When I was in college, I knew two other students who were my namesakes – Kanishko, from Kolkata, and Kanishk, from North India. My name, Kanishka, had a distinctly Telugu ring to it.

Because of the similarities in our names, teachers and students would get into muddles, especially in the first term. If Kanishko, a sports-lover, registered for a tournament I would be summoned for practice. If Kanishk skipped the Computer Science Lab, Kanishko got pulled up.

While studying creative writing at Symbiosis, one of my teachers called me ‘Kaniksha’, pronouncing the k before the s. I didn’t bother to correct her.

My friends in boarding school got creative with my name. Some called me ‘Kannu’, a name that inspired my Yahoo Email ID, while others went further, taking the liberty to sound vulgar.

I don’t mind people mispronouncing my name, as long as it is not intended to insult or hurt.

Almost Venkateshwarlu
There’s a funny story about how I came to be called Kanishka. It was 1984, and I was two. My parents had invited their friends home for dinner, and they all pleaded with them to name me. My parents, being staunch socialists, asked everyone present that day, including our cook, to write their choices on a piece of paper and drop it inside a box. My father was asked to pick up a chit from the lot, and then christen me with the name mentioned on it. When my father picked up the chit, he saw ‘Venkateshwarlu’, the name of a local God. Alarmed, he quietly placed the chit back in the box without anyone watching and picked up a second one. That chit had the name ‘Kanishka’.