What's in a Name?

Bharat Kumar is an executive creative director at Havas NY, with over 15 years of experience in the advertising industry. His expertise spans across various sectors, including automotive, CPG, fashion, financial services, and healthcare. Over the course of his career, Bharat's work has been recognised by both consumers and industry peers, earning him accolades at the most prestigious award shows, including Cannes, One Show, D&AD, Andy's, Clios, and many more. Prior to his current role at Havas, Bharat honed his craft at notable agencies such as Johannes Leonardo, Momentum Worldwide, Virtue, TBWA/Chiat/Day NY, and BBH NY, where he gained invaluable experience and skills. Beyond his work, Bharat enjoys spending time with his family and friends, and indulging in his passions for neat scotch, spicy food and clean shoes.

Speaking to LBB, he shares his personal journey with accepting his name as a first-generation Indian-American, and how a name's pronunciation can be the starting point for true inclusion. 

I’ve hated my name since I can remember. 

From elementary school on, my name has been the subject of ridicule and bastardisation. It’s when 'Bha-rot' really took hold because my classmates and teachers didn’t try to learn it, and I didn’t have the confidence to correct them.

In middle school, I once carried a scorecard for a professional golf tournament. When I introduced myself to the two pro golfers, one of them derided my name, saying, "Your parents must not love you to have given you that name.” 

Fast forward to last year. I went to Cannes for work, which I was very proud to be a part of, yet found myself still giving others an 'out', saying, “You can call me ‘Kumar',” when they had trouble pronouncing Bharat. A friend of mine pointed out, “You know it’s weird to default to your last name, right? Do you do that a lot?”

It hadn’t hit me until that moment. Subconsciously, perhaps, but not with any real weight.

Since then, what I’ve come to realise very acutely is, I’ve spent most of my life trying to make others comfortable with the pronunciation of my name. It’s a record scratcher at parties, interviews, client meetings, coffee shops, customer service, and everywhere in between. 

I’d quickly go to Kumar, even going to the extent of using shorter western names, like Bob, to progress introductions and conversations, rather than taking the time to allow others to become familiar with Bharat. 

I thought when I went to ad school, I’d reinvent myself in this regard and be more bullish about how to properly say my name. It’s why my portfolio site has the phonetic pronunciation as the logo and why in the FAQs section, you see the 'best' butcherings of my name.  

But I regretfully confess this: I’ve not been steadfast.

As a first-generation, Indian-American child of the '80s and '90s, I didn’t have many culturally-relevant brown role models to help normalise names like mine. I had a caricature in Apu. So perhaps being steadfast felt like an indulgence when the few brown role models I respected were also navigating complex relationships with their names. If Mindy Kaling and Kal Penn could change their names, why must I be confined by mine? How could I allow it to be a focal point of my story? The answer is, maybe, those are the wrong questions to ask. Is the better question: should I have to move past my name? No. More profoundly, my experiences have given me permission and the conviction to truly own my name.

So while the pronunciation of a name might seem trivial– beyond the way many POCs Anglicise, codeswitch, or whitewash their identity - it’s had other long-standing effects. 

Namely, for the longest time, I hated my name. 

Bharat, a symbol of patriotic pride for my parents (one of the meanings of Bharat is India) was a name I resisted because it was a hurdle. I would ask my folks, "If you knew you were going to live here, why would you give me such a difficult name? I’m going to give my kids easier-to-pronounce ones.”

I still might, but shame on me for the reasons. 

I write all this in the spirit of inclusion. As I continue to find my confidence, I want to wrest control of my own narrative and that begins with Bharat; I was born with it. 

The old adage - if you can see it, you can be it - is proving to be tremendously true. Nowadays, there are more POCs legitimately earning and receiving opportunities, gaining mainstream (and industry-wide) recognition. Fingers crossed, the diversity of names will also mean an increase in our comfort levels with them. 

After all, what’s in a name? In a word: lots; self-worth, identity, cultural heritage, comfort, first impressions, and self-acceptance. 

With the amazing groundswell of support and enthusiasm for DEI initiatives, I wonder if a world of true inclusion and progress might in fact start with something as ‘minor’ as the pronunciation of a name. Calling someone by their given name matters. It shows that the people you work with, day in and day out, respect and appreciate you. From agency colleagues, to client partners, to awards show stages, making an effort goes a long way and helps instil both trust and confidence in one another. 

I offer this all to encourage others with ‘difficult’ names; to hopefully help them with their careers as they make a name for themselves. Pun intended. Because in an industry of Tom, Dick, and Harrys, we should be more comfortable and more confident. 

Part of which means, I will try to be more consistent in taking the time to ensure my name is said right. In fact, I have friends who still don’t quite pronounce it properly, but they try. I wish I had spent a few (more) minutes to get it right in advance of what are now strong, great, long-lasting relationships. Seems worth it. 

With that, I offer this mnemonic that a friend I used to work with created. It has helped tremendously, even if it’s not always there.

“Bar - like a place you go to for drinks.”

“Ithaca - like the place with the gorges.”

“And drop the ‘aca’.”

"Bar-ith."

Again, not quite there, but probably the closest I get on a consistent basis. 

While I’m still coming to terms with my name, it is my wish this generation and the ones to follow are more comfortable with theirs; a small, but necessary step toward normalising names that sound (and are spelled) different from what’s expected. I hope this heartens others to come to terms with their identity (and cultural upbringing) and accelerates taking control of their personal narratives. Because, all said, I’m starting to like my name quite a lot.