PREETI MAHESHWARI
Names are funny things. They’re supposed to be our most permanent labels, the one constant that follows us through birth certificate, school, passport, workplaces and friendships. But in my case, my name — Preeti — has been less of a label and more of an open invitation for . . . let’s call it “creative experimentation.”
It all began innocently enough. One of my colleagues, in a moment of snack-inspired genius, decided to call me Pretzel. Cute, crunchy, salty and just a little twisty. It wasn’t the worst nickname to inherit. I rolled with it. I mean, who doesn’t like a pretzel? That one stuck for a while, and I thought, “Okay, this is fun. A light-hearted nickname. And it’s just harmless.”
But little did I know, Pretzel was just the gateway snack.
Before long, the creativity machine at my workplace was in full swing. Suddenly, I was no longer just Pretzel, but I was Predrizzle. Now, if that doesn’t sound like the name of a rapper who had a brief but glorious run in the ’90s, I don’t know what does. You can practically imagine me in oversized denim, gold chains and a music video with smoke machines and neon lights. “Yo, it’s your girl Predrizzle, dropping beats and spreading positivity!” Honestly, if this nickname came with a record deal, I’d be halfway to Grammy season.
But why stop at hip-hop when you can move into Hollywood? Enter Prediesal. Suddenly, I wasn’t just Preeti anymore and I was behind the wheel of a muscle car, driving at impossible speeds, saving the world with nothing but grit, horsepower and of course, family. Every time someone calls me Prediesal, I imagine Vin Diesel squinting at me across the room and nodding in approval. Somewhere, there’s a poster of “Fast & Preeti-ous” waiting to be made.
And then came the culinary era. Out of nowhere, I was christened Preedelini. Now, doesn’t that sound like an overpriced pasta dish at a high-end Italian restaurant? The kind of meal where the waiter describes the sauce for five minutes while you nod politely and pretend you can taste the “subtle notes of truffle air.” Actually, I wouldn’t mind ordering myself off the menu, at least just for the experience.
But the journey of my name didn’t stop in Michelin-star territory. Soon, I was launched straight into the world of TV sitcoms with Preeto. A name so endearing, it feels like I should have my own comedy series set in a loud Punjabi household, complete with relatives barging in, laugh tracks and the occasional dramatic monologue about life, love and samosas. Preeto belongs in prime-time television, and I’m not even mad about it.
Just when I thought the remix had reached its peak, two of my colleagues delivered their magnum opus: Pretzilpredoliney. Now, this one defies categorisation. It’s a name, sure but it also feels like a magic spell Harry Potter might use to summon snacks. At the same time, it has the energy of a secret code word that could unlock a vault somewhere in Europe. And if you squint hard enough, it still sounds like a snack you’d find in the “limited edition” aisle at the supermarket. Spell, snack, sitcom character, secret code — Pretzilpredoliney is all of it rolled into one.
Today all I know is that the Preeti Remix is alive and well. My colleagues have turned my name into a playground, and I don’t mind it because there’s something heartwarming about people taking liberties with your name not out of disrespect, but out of affection, humour, and sheer creativity. It makes the workplace lighter, the conversations funnier and my day brighter.
So, what’s next? Who knows. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be Preetron – a superhero robot sent from the future. Or perhaps Preetuccino, the coffee order that always hits the spot. Whatever comes, I’m ready for it. Because at this point, Preeti is just the base track, and the remixes are the real hits.
(Born and brought up in Ranchi, Jharkhand, the writer presently resides in New Zealand)
