"So you are Karthyayayayyani?" the receptionist drawled in a Southern accent.
I grimaced at this massacre of my first name and stopped flicking through the shiny magazine is found on the table outside the doctor's office.
"It's Karthyayani, actually. Pronounced without the extra 20 "ya"s."
The receptionist gave me a bright, condescending smile.
"That's what I said, honey."
I sighed. For ten years of my life, I had been telling people how to pronounce my name properly. In the sixth grade, I started writing my name as just Karthyani, and by the eight grade I just introduced myself as Karthy. I hated my name- I wished I was just Emma or Jane or Mary. This name thing really bothered me- there wasn't even a customized Coke bottle with my name on it! I had never met another Karthyayani, and a quick Google search told me the only other things named after me were a fish farm in Kerala and a temple. I was named after a Hindu goddess, my parents said, but why couldn't I have been named after a goddess with a shorter name? My friends were named Gowri and Parvathi, also Hindu deities, but not ones that spanned for 11 whole letters! People told me my name was distinctive- tell me that when you have a name half as long as antidisestablishmentarianism. Needless to say, I really, really didn't like my name- and still don't, as a matter of fact. This paragraph should end with me saying how I learnt to love my name and all, but let me be very clear here- I'm changing that name the moment I'm eighteen.