‘I’m Tarnjit Parmar’: Why I chose to embrace my real name

VANCOUVER (NEWS 1130) – It’s a feeling I remember well.

Mentally preparing myself for the inevitable butchering of my name. The stammered apologies and a classroom full of teens snickering as a substitute teacher made their way down the attendance list and mispronounced more than a dozen names before asking that dreaded question: “Do you have a nickname?”

Cue the burning ears, the forced smile, and a quick correction coupled with a shake of the head and a quick, “No worries.”

I grew up in South Vancouver and went to a diverse school where most of us students were the children of immigrants and were first-generation Canadians. In school, I never shortened my name, but the thought crept into my mind once I took journalism classes at university. The first time was when a professor suggested I would have a better chance in the industry if I shortened my name, to make it friendlier to the audience.

It was the first time I was told that, but not the last.

The first few days of broadcast school, an instructor told us now would be the time to change our names if we wanted to — to make the change and stick with it. So I did, shortening my name from ‘Tarnjit’ to ‘Taran’, and was met with an approving nod and smile, followed by a “sounds good.”

When I first went to journalism school, I was told to shorten my name to make it work in the industry. Today, for the first time ever, I signed off with my real name. A decision I was able to make with support of my friends, family & coworkers. I’ve never felt more like myself pic.twitter.com/YJdIcOonmV

— Tarnjit Parmar (@Tarnjitkparmar) November 16, 2019

While the name felt foreign coming out of my mouth, it was a decision I stood by, justifying the change to my parents who were hurt and baffled by my decision — but the reasoning remained the same: This would help me in my career. For all the reasons I could be turned away from a job, my brown, hard to pronounce name wouldn’t be one of them.

It’s an archaic rule that many have followed in media, a name that’s short, easy to pronounce and has that ‘ring’ to it, and one that former broadcaster Rena Heer has grappled with over the years.

“My name is Ranviar,” she told me. “It’s got a real significance to it. It means more to me than Rena does. It means someone who wins a battle. I was concerned my name was a barrier to acceptance. If I went by it, does it make people think that I’m this traditional person and will it will enforce more of what they think about my culture?”

At home, she was called Rena by her parents and family, but never used the name professionally until she decided to get into broadcasting, with her hope being the change would help her move forward in the industry.

“Rena would make me sound more like I belonged. I fully decided to go to it because I thought it sounded a lot more anglicized. And because of that, maybe my life would be a little bit easier. If it was Rena, and it would sound a little more current. Growing up in a small town, people were pretty brutal. There was just this constant desire, I think among people of my generation, to distance themselves from our culture as much as possible.”

It’s the same logic I used to counter my parents’ disappointment in my decision — this will make my life easier.

So, it stuck throughout journalism school, through internships, and into jobs reporting in Vancouver.

Over the past four years, friends and family members reached out, commenting on the name change; some supportive, others critical. Outside of work, none of my friends or family members had ever called me “Taran.”

The guilt grew, the shame of turning my back on my culture weighed on my shoulders until it was too much too brush off, too much to justify and eventually a decision was made. The desire for change was there, but so was the uncertainty of how a name change would be received and impact my professional life, especially since I had never gone as anything other than “Taran.”

Though she doesn’t work in media anymore, Rena reflects on her years as a reporter, sharing some of the reasons she never used her birth name on air.

“There are so many things. Here I am reporting the news. Oh God, I could almost anticipate all the things that would happen and all the discussions I would have to have and you know, the possibility that I might lose my job. So, I think all of these ideas were always in the back of my mind, as I continued to take more ownership of who I am and the arguments for why I was keeping my name. Using ‘Rena’, instead of going by my proper and full name, those arguments were all just starting to look weak to me. Not just really weak, but not very honest either.”

In 2017, a study from Harvard University revealed African-American and Asian people who “mask their race” on resumes by “whitening” their names had better success getting job interviews. Companies were more than twice as likely to call minority applicants if they had “whitened” their resumes by effectively deleting references to their race and culture. This seems to support the pressure some people of colour feel when they try to attempt to anglicize their names and distance themselves from their culture as much as possible — all in order to advance in their careers and be able to provide for themselves.

While I had support from friends, family, and colleagues, it still took me several months to come to a decision. It included conversations with loved ones about what I could be risking, how truly nervous I was to make the plunge and fully accept my name, and in doing that, ultimately accepting my identity and culture. I remember the moment vividly, when I signed off for the very first time with my full name. My birth name. It was just a simple line at the end of my story: “I’m Tarnjit Parmar.”

And I have never felt more free in my life.

My name is Tarnjit.

In Punjabi the word ‘jit’ means victory. And after years of feeling like I was losing a battle with myself, I can finally say I’ve reached that victory — in truly, unapologetically being me.