Ashwini Gangal shares about the importance of holding on to names.
My name is Ashwini, which is Sanskrit for “someone who has the spirit of a horse.” I moved to the San Francisco Bay Area, from India, three years ago. When people ask me what my name is, I say Ash. Not because I’m simplifying my name for Americans, like a lot of my immigrant brethren do.
Ash is not my American name like Harvey might be for Harvinder. Ash is an alter ego born in my teens on a playground in Mumbai, where I’m from. I empathize with Indians who shorten their names after coming to America, amputating elements of their identity in the process. I understand why Padmalaxmi and Samarthanarayan become Pax and Sam. Eventually they may shed their immigrant diffidence, subvert the rules of assimilation and revert to their real names, but I know why they may abbreviate on arrival. Our name is, after all, an anchor for our personality, our sense of self, our individuality.
For Indians who live outside India, the name becomes a symbol of culture, of language, of home. But I was Ash before I got here. My friends in India took the first three letters of my name and nicknamed me thus. It’s a show of affection, it’s shorthand, it’s subtext. “Hi, I’m Ash” really means “Hi, I’m affable and approachable — just ask my friends.”
I don’t feel strongly about whether or not people should hold onto their given names; I feel strongly about the assumptions surrounding their choice. While I am proud of my name, I refuse to concede that its short version is my American name. On the contrary, it represents modern, urban, global India. And it’s undoubtedly brown in color. With a Perspective, I’m Ashwini Gangal.