Haven’t you noticed how many women today retain their surnames after they marry? Of course, like everything else nowadays, there are surveys and studies that tell us some of the reasons for this, some of the perceptions of others about those who change their names and those who don’t, also perceptions about their husbands, and various other notions that stem from all this.
For some of us, it was very simple.
I was born into a triple-syllabled surname that hit you straight in the face when you heard it and told you to which tiny state of the country our family belonged. There was no need to wonder, no need to inquire: That Portuguese-sounding “Braganza” said it all! Where else could we be from but the one-time Portuguese-ruled state of Goa?
As a youngster, I hated that absence of mystery! And as an adult, how I disliked affixing that l — o — n — g signature to all those vouchers and forms and ledgers hundreds of times each day in the bank where I worked!
It was with huge relief, therefore, that I signed that “Braganza” with one last final flourish in the register at our wedding over three decades ago, delighted to cast off the “brand” and exchange it for a short, sweet, and to my mind almost universal “Rao”!
I did not give extra thought to retaining my identity through the name I was born with, I did not care about being perceived as independent, path-breaking, or whatever. I was just so happy to be able to say my new name in one short little breath, and sign it with no lingering of the pen on paper.
Brunt of humorous digs
I have no idea whether the young husband I married felt chuffed with the alacrity with which I snapped up his name, whether his biceps bulged and his chest expanded to 52 inches or whatever was the standard for those days, but I am pretty sure that if I had not taken on his name, he certainly would not have let himself be perceived as less powerful or less masculine (as today’s reports hint at), because my name would have borne the brunt of his humorous digs and endless jokes.
There were many women of our generation who retained their surnames or added it to their new surname, with a hyphen or without, making a kind of double-barrelled sound effect that gave the illusion of some amount of blue blood somewhere up the line (or so we thought).
Of course, further down the line, we realised that whether we gave up the name or retained it or appended it to another — we were never really able to let go of it.
Because it pops up from time to time — much more often than we would like — in all the forms we have to fill when we apply for jobs, loans, licences, passports, visas, and all the other trappings of a normal life.
And each time I do this, I am thankful for my predilection for the short and sweet all those decades ago. Suppose I had hung on to my original surname? Sure, I may have been perceived to be more independent and more empowered, but I would have had to carry that wedding certificate everywhere to prove I have a right to be included on this club registry or that life insurance policy. And with the difficulty in getting those hyphens onto computerised forms, it is a relief that I did not opt for a wordy and worldly mine-and-yours-joined-forever surname.
The Bard could not have got it wrong when he asked “What’s in a name?” — or could he?
Perhaps there’s a lot more to a name than we are aware of.
Cheryl Rao is a freelance journalist based in India.
