'I'm a Pakistani woman living in Australia. It was 3 years before anyone said my name right.'

"You don't drink. You don't dance. Why are you even here?"

I felt a hot bolt of something run through my body when a stranger said these words to me. We were at a bar in Surry Hills in Sydney. We were there for my friend's husband's birthday party; my friend who is also my neighbour. We had taken the train together and walked the 500m or so from Central Station together. I was sitting with a glass of Coke Zero and making small talk with the surrounding people. I hadn't done this many times before and whilst I can dance; I didn't feel like dancing at that time. Was it ok for a complete stranger to say those words? Is that kind of small talk considered acceptable once a few drinks are in?

I didn't know. I just knew his words made me embarrassed and uncomfortable. I felt I had to explain but felt more strongly that I would be debasing myself by explaining.

Watch: 20 things Muslim women are tired of hearing from men. Story continues after video.

I'm a desi - someone belonging to or originating from the subcontinent - who moved to Australia in the 2010s, leaving behind a somewhat-comfortable, somewhat-rich life for one that is freer, just and fun. I'm also a woman. A Muslim woman. A Muslim mum who had her kids in her early twenties. I have a lot of explaining to do. There are many things that make me different, but I try very hard to find common ground, to fit in.

It is a unique journey of self-discovery as I unpack the things I have grown up with, which I cannot change and some that I must decide to let go of. Language is one. I grew up speaking Urdu and now have to let it go for unromantic, utilitarian purposes: I need to speak in English fluently for work and maintaining it as the first language at home for my kids is too hard. Urdu is like that cherished heirloom which I would pass on to my daughters with the hope they value it.

There are also local nuances which I learn and adapt to if I want to fit in adequately enough. I always raise my hand and wave when 'given way'. I've elevated my coffee game from the mocha to a flat white.

I think I've really started to like the Aussie icon: The Flat White. My daughter poses for the camera. Image: Supplied.

I have a print-out in my home office of a picture showing the Aussie-rules football ball with the rugby ball side-by-side to learn the difference. I don't yet. Some things I am still learning.

Using cuss words at work

As a desi, I very quickly switch between Urdu and English in my head and my tongue does not always keep pace. 

Sh*t hit the fan. Now when you say something like that to me, you're assuming I know what you mean. I will get there, I assure you. But my brain must go through a journey, the same journey the person who coined this phrase went through: 

There's preexisting sh*t and it must hit a fan. As a fan must hang from a roof ceiling, the hit must project from the ground. (Any sh*t falling from the top will get blocked by the ceiling and roof.) The sh*t must be in a bag because if it isn't, it has already hit your hand, and it's done the job. The bag is flung up and hits a blade of the fan, which, despite its name, isn't sharp (I've cleaned a few fans back in Pakistan so I know). The bag gets stuck on the blade and it takes a couple of turns before the plastic bag gives. Now, gravity will take over. Now I have caught up.

One of my first jobs - located quite close to the pub I was talking about earlier actually was at a creative agency. It was a small team of creatives who used the word 'f**king' as speech seasoning. It preceded every second word; it was all quite creatively done, and I had a ball in my head doing the literal reimagining of everything. Sadly, at another job I loosened up and used the word 'crap' to describe a crappy marketing campaign; my manager immediately called me out with reproof: 'You're using curse words and on your second day!'. I didn't last long in that role.

I don't use the F-Word in my work communication (I just say it in my head). It's too much of a mind game for me to navigate if it's ok to say it or not. Until I find some strategic evidence that suggests I do, I think I'll skip cussing.

How do you say?

I am well read. I will even claim I read more than most of my colleagues and friends in Australia. However, reading will translate to writing and not necessarily speaking. I was chatting to a lovely florist for a blog once. She kept saying foliage, and I kept saying foliage. Her foliage was fawl-ujh and my foliage was fall-ee-ujh. She gave me a look once, but I masterfully moved on to complete the interview - with red cheeks. 

You don't say carr-ee-age, do you (who doesn't know Cinderella with her pumpkin carriage!), I had thought to myself. I Googled 'pronounce xyz' very, very frequently but, to date, I haven't checked the pronunciation for foliage; I'm embarrassed to.

I had been working in Sydney for around three years before someone asked me for the first time: "How do you say your name?". I looked at her funnily. What kind of job interview question is that? No one had asked me that in three years. A bit more if you count the year, I was unemployed and watching TVSN to understand the Australian accent. I told her, and then later that night wondered why it had never bothered me that my colleagues had been saying my name wrong.

My husband said my name correctly. My little girls - I wasn't sure they knew my name as I answer to 'Mama'. Why hadn't I corrected anyone? Was I trying to save them from some unfathomable inconvenience?

It boils down to respect and courtesy. The respect someone shows to me by confirming if the way they are addressing me is correct. In 2022, many names we come across are unique and some may be new to us. Asking is okay; if it has been months or years since you might have been saying someone’s name wrong - still ask. From experience, it creates a sense of connection and care. I realise I didn't care enough to bother correcting people before.

It surprised me how easily my then-boss coached everyone in the business and beyond to say my name correctly. 'Suh-Bar' she'd written in an instructional email to an agency, and nobody batted an eye. 

I wish I had known

I still get a nervous little tingle when the team is getting drinks. Some might know I don't drink and others might not. I will have to do some explaining again and to be honest, I voluntarily do it when I care enough. I've learnt to put myself out there - 'in the arena' as Brene Brown would say. 

I wish I could tell my new-migrant self this: It is hard, but you'll deal with it and then it will get easier. It will get easier as I accept the things I can change and the things I cannot.

Feature Image: Supplied.