Priti Ubhayakar’s article struck a chord with me due to my own experiences with my non-English surname. I recall a pivotal moment when a stranger pronounced my name correctly for the first time, which was quite meaningful to me. Growing up in a predominantly English neighborhood in the 1950s, I was one of the few children with a name that stood out—Uszkurat—while my peers had more common surnames like Brown, Smith, or Jones. My family history is intricate; my father had a Lithuanian grandfather whose name was modified to Uszkurat, likely by German officials. After the region where my father was born transitioned from German control to being part of Poland following the Treaty of Versailles, he eventually became a British citizen after World War II, like many Polish veterans.
I vividly remember my first day at primary school, where my teacher insisted that I was misspelling my surname. Despite being given several workbooks to write my name, I refused to conform to the incorrect spelling she insisted upon. Frustrated, I asked my mother to write a letter to the teacher clarifying the correct spelling. Since then, I have encountered a variety of mispronunciations and misspellings of my name, including “Vosadrat,” one version featuring seven Zs, and “Urquhart.” When I later became a form teacher for a diverse class of 11-year-olds with Asian, Turkish, and African backgrounds, I worried about mispronouncing their names. I decided to write my name on the blackboard and asked if anyone could pronounce it correctly, to which nobody could. I then shared how to say it and encouraged them to teach me the correct pronunciations of their names. This approach worked well, and I felt it was easier to connect with them, something I might not have achieved had I had a more common name.
My experience resonates with that of Priti Ubhayakar. My own first name, often mispronounced as “manic” by English speakers, has led to frequent jokes that I’ve heard countless times. It is only during rare visits to India or when speaking with Indians that I hear the name pronounced correctly as “Maanek.” The subtle difference in pronunciation is a pleasant reminder of my roots.
I empathize with Ubhayakar’s struggles with name mispronunciations, as I face similar issues. My name, spelled Sugumar on my birth certificate, is pronounced phonetically as Sukhumar. The spelling does not represent its true sound, making it sound peculiar when pronounced as it is written. While it is challenging to change official documents to reflect the correct pronunciation, many people simply endure the mispronunciations.
Priti’s article also resonated with me as I recall my own experiences during my school years in England after immigrating from Holland in 1954. On my first day at secondary school, the headteacher stumbled over my name, resulting in laughter from my peers. This was not an ideal start, and I have spent much of my life spelling out my name to others.
Reflecting on my time in primary and secondary school, I often faced difficulties with my first name, “Yves,” which was rarely pronounced correctly. I would dread introducing myself, especially since I pronounced it the French way, which sounds like “Eve” to English listeners. This led to misconceptions, including people thinking I had a girl’s name. Occasionally, my name was mispronounced as “Wives,” despite its French origin from Brittany. However, during family visits to France, it was always a joy to hear my name pronounced correctly.
I understand Priti Ubhayakar’s plight. My unusual first name has caused complications since my school days 83 years ago, while classmates with names like John or David had no trouble learning to spell theirs. Fortunately, my first teacher was a family friend, making things easier. An early realization that my first name could also serve as a surname came when I was eight and had surgery, leading to confusion at the hospital.
Secondary school was less problematic since names weren’t typically used, but I became aware of my name’s uniqueness when I started meeting girls, who found it intriguing. I wish I had a pound for every time someone commented on the uniqueness of my name, which is Welsh in origin. My father hailed from the Valleys, and aside from an uncle, I have found few others with the same surname. Now in retirement, I frequently encounter issues with my name at hospitals, where staff call for “Mr. Miall” and, upon my silence, “Mr. James Miall,” prompting me to explain yet again. While I have grown accustomed to this, it still raises my frustration when asked if I am sure about my own name.
I am thankful to Ms. Ubhayakar for helping me correctly pronounce my MP’s name, as a fellow resident of the Witham constituency.
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