Sorry, That’s now how you say my name.

You are pronouncing my Asian name incorrectly — but that happens to be my fault

Take a look at my name for a second — “Nikhil Vootkur.” If you’re alone, feel free to say it out loud and if you aren’t, say it in your head. I can almost guarantee that you said (in air quotes) it wrong. But, before you worry, that’s not your fault — It’s mine.

I was born in 2002 to two Indian immigrants. When I was born, they named me Nikhil, which Initially derived from Sanskrit, means “entire”, “universal”, “comprehensive”, or “complete.” But I have learned not-so-recently, that if I say my name to an Indian the way I pronounce it to my friends and teachers at school or away from , the otherwise poetic meaning of my name would be reduced to absolutely nothing. So why do I mispronounce and alter my name? It’s a subtle, simple form of what many refer to as code-switching. My personal form of code switching has created two fun alter egos which have, over time, consumed and overtaken my Asian identity, contorting syllables and phonics in order to conform to a western-dominant culture.

Nik-eel is the first, and is probably what you know me or other “Nikhil”s in your life as. For me, this cover formed at the age of 4, when I came home from school and proudly told my parents I was now “Nik-Eel.” My parents, who at this point were in the US for more than a decade and had their fair share of “findian pseudonyms,” understandably looked at me with shock and disbelief as their son fiercely debated with them about the name they gave him. But to this day, I have sustained the use of my incorrect name, and without fail, use it to introduce myself.

The worst of my alter-egos, though, is “Nik,” which I refer to as My Starbucks name. Nik was coined in the first grade when my white, 73-year-old teacher decided my name was too difficult to attempt pronouncing, and immediately, for her own convenience, seized the opportunity to make me Nik. My name, to her, was too hard to wrap her mind around and, thus, required a replacement.

But nothing about these stories are unique to me. The story of one’s food too gross, clothes too weird, and name too difficult is far from foreign. For many other Asians (and other “difficult-named” peoples) who have…