From Gayatri to Riaan: A Chennai Rite of Passage

Chennai, my sweet filter kaapi and jasmine flower smelling city. For as long as I lived away from you for almost 8 years of my marriage, I missed you with my dear life. As long as I lived here during my school, college and work years I've faught with auto annas and never made peace with the hot and cold.

I was binding my son's Tamil textbook today and noticed a misspelling of his name by his teacher - Riyaan Bhattacharya. I wonder who Riyaan is and I'm sure Riaan will also wonder who Riyaan is. It's a story for his college drinking days and perhaps corporate parties where he can either crib or cry about why his teachers always misspelt his name and made him sound like a girl-boy, while infact he is only a boy.

I chuckled as I bound his textbook because there were 10 Gayathri's in my class and no one spelt their name as Gayatri like mine. Notice the lack of the H. There's no H in my name. However for as long as I remember - classteachers across school and college and some friends and colleagues even today write and pronounce my name is Gayathri - with the jarring H.

I've made peace with it, because I am a daughter of the city. How dare I spell my name as Gayatri? Where's the H thambi? Put H immediately, no questions asked. Okay anna, thambi, akka and ayyah, I oblige and mentally salute my city's unreasonable request.

My heart has truly broken only when office birthday parties and farewell parties spelt my name as Gayathri with the H on all my cakes. That's a tragedy now because namakku soru dhaan mukkiyam. I would cut the cake into 100 pieces and give the H piece away to somebody else.

Anyway, coming back to Riyaan Bhattacharya now. Welcome to generational trauma my son. Passed down from the city I was raised over to you.

One day, we'll raise glasses and chuckle about it. For now, I'll pretend I didn't see anything and go along with your teachers misspelling of your name.