No one knows my name

Have you tried applying for a passport, buying a property or getting an abortion in your maiden name? It is always," Ma'am, can you please show supporting documents?" via the spouse. It makes me feel like his chattel.
 

My name is Farah Naaz, and people have been slotting me in my partner's name for ages. It was International Women's Day on 8 March. Yet, a petition was filed in the Delhi High Court of India in the same month against a government notification that said a married woman needs her husband’s permission to use her maiden name.

 Most invitation cards from friends and family are for Mrs and Mr Nabi; my resentment rises like the stink of the sewage pipe. Most days, I let these invitations slide into the dustbins. I know who is worth holding on to by just that line. It is like the Bechdel test, not for movies and books but for family and friends. The Bechdel test criteria are that there should be two female characters, and their talk should not be centred around men.

The school has been slotting us as Mrs and Mr, so much so that my kids have gotten used to asking for it to change to our actual names. Over 14 years, few teachers agreed to do so, two applauded it, and most outright refused to change the name, so what if the mother’s name is not that? So, they come up with innovative solutions, or else there is a whitener to erase the generic Mr and Mrs Nabi. I have always received the modified version. Ms Naaz and Mr Nabi. The children have adapted. Attached below is the school invitation, which has been duly redone as one such example.

Close your eyes. How many names of your great-great-grandfathers do you know? Compare this to your knowledge of great-great-grandmothers. You will see that you easily recall the male member's name. Our religious ceremonies also reiterate our father’s name. One needs the father’s name to apply for all official documents, and hell is another name for Indian bureaucracy. Our domestic worker was refused an Aadhar card as her father’s name did not match her surname. Who cares that he abandoned her when she was born? She goes by her maiden name. It took her almost two years to get it made.

I was ten when a maulana asked me, 'Kis baat ka naaz hai aapko' I am proud of my maiden name, free of my father's and husband's names. It feels like a psychological victory but is still a victory nonetheless. I claim it for all my women ancestors whose names have disappeared in the sands of time. I have been finding out about the names of my great-grandmothers; truth be told, it is a beautiful exercise for my ageing mother and me. Who knew names could do that?

A part of the piece was written during one of our Ochre Sky Writing Circle workshops led by Natasha Badhwar and Raju Tai.