Hey Maitreyi. We go by Mae now. I say it is because I tire of correcting how people pronounce it, but in reality, I did not know how to say it myself. Mother said it was “meh-trey-ee” and Rupam ma’am repeated to you that it indeed was “meh-trey-ee” but for 12-13 year old us it did not sound edgy enough. So we went with “meh-trey”, right? Right, yes, that.
It becomes so much more important how you teach others to pronounce your name, the older you get, the more people you meet, but most importantly, when you immerse yourself in another country with people from every culture you can think of. There is no baseline anymore for how pronunciation works; some can barely roll their r’s, and others struggle with multi-syllable words inherently. I knew it would be a task to explain, but I did anyway, because Maitreyi was an identity I was holding onto, not just a name. The identity that you, Maitreyi, worked so hard for 6 years to construct when you were left to your own devices in a boarding school at 11. There was so much respect, achievement, and emotional depth that came with being Maitreyi; after all, it was who you developed into as a raging, hormonal teenager.
Being Maitreyi was tied to the boarding school. Coincidentally and naturally so that you only began to be addressed by the name when you moved to the hills at twelve. You were previously called Bharti, sometimes Bharathi dependent on the speakers’ nativity. Bharti was child us, but a few months into Maitreyi, you already managed to detach from it and the sound of that name did not resonate as your own anymore.
I think once our chapter at school ended, my mind stayed there. I continued to be called Maitreyi, but also yearned repeatedly to feel like Maitreyi did. I began my static journey of living in the past with that. Many events at the time developed to create a very strong foundation for this to happen. I think back to those years, being 18, being 19, and I have mixed feelings about it. I am sorry to begin with, because we could not continue your legacy of high achievement, recognition, and laurels. You spent quite a bit of time in school hoping to not be “found out”, and, well, nothing in the world was going to snap you out of that. When the walls spread out, your space widened, you were dipped into a numbing realisation that you, indeed, “are not what everyone believed you to be”, and your world came crashing down. I write about it in such a dramatised way retrospectively because I know 18-19-year-old Maitreyi felt exactly that. It was also high time my mental health, which had already met its depth in clinical depression when you started sleeping in to skip breakfast and show up to classes at 10 am, spread its wings to land me in the lowest place i had known as a 19 year old who was mentally stuck at 17.
But hey, things get better. They always do. At almost 20, we are emotionally attached and involved with a pleasant, friendly Scottish man, our first true crossover into another culture; a contrasting experience after dating a patriotic-somehow-communist-semi-mature-yet-emotionally-distraught indian guy from 4000 miles away. Just about that time, we sign up for the student union council, our first true attempt to reflect the past, but also strangely enough, to launch into the present, to be a more active part of the university we were at. A few months into this, foreshadowed by a global pandemic, we start spending more time with the Scottish guy’s family. one day he mentions that his mother calls me Mai. easier for her, I am guessing. we were not offended at the slightest, if anything, what a refreshing experience it was to be in a positive, healthy, no-shouting space of a “family”. We did not resist “Mai”; in fact, you leaned into it. We liked the ring of it, and maybe somewhere unconsciously, i was ready to let go of you, Maitreyi.
Mai was probably the beginning of some redefinition. My mental health continued to fall apart, not just because I was unravelling so much of my identity at once, but also because there was so much untapped, unprocessed emotion from 19 years of being that was begging to be let out of our tired heart and mind. In many ways, that is a good thing. You allowed yourself to feel free, to feel lighter. Turns out, people at the age of 20/21 do not usually lean towards feeling their feelings; they numb out, distract, flatten out with alcohol, drugs, and loud music, and whatnot. You could not afford a lot of that, so it worked out for the best. But also, you have always been a strong feeler of every emotion, and very expressive at that. It does me good and bad, even at 24/25.
I coasted through the final years of university, barely hanging by a thread to meet some skeleton milestones like a good enough grade to start my full time job. I don’t think we give ourself enough credit for that period. In my head, I write it off often as a sedentary, unproductive time that launched me into the next phase of my life, but Mai was onto something. She laid the groundwork for so much emotional growth and expansion, I can only feel in solidarity with everything she endured to get me where I am today. I started my job shortly after, financial stability came with it, something you struggled with when you were left to your own devices outside the bubble of school. People somehow though, continued to mispronounce my name? They said “my”. I wanted to be called “May”. Guess why? Yes it had a nice ring to it. But also was edgy enough, seemed like I cared about that ten years after too. I happened to come across an online clip featuring a Vietnamese character “Mae” and they pronounced her name “May”. I was onto the wrong syllable this entire time. Changing my name at this point didn’t require me to move institutions or strip myself of a previous identity, I only had to log onto an HR portal and submit the revision. A few work days later, I was Mae. Most people pronounced it right this time around. I stopped correcting people for my name.
Around the time, you also reconnected with a past lover, one you could not accept previously because of what you realised to be “internalised homophobia” (thank you internet for enlightening me to the concept and bringing substance and structure to my experience). reconnecting with her was a slippery slope, because you, Maitreyi, you were still alive in her. after all, she fell in love with you at seventeen. and in her eyes and words I relived you. unfortunately, the change in my name was temporary stoppage to slipping back into yearning for who you were, Maitreyi. I did, as a result, for at least eight of twelve months in the following year, find myself enveloped in some degree of detachment from Mai and recreated ego indulgence from Maitreyi.
This came with good and bad news. Good news was I had the opportunity to reconnect with older parts of us, like who you built yourself up to be. Bad news was two part - one obvious to me at the time but another a crashing truth I find myself coming to terms with as I write this to you. You see, Maitreyi, your folds of insecurity in the vastness of achievement meant that i once again experienced a sense of desperation to be the same, Best Individual, in her eyes. It harbored an unhealthy amount of resentment and rehashed unprocessed emotions that you had not intellectually come to terms with at 18/19. It spilled over into my relationship with her. Retrospectively, she also came into it holding onto her 17 year old self, and brought patterns that, in unfortunate reality for both of us, ignited a viscous cycle of being trapped into our past versions.
But you know the other thing you held at 17, that I thought I rid of around 21, that came back. I had no idea until 3 years after when I permanently healed myself from it (too late because at this point I seemed to have lost the final possibilities of being with her). Internalised homophobia. it is a heavy thing, that. it takes over us when we least expect it and it hangs in our chest rotting everything inside. I wonder how you bore so much, so young, Maitreyi. I barely managed until 25.
I have been twenty five for just over three weeks now. I have lately had the urge to resurge “Maitreyi”, because it holds to me a dear connection, and a core sense of belonging and identity. I do not intend to bring you back as you were, Maitreyi. I will carry you with me always, but I am back on a journey of finding myself again. And I think it might be good to mark the occasion with a name change, for the previously unplanned traditions’ sake. Not sure I’ll follow through, but I did think of you, and it delights me to connect with you through this letter.
I am proud of you. You’d be proud of us.