Between Two Cultures: Naming Our Children When Home Is Complicated
Between Two Cultures: Naming Our Children When Home Is Complicated
The Weight of Names
My name is Priya. In India, it's as common as Jennifer—a perfectly ordinary name meaning 'beloved.' In New Jersey, where I grew up, it was 'exotic.' Teachers mispronounced it. Kids asked 'what kind of name is that?' Job applications felt like gambles: would Priya get the same callbacks as Sarah?
I have complicated feelings about my name. I love its meaning, its Sanskrit roots, its connection to my family's history. I hate the lifetime of corrections, the casual othering, the way it marked me as 'different' in every new context.
When my husband and I started discussing baby names, all of this surfaced. We're both Indian-American—second generation, born here, raised between cultures. Our parents immigrated from Gujarat and Tamil Nadu. Our children would be third generation, even further removed from the homeland we've never fully inhabited.
What do you name a child who will never live in India but will always, in some way, be Indian? Who deserves to carry heritage but also deserves to navigate American life without constant friction? Who is neither fully one thing nor fully the other, like their parents, like me?
This is the naming question that kept me up at night. Not 'what sounds nice?' but 'who do we want our children to be?'
The Assimilation Pressure
The arguments for 'easy' names.
The Path of Least Resistance
I know families who chose American names entirely. Their children are Emily and Michael, not Lakshmi and Vikram. The reasoning is practical:
- No mispronunciations
- No 'where are you REALLY from' conversations
- No resume discrimination
- No playground teasing
- No forever-spelling your name for strangers
These parents aren't ashamed of their heritage. They're protecting their children from friction they experienced themselves. They're choosing smooth over meaningful.
The American Dream Logic
Our parents came to America for opportunity. Isn't giving our children American names the logical extension? If the goal is integration, why create an obvious marker of difference?
This argument has weight. Studies show that resumes with 'ethnic' names receive fewer callbacks. Names signal belonging—and in America, Priya signals 'other' while Emily signals 'us.'
My Ambivalence
I understand this logic. I've felt the resume anxiety. I've seen my name garble in American mouths. Part of me wanted to spare my children that experience.
But part of me rebelled. Why should we erase ourselves to make others comfortable? Why should our children's names be a concession to someone else's limited worldview?
The Heritage Reclamation
The arguments for cultural names.
The Preservation Imperative
Third-generation immigrants often experience cultural erasure. Languages are lost. Traditions thin. Connection to the homeland becomes tourist visits and wedding rituals performed without understanding.
Names can be anchors. When Arjun grows up and asks 'why is my name different?' that's an entry point to history, to mythology, to a culture he might otherwise lose entirely.
The Pride Argument
Why should we be ashamed? Why should our children enter the world apologizing for their heritage? An Indian name isn't a burden—it's a gift. It says: 'You come from something. You carry tradition. You belong to a story that didn't start with your birth.'
The Changing America
America in 2025 is more diverse than America in 1985. Sundar Pichai runs Google. Kamala Harris was Vice President. Indian names are not as 'foreign' as they were in my childhood. Maybe the friction I experienced is lessening—maybe my children will have an easier time than I did.
My Ambivalence, Again
I wanted to believe this. I wanted to give my children proud Indian names and trust America to catch up. But I also remembered every time someone looked at my resume skeptically. Every time I was asked to 'go by something easier.' Every time my name was a hurdle before I could demonstrate my competence.
Could I subject my children to that? Should I?
Finding Middle Ground
The strategies for bridging cultures.
The Crossover Name
Some names work in both cultures. Maya, for example, is Sanskrit (meaning 'illusion') but also familiar in the West. Tara is Hindu mythology and Irish origin. Rohan is Sanskrit and sounds like a common American name.
These crossover names offer the best of both worlds: cultural meaning without constant othering.
The Americanized Middle
Another approach: Indian first name, American middle name. Arjun James. Priya Elizabeth. The child can choose which to emphasize in different contexts.
This felt like hedging to me—like we couldn't commit to either identity fully. But for some families, it's a genuine solution.
The American-Indic Middle
The reverse: American first name, Indian middle name. Emma Lakshmi. James Vikram. The heritage is preserved but private, revealed only when the child chooses.
This also felt like hiding to me. Like we were embarrassed by the Indian name. But I understand parents who make this choice.
The Nickname Bridge
Choose a full Indian name with an easy nickname. Arundhati could be 'Ari.' Krishnamurthy could be 'Krish.' The legal name honors heritage; the nickname smooths daily life.
What Our Children Will Inherit
The bigger questions behind the name.
Our Complicated Identity
My husband and I are not fully Indian. We've never lived there. Our Hindi is passable; our Tamil is worse. We eat dosas and burgers with equal enthusiasm. We celebrate Diwali and Thanksgiving with equal feeling.
We're American. We're also Indian. We're neither, fully. We're something in between—a new identity that our parents' generation couldn't have predicted.
What We're Passing Down
Our children will be even more American than us. Their connection to India will be even more abstract—great-grandparents they never met, a country they visit as tourists, traditions that feel more like costume than culture.
Is an Indian name honest for them? Or is it us projecting an identity they won't actually inhabit?
The Name as Invitation
I reframed the question. An Indian name isn't a declaration that our children ARE Indian. It's an invitation to explore that part of themselves. It's a door they can walk through—or not.
An American name closes that door. It says: 'This heritage isn't important enough to name.' An Indian name keeps it open.
Our children will choose their own identities. We just want to give them options.
The Names We Chose
What we decided and why.
Our Daughter: Ananya
Ananya is Sanskrit, meaning 'unique' or 'incomparable.' It's recognizably Indian to those who know, but not obviously 'foreign' to American ears. The 'a-NAN-ya' pronunciation is intuitive. No impossible sounds, no spellings that look like keyboard smashes.
We tested it with American friends. 'Ananya.' They could say it. They could remember it. They didn't grimace or ask for something easier.
It felt like the right balance: proudly Indian, accessible enough to navigate America.
Our Son: Rohan
Rohan is Sanskrit, meaning 'ascending' or 'healing.' It's also a place in Lord of the Rings, which gives it unexpected crossover appeal. American kids can say it easily. It doesn't invite 'where are you from' questions—it just sounds like a name.
Some family members were disappointed we didn't choose something 'more Indian.' But Rohan IS Indian. The fact that Americans can pronounce it doesn't make it less so.
The Middle Names
For middle names, we honored family directly:
- Ananya Jayanti (my mother's name)
- Rohan Suresh (his father's name)
These are deeply Indian, potentially harder to pronounce, but they're middle names—used on legal documents, shared when the child chooses. The heritage is there, just not in the everyday-name.
The Family Reaction
My parents were pleased. Indian names meant their grandchildren would carry visible heritage. His parents were slightly disappointed—they'd hoped for something more traditionally Tamil. Both sets ultimately supported our choices.
The American side of our life barely noticed. 'Ananya and Rohan. Pretty names.' No questions. No complications. Exactly what we hoped for.
Frequently Asked Questions
Q1: How do you balance two cultures?
You don't achieve perfect balance—you make choices that feel right for your family. We chose Indian names with accessible sounds, honoring heritage while acknowledging our American reality. Others might choose differently: American names with Indian middles, or fully traditional Indian names regardless of pronunciation challenges. There's no formula. Just values, priorities, and the courage to commit.
Q2: What about pronunciation issues?
We specifically chose names that Americans can pronounce intuitively. This was a deliberate filter: any name that required constant correction was off the list. Not because we're ashamed—because we experienced that friction ourselves and didn't want it for our kids. Other families might prioritize meaning over ease. Both are valid.
Q3: Will children resent cultural names?
Maybe? Children resent all kinds of names for all kinds of reasons. My friend named Sarah resented being 'boring.' My friend named Krishnamurthy resented being 'impossible.' You can't predict what your child will think. Give them a name you believe in, with intention and love. Help them understand why you chose it. The rest is up to them.
Q4: Are we erasing our heritage by choosing accessible names?
I wrestled with this. Ultimately, I decided that Ananya and Rohan are authentically Indian names with real Sanskrit meaning. The fact that Americans find them easy to say doesn't make them 'less Indian.' It makes them bridging names—appropriate for children who will live in both worlds.
Q5: What if I don't feel connected to my heritage?
You can still give your child a cultural name. You can both explore that heritage together. The name becomes an invitation for you AND your child to learn more about where your family came from. You don't have to be an expert in your heritage to honor it. You just have to be open to it.
Names That Bridge Worlds
My children are named Ananya and Rohan. They are Indian names. They are also names that work in their American lives without constant friction.
Are these names a compromise? Maybe. They're not as traditionally Indian as my grandparents might have hoped. They're not as smoothly American as full assimilation would suggest.
But they're us. They're who we are: people who live between worlds, who belong fully to neither and partially to both. People who love chai and coffee. People who celebrate Diwali and Christmas. People who are American and Indian and something else that doesn't have a name yet.
Our children will figure out their own identities. They'll decide what 'Indian-American' means for their generation. They'll choose how much heritage to embrace and how much to let go.
We just gave them names that keep all the doors open.
Find names that honor every part of who you are on SoulSeed—where heritage meets home.
