What's in a name?

 

 *reviving the blog with an old draft*

Prompt: Rajnikanth eating bajji in a bistro in Paris.

It was sheer luck I found this quiet Indian joint in Paris within my first month here.
As I bite into the bajji a sense of innate calm surrounds me taking me away from the people sipping their cafes and nibbling their croissants, from the stampede about to happen on Rue Steinkerque as the trucks dump their cheap castoffs, away from the million whirlpools within me. 

I know it makes no sense so let me start in the beginning. It is not easy being a Superstar. It never is. But what is even tougher is when you are born to parents who are die-hard fanatics of one such Superstar and decide to name their unborn child Rajnikanth. Our family legend is I pushed out of my mother's womb with a clenched fist as Superstar's theme song played in the room. A daughter did not deter their plans and so Rajnikanth I remained. 

Growing up as the only South Indian named Rajnikanth in South Delhi was anything but ideal. Somehow every silly, unfunny Superstar cliché was also mine. Kids laughed when my stares couldn't deter every spitball aimed at me to change course. I cringed, I screamed, I fought but I could not lay down his cross. It was mine to bear as well. To them, I was Rajnikanth.

Then things perked up with a job offer in Tokyo. Finally, I get to be away from biting bullets and jumping off trains or so I thought.
Muthu released and all hell broke loose.
Colleagues who ignored me earlier now wanted to have coffee with me. Every trip home included a gigantic list of requests for autographs from The One. A Superstar flicked his finger somewhere and my dainty bubble burst.

Two months and many interviews later, here I am, in my very own paradise.
As I reminisce, the trucks have unloaded, and the crowds throng the bins to get their best deal. I see a burly man trying to steal an old lady's purse while she is distracted. Before my mind can rationalize my apathy, I get up and catch him. A crowd surrounds us, and we hand him over to the police.
I walk back to my chair, the crowds slowly applaud and the store owner asks me, "Beti, what is your name?"
Smiling widely, I say "Rajnikanth".