Uncubed: The Life and Times of an Indian Guy named Krishna

Growing up in the US in the late ’70s and early ’80s was a tough time for me. Our family moved almost every year thanks to my dad’s career. I never had any ‘real’ friends because I was never around long enough to forge any solid relationships. Of course, being the only Indian kid in school didn’t help. I guess I was just too different. I couldn’t relate to others, or maybe they just didn’t give me a chance. I wasn’t “cool”. I didn’t have any role models. And I didn’t care.

We moved to Boston from Charlotte during Christmas of my 4th grade year. I went from a school where I knew nearly everyone in my class, to a school that shunned me at every turn. That would be Worchester, Mass. I think that was probably my worst experience as a kid. No friends.

I hated recess.

Honestly, my name isn’t really hard to pronounce, once you get past the stream of vowels and consonants that appear to be thrown together. In fact, spelling-wise, my name is pronounced like it’s spelled.

No hidden vowels.

No tildes.

No awkward throat-clearing sounds.  

Fact: Most South Indian names (last names especially) are long. Supercalifragilisticexpealidociously long. Believe it or not, Sadasivam is one of the shorter last names out there (and uncommon, at that).

I have to say that one of my biggest pet peeves regarding the whole name thing has to be people calling me “Chris”.

God.

I freaking HATE that.

Now look. I don’t have anything against people named Chris. It’s a good name, it’s just not MINE. I prefer to be called Krishna or, for short, Krish. I even answer to Mr. K, Special K, and K-. But not Chris, okay?

Aside: I’m really bad at correcting people when they call me “Chris”. I smile. I act nice. But deep down, I hate it. I’ve got more to say about the subject, but, ah, I think I’m gonna do that visually.  

-Krishna 

The first of many comics, based somewhat on my life and experiences. I’m Indian by descent, Canadian by birth, and American by virtue of citizenship. The comic above sums up the typical introductory banter I get from mostly white Americans.

The answer they are looking for when they ask “Where are you from?” is really “What is your heritage?” I’ve gotten used to answering this question – I’ve done it so about a million times – but that doesn’t mean I don’t hate the question.

Because I do. 

-Krishna