Gogol Ganguli, the protagonist of Jhumpa Lahiri’s The Namesake, contends with an overbearing sense of nonconformity, chiefly prompted by his anomalous name. Plagued by “lifelong unhappiness” and “mental instability” (100), Gogol legally adopts the name Nikhil before attending university. Nikhil’s parents, unimpressed and discontent with the change, reluctantly allow their son to assume a new identity. Most know me as Mark Stone, but few are aware of my former name, a name I could barely spell, let alone pronounce.

I was born Mark Jason Stanciulescu on August 10, 1993. I vaguely remember a particular session of preschool when I was asked to spell my name. Albeit sloppy, I spelled MARK with resounding ease. Dejected, yet undeterred, I attempted to spell STANCIULESCU; the result, from what I recall, looked like STENKULESCO. I began to weep uncontrollably as my caretakers silently shook their heads. Moments earlier, the same caretakers praised a girl named Julia Grant, admiring her ability and promise to spell. I thought to myself, “How could you NOT spell JULIA GRANT correctly?”

Whenever attendance was called, I would cringe. For some reason, unbeknownst to me, Ms. Soyfer decided to refer to each of us by our first and last names. She never pronounced my name correctly; companions would snicker, I would avert my eyes, and Ms. Soyfer would briskly move on.

I resented my last name, its intolerable length, and its cacophonic form. My parents, unlike the Gangulis, had no qualms about “Americanizing”. I stood before them and pleaded my case, highlighting the hitches of Stanciulescu. The next year, I was known as Mark Stone.

Case in point, not everyone is pleased with the name that he/she is given. Accompanying his wife to a nonsensical dinner party, Gogol states, “I think that human beings should be allowed to name themselves when they turn 18.” “Until then, pronouns” (245). I couldn’t agree more.