Like so many other girls, when I was little, I used to dream about getting married. Sure, I loved the idea of wearing a beautiful dress and getting swept off my feet by a prince, but there was more to my fantasy. Not only could I have a fairytale romance and spend forever with someone I loved, but I would also be able to shed my identity and meld it with someone else’s. More specifically, I could finally get rid of my last name and adopt something prettier, more palatable, and more distant to my parents. This had always been my plan. I never considered the sexist implications of a woman taking her husband’s name – I truly believed that I just wanted to do it for myself. 

I maintained this mindset well into sophomore year, when I was assigned a project that required me to ask my parents about our family’s history and the lives of my grandparents. I assumed the assignment would be simple, and I could just write about their professions and how that influenced my life and my decisions today. While my parents were detailing the differences between both sides of the family, however, it occurred to me that I didn’t know the names of my great grandparents and that I needed the information to accurately trace my family tree. My parents began explaining the names of their respective relatives, including my great-grandmothers, when they mentioned something that shocked me. Both of my great-grandmothers, whom I never met, had two names: one from before marriage and one from after. Not only were these different last names, they were different first names. In Indian culture, women used to not only forfeit their family names in marriage, but their identities were also rewritten, and they weren’t even in control of it. 

It only got worse from there. I learned that even my grandmothers had to participate in this tradition. I learned that my dear maternal grandmother, Vageeshri, who I consider to be one of my closest relatives who I don’t see very often, was actually named Maansi at birth. After she became engaged to my grandfather, his father and hers worked together to create a new name in marriage for her. While they did this out of love and respect, merging the names of multiple dieties in order to craft her new identity, I just couldn’t get over the fact that my grandmother had an entirely different identity from what I had known all my life. The idea that generations of my female ancestors, even those who were privileged and wealthy, had their names taken from them altered my entire perspective. 

I recognize now that my parents chose my name especially for me, as well as the privilege I have just by being able to keep that name for my whole life. Both my first and last names are symbols of who I am and where I came from, and I’m honored to be able to share any connection with the generations of Joshi women who came before me. If I do get married one day, even if my husband has the most fabulous last name, I’ve ever heard, I will certainly not be forfeiting mine. While India has since evolved drastically, enough so that even my mom, who got married around 20 years ago didn’t change her last name, there are still so many countries across the world that have overtly granted women equal rights but still perpetuate inequality through customs like these. If my grandmothers had truly wanted their names to be changed, something I can’t know for sure, I can embrace the tradition; however, I know that there must have been millions of women whose names were taken from them without their approval, and from those women, I have gained another lens through which I can acknowledge my privilege. I will keep my name with pride, simply because I can.