization, when our culture was being torn apart, our names kept us connected to who we were. They held us together through everything and reminded us of our identities, our home, and the rich community we belonged to.

In Hindu thought, words have shakti, power—and our names carry that power. Personally my name Mira introduced me to the idea of who I could be, the potential I have, and what I could accomplish as a Hindu woman. Mirabai, my namesake, who I look up to, shows me that perseverance and standing up for what you believe in and what you love may be hard but it’s worth it. As one of the most famous female bhakts of Lord Krishna she embodies the strength, the guts, and mindset that I one day hope to achieve. So, when we honor our names, we honor the people who gave them to us and the culture they came from.

But it’s hard when we hear comments like, “Why can’t your name be something simple like Mary?” Or when people keep getting it wrong no matter how much you correct them.

But we have to remember – it’s not that our names are too complicated. It’s about others not taking the time to learn. And it’s alright if someone gets them wrong at first because that happens. But it’s important to teach them the right way to pronounce them, not because we’re being difficult, but because our names matter.

When we wear our names with pride, we show others how to do the same. We tell the world: our culture, our language, and our identity deserve respect. Our names aren’t just words; they’re stories, legacies, and pieces of love passed down to us.

And that’s why speaking up matters. Advocacy doesn’t always look like a big protest or a speech, it can be as simple as correcting someone kindly, or encouraging a friend not to shorten their name just to fit in. Every time we do that, we’re not just standing up for ourselves, we’re making it easier for the next person. Advocacy is how small changes ripple outward, turning classrooms and communities into places where everyone can belong without leaving a part of themselves behind.

The author, Mira Trivedi, a high school student, a public policy intern, and a CoHNA youth volunteer.