At first glance, my name appears simple enough, as far as words go: Anju. Four letters. Two syllables. One would think the pronunciation would be straightforward, but in Western cultures, it is not. And that reality has led to a range of pronunciations for me to choose from.
When I watched Saoirse Ronan, the Irish American actor best known for her roles in “Lady Bird” and “Little Women,” explain how to say her name in a recent interview, I could immediately relate. As a first-generation Indian American born in Queens, generally speaking, I don’t have much in common with Ronan. But in this way I am deeply familiar with her experience — not just with the exercise of patiently performing my name but in receiving the feedback, “I don’t hear the difference” when demonstrating it in various accents: On-joo vs. Onh-ju vs. Un-ju, and so on.
Though Ronan believes there is a correct way to pronounce her name, I believe there are many ways to say my name correctly. I don’t speak any languages outside of English, but do feel a strong connection with my Indian ethnicity. And so, for me, the pronunciation of my name is flexible. The variations, rather than depicting a falsehood, are on an honest spectrum of my multicultural identity.
Rachel Wisniewski for HuffPost
Growing up in 1980s Augusta, Georgia, I was Anne-joo—courtesy of my elementary school teachers. On the first day of school, I dreaded the long pause during attendance every time a new teacher scanned their classroom of white, middle-class youths until finding me. A scrawny, brown girl with bangs in her eyes. Unh-ju, I’d offer into the silence, my entire body caving in — as if by making the target of my physical self smaller the impact of my embarrassment would also be smaller.
Unable to mimic my quiet intonation, after a few tries my teachers landed on a stuttered A-chew, An-chew, Anne-joo. That was sufficient. I was happy…
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