What is in a Surname?
I was brought up with this caution to not give away my original name and address to any stranger. In south India, back in the 90s and early 2000s, credibility was a precious commodity than now. It could be earned only after convincing with arduous and ethical work for a long period of time. So it was not easy for people like me to trust another in the city. Rather, it was more convenient to disguise as an imaginary someone else for the sake of the stranger with whom one is in conversation with.
This was the time when Orkut and Facebook ventured into our social lives. The peer pressure to join them and the excitement about the ease of access to long last friends put me in an identity crisis. Yes, it was an identity crisis. Verbally disguising one’s name and identity to a stranger was momentary. Think of the school watchman. You see him every day, both of you exchange greetings every day and you share chocolate with him on your birthday. He is an old, caring and loving man about whom you know nothing about— a familiar stranger. One day this stranger asks your name. And all you have to do is come up with an imaginary name, something that pops in your head first. This conversation is then forgotten after the moment passes. Less the fear of him using your name to deceive and kidnap the young, innocent you. Digital imprints on facebook and orkut, on the other hand, are more permanent. They get stamped at many places on the web! My then timid teenage mind did not know how to handle this threat to self-identity. What if I give out my original name and be a victim of cybercrime!? Alas, my life is ruined!
Anyhow, eventually an existing practice among writers came to my rescue. Inspired by pseudonyms taken up by authors,
I came up with a ‘relatable’ alternate name to myself that I would exclusively use for the virtual world — as I call it, my virtual identity. It is still me, but not the original me.
In my head, this convoluted and compartmentalised method of presenting self ascertained my confidence. That using such pseudonyms would make it hard or even impossible for deplorable minds to trace my virtual identity to my real identity. So my first name Srilakshmi was shortened to Sri — relatable and is still me so that it doesn’t amount to a fake name and a fake account. However, I was unsure about my surname.
Mentioning the surname was mandatory in most digital forms. I did not want to take my dad’s name as it then defies the purpose of reality differed virtual identity. While as well subtly discouraging such patriarchal practices. So I took up my great great grandparents’ surname which was still within the realm of my (extended) identity. But to my dismay now, it was unfortunately caste based — iyer.
In my defence, I was an immature teenage city dweller then. The weight of caste-based christening was none on me. Neither at home, nor at school. So my virtual identity became Sri Iyer.
I ended up using this ‘pseudonym’ in every digital space, from emails to various web profiles. By the time I realised the implications of caste-oriented surnames, it was too late. My email was used up everywhere, from banks to professional networks. I was stuck with my virtual identity. At one point my digital profile surnames even carried ‘(no last name)’ as the filler, but it did not last long.
Later in 2011 LinkedIn came along. A social networking site where originality was essential. Not wanting to associate with caste and patriarchy, I leaned on my lineage. So for a good period of time my surname on LinkedIn was Kashyapa — named after my gotram, a patrilinear naming style which I compulsively accepted. Mind it, it was not gusseted. I preferred by mononym to these complications. At some point a few years back, I noticed that LinkedIn had the last name mandatory, but did not have any character restrictions imposed.
Therefore now, to my satisfaction, my LinkedIn profile name reads ‘Srilakshmi.’. Period (.) is my last name. Relief at last.
This is just my story. I know a few individuals who prefer mononyms, have either split their first name to accommodate for surname as well, or have changed their surname from a caste-based one to something that read ‘Azad’, a Hindi word meaning freedom. I have also read about a few who are stuck with their patrilinear name even after their father had left them. Or those who are unsure whether their mother’s name can be used as a surname without public prejudice. The practice of using surnames is a baggage of complications that is sometimes insensitive to the individuals who have to carry it.
Historically surnames have not always been part of our culture. Even today, there are many cultures that follow mononymous identification. Why then are our everyday artefacts such as sign-up forms, application forms, passports, etc., forcing individuals to provide a surname? I have known many who share the same first names and surnames. In no way is a surname provision the sole practice for unique identification. Then why the compulsion to have one?
A lot is spoken about user-focussed designs in User Experience (UX) and User Interaction (UI). But a simple artefact such as a digital form that seeks one’s name and address, is even today designed with assumptions, misconceptions and prejudice. Why? As I see it, in this case against surnames, digital platforms have the power to transform and influence the imbibed cultural practices. It is high time that they rule the roost.
