My name- a weird little story with a happy ending

My Name

My name has always be a source of trouble. Too long, too hard to pronounce, not like me. When I reached the age of seven, I grew quite weary of my name. My name became my stalker. A lurking shadow, an unwanted guest.

And just like paparazzi, my name knew everything about me yet I didn’t know anything about my name. As I searched for the meaning of my name, I broke down into a hysterical yet purely sarcastic laughter. Beautiful? Ahahahah… Sincere? Barely… Caring? I’m not even going to start that one… Every time people said my name it was sort of like hate mail. My name was a fresh breath of sarcasm.

I always longed for a shorter, simpler name that would suit me. I’m going to tell you the story behind how my name came to be. As a writer, I should be able to obliterate details that would reveal how pathetic the story truly is. My mother is an avid reader. Eight months pregnant, she stopped by a bookstore (probably the only one in Mauritius XD) She wandered around the great labyrinth of books, picked out the ones on baby names and went home.

The first one she started was a book on Indian names. My mother flipped through every page, pausing occasionally to underline names she liked and disliked the most. But to be truthful… all the names were pretty…horrible. I suppose my mother did not enjoy the thought of her daughter being names Aravagadesa or Chenchi- Hoprigrad. Dakshina was the one name she fell in love with. My mom knew right that instant that that’s what she would name her little baby daughter. A cute, interesting, yet simply tongue-twirling name…Dakshina.

More reasons for me to hate my name. But strangely, as the years went by, my name became more or less a very big and important part of me. My name is an agenda with constant reminders of who I am. This is what people know me by. Dakshina…sort of like a tight pair of jeans that you just can’t seem to fit in. I was used to just following my name around, making it something I had to adjust myself to. I did not want it like that. So I made my name suit me. Negatives morphed into positives, well, most of them.

Length became a sign of uniqueness, while pronunciation gave my name an exotic weave. Whether or not I was sincere and serious (qualities I clearly did not master), it didn’t really matter. After a while it becomes tiring telling everyone you’re name is, like, Leila but your MOM likes to call you Dakshina, just like that (most obvious lie yet) My name is Dakshina…and that’s actually really cool.