I have just arrived at this piece of wisdom: if you are a woman, even a thing as simple as your name can put you on a roller coaster ride while the world can choose to be your cheerleader or your critic from the sidelines. If you are a woman, keeping your full name in the form you wish to can turn into a tedious affair.
It all started with my son’s class 10th registration for board exams. His birth certificate carried my marital surname while all the other paper-identities that I had generated as a part of my existence and progression in this world, carried my maiden surname. I am sure Shakespeare was not aware of such ruptures of identity when he wrote ‘ What’s in a name?’. But of course, the bard was a man too. The comedy of changing names would not have impacted his life in the way it did mine. At most, he could have been an impassive observer, planning the next plot or perhaps using this as comic relief in one of his plays, giving it a role similar to Macbeth’s porter.
The crux of the matter is that the birth certificate of my son ‘inadvertently’ carried my marital surname. That document, carrying my second identity, was lying benign in a corner of the shelf that contained all other documents of the family. After an initial disgruntlement on seeing the other surname on that piece of paper proving my motherhood and my child’s entrance into this world, it got shelved under other pressing needs of a newborn and the new mother. That was more than 15 years ago.
The disgruntlement returned temporarily, after a few years, when we were planning to get the son’s passport made. But because I was the parent accompanying him and all my papers were in order, we did not face any issues. I was delighted that the error in that paper was actually a benign one and did not feel the need to pay any more attention to it.
However, like a benign tumour suddenly turning vicious, the disgruntlement returned. The said secondary board decided to take only the birth certificate as a proof for all records. It meant that the mother’s name on his testimonials won’t carry the surname that I use, but the one his birth certificate displayed. Now I was considerably irked. It had taken a long fight to include the mother’s name in the testimonials in spite of being the primary nurturer in most cases. And now that it was achieved, I was confronting another issue of which surname to use. To add to the injury, my in-person declaration regarding my desire to retain my maiden surname was not enough; it had to be vouched by a magistrate and also recommended by the hospital where the child was born. The vouching had to be made public in two national dailies too. Generating these papers would eventually make my request valid.
Thus began a rigmarole that saw me shuttling between school, corporation, hospital and advocate. I was like a baseball player, running between bases, trying hard to retain my place. Thankfully, these days newspapers accept advertisements online. So my journey remained between these four points.
My son’s class teacher kept updating me regarding deadlines and remained supportive throughout the process. Being a woman, she must have felt my plight and her solidarity, visible through constant follow-ups, made me feel less like a solo crusader. Solidarity truly is a woman’s greatest strength, I learned.
Birth certificate is a document which is made at a time when the woman is in a state of complete vulnerability. Nine months of pregnancy and then labour leaves her physically drained and mentally fogged. At a time when she has little clue of her own body, how much can she be expected to be in charge of her surroundings? So, when this document is applied for, in most cases, she is not around to crosscheck. Negotiating the complex maze of new parenthood, a new routine and a lopsided social system which cares two pence about a woman’s identity, little details like surnames go for a toss. What takes precedence is convenience.
Like her body, even the name becomes a site of contest. Giving a woman the legal licence to carry the identity of either of the two men in her life – her father or husband, not only gives her a choice, but also adds another dimension to it. It jeopardises her existential autonomy. If a name is the basic unit of forming one’s identity, allowing that to change also focuses on the fact that a woman’s identity is ultimately associated with a single incident of her life – her marriage. It adds a floating dimension to her identity, which the male gender does not have to go through. The surname, in any case, is a marker of patriarchy, its origin being in the name of the male progenitor of that clan. Being the identifier of a person’s race, caste or religion, the surname often becomes an instrument of marginalisation and takes on a more complex role in the case of women.
This whole episode happened at a time when deadlines regarding my professional commitments were at a peak. Well-wishers advised me to let go. Yet the inner voice kept on prodding. There are greater issues to fight for, as women we face more sinister exploitation and abuses. Yet, this was equally important for me. The agency to decide my name should be mine alone. If a woman cannot even decide her own name, if it has to be caught in the quagmire of marital status, it comments on her social position.
The work was eventually done and in good time. Each of the institutes associated with it cooperated to their best of abilities. Yet, it had led to a waste of time and left me anxious. No man would ever have to go through this unnecessary hassle and yet we speak of an equal society.
