A Life Warrior

 

A Life Warrior

Not long ago, a book titled Exam Warrior gained widespread attention. I haven’t read it, but the title alone suggests that it's intended to guide school and college students on how to excel in examinations — how to score high marks, overcome test anxiety, and perform well academically. No doubt, such guidance can be useful during one phase of life. But my own experiences have taught me a very different lesson: life is not an exam — it is far more complex, unpredictable, and demanding.

Unlike academic tests, life does not give you a syllabus. There is no fixed pattern to follow, no past papers to solve, and no single correct answer. The challenges we face in life are often unexpected and don’t come with instructions. They test not only our knowledge but also our resilience, emotional strength, adaptability, and character. And unlike exams, which have a scheduled start and finish, the tests that life throws at us can emerge at any moment — sometimes without warning.

That’s why I believe we need more than just exam warriors; we need life warriors.

A life warrior is not someone who merely excels in academics or performs well in a job interview. A life warrior is someone who learns to cope with failure, who keeps going after a loss, who adapts to change, who stands up again after being knocked down — someone who, above all, refuses to give up.

In school, we are taught to memorize answers. But life demands that we learn how to ask better questions — and how to live with uncertainty. In college, we’re graded on individual performance. But in life, success often depends on teamwork, relationships, empathy, and communication — things that rarely show up on a report card.

Our education system tends to emphasize academic performance as a measure of a person’s worth. But the real world doesn't operate that way. Some people top exams but struggle to find happiness. Others may not have earned high marks, but they go on to lead impactful, fulfilling lives. Why? Because they’ve learned how to face the tests of life — not just the tests of school.

So while exam skills may help you get a degree or land a job, life skills help you live. Skills like critical thinking, emotional intelligence, time management, self-discipline, patience, and resilience — these are what shape a life warrior.

It’s time we broaden the definition of success. Let’s not raise a generation of children who believe their worth is tied only to grades or ranks. Let’s encourage them to dream, to question, to explore, to fail, and to rise again — to become not just exam warriors, but true life warriors.

Why Are Courts Ignoring the Everyday Realities of Women’s Struggle for Justice?

 Why Are Courts Ignoring the Everyday Realities of Women’s Struggle for Justice?

In recent years, a troubling narrative has taken hold in many Indian courtrooms: the idea that women are misusing the Domestic Violence Act. This narrative, often repeated without thorough evidence, reflects a deep-rooted suspicion of women's voices, especially when they speak out against abuse. What the courts fail to see—or choose to ignore—are the everyday, lived realities of women who are systematically silenced, disbelieved, and denied justice.

Let me share the story of one of my clients, which highlights the grave injustice being carried out in the name of procedure and skepticism.

She was a government employee, financially independent, and had a daughter from a previous marriage. Hoping for companionship and stability, she married a man from Calcutta who had been divorced. What unfolded after the marriage, however, was nothing short of betrayal and abuse. This man emotionally and financially exploited her. Under the pretext of buying a house for their future together, he took control of her salary, drained her savings, and even coerced her into taking loans in her name.

Then he vanished, leaving her with mounting debt, false promises, and a child to support.

When we approached the court under the Protection of Women from Domestic Violence Act, hoping for relief and protection, the response was disheartening. Despite repeated efforts, the man refused to appear before the court. Instead, he sent her threatening messages, harassing her from a distance. When we presented these messages as evidence and requested a protection order, the court did not act. Rather than offering urgent protection to a woman clearly under duress, the court insisted on giving the man yet another chance to appear.

For nearly a year, this cycle continued. The police claimed they had pasted the summons at his address in Calcutta—a symbolic gesture at best. The legal system moved at a glacial pace while my client lived in fear, burdened by debt, and emotionally shattered. Eleven months later, she received news that he had died. Just like that, the court closed the case.

No protection. No justice. No acknowledgment of the harm she endured.

And now, she is left with nothing but the consequences of his lies—trapped under the weight of loans taken in her name, with no recourse, no restitution, and no home. The documents for the house were fake. There is no property to claim, no inheritance to fight for, only a lingering sense of abandonment—not just by the man who exploited her, but by the very system that was supposed to protect her.

She tried to console herself, thinking of this as her karma. But are these really her failures, or is it because of the indifference of the system that she suffered? 

Is this what justice looks like?

The courts' reluctance to believe women’s experiences of domestic violence reflects a dangerous and systemic failure. While concerns about misuse of the law exist and should be addressed responsibly, they cannot become an excuse to dismiss genuine cases outright. Every time the courts delay action, demand yet another piece of evidence, or wait endlessly for the accused to respond, they are enabling abusers and endangering survivors.

Justice delayed is not only justice denied—it is justice undone.

We need a judicial system that understands the complexity of domestic abuse, especially when it involves financial manipulation, coercive control, and emotional trauma. Women don’t just need legal provisions; they need courts that act swiftly, sensitively, and decisively.

Until then, the law remains a promise unfulfilled. And women like my client will continue to pay the price.

Indian families though glorified are the most violent institutions

 

Indian families, though often glorified, can be among the most violent institutions when it comes to the treatment of women. This truth emerges from my own experiences and in conversations with women who have sought justice in courts, sharing their everyday realities. While Indian families are romanticized in Bollywood films, on television, and across various media platforms, the reality of life within these family structures is far from idyllic for many women.

In fact, families are often where the roots of violence and discrimination against women take hold—long before they are even born. The pervasive issue of female foeticide and infanticide begins in the very homes where female fetuses are aborted or newborn girls are killed. The skewed sex ratio in India stands as a grim reminder of this systemic violence, underscoring the brutal preference for male children.

Even if girls manage to survive these early years, they are still subjected to discrimination within the family. They are often denied access to basic necessities like food, health care, and education. In many households, resources are disproportionately allocated to boys, ensuring that girls are left behind in terms of nutrition and opportunities for growth. This neglect affects their physical and emotional development and limits their future career prospects.

Moreover, from an early age, girls are conditioned to view their natal homes as temporary. They are taught that their primary purpose is to get married and move out of their parents' home, as if their existence and worth are secondary to the needs of the family they will marry into. This mentality reinforces the idea that women have no permanent place in the family they are born into, while men are expected to inherit and stay within their family structures.

The discrimination extends into economic resources as well. Property rights are a glaring example of how women are systematically denied access to the wealth and resources that are often reserved for male members of the family. In many parts of India, women still struggle to claim their rightful share of inheritance, even when the law explicitly grants them such rights.

Violence within the family is another harsh reality that many women face. Dowry violence, domestic violence, and even incest are forms of abuse that occur in the so-called "safe" space of the home. Wives and daughters-in-law are often treated as outsiders, no matter how many years they dedicate to serving their husbands and in-laws. Their emotional and physical well-being is disregarded, and their contributions to the family are undervalued.

Furthermore, the cultural rituals, customs, and traditions that are celebrated as part of Indian family life often work to the detriment of women and girls. From early childhood to marriage and beyond, girls are expected to conform to an ideal of self-sacrifice and submission. The pressure to adhere to these norms can be stifling, and the consequences of resisting are severe, ranging from social ostracism to physical and emotional abuse.

Despite all of this, the narrative remains that the family is a place of safety, warmth, and comfort. This myth is perpetuated by a society that is largely blind to the violence and discrimination that occur behind closed doors. The comfort and safety of family life are often reserved for men, while women are left to endure hardship and injustice in silence.

The reality is that for many women, the family is not a place of love or refuge but a system that perpetuates their oppression. The glorification of Indian families in the media only serves to obscure this truth, perpetuating a dangerous narrative that women’s suffering is invisible and unimportant. Until we confront and address these deep-seated issues within the family structure, we cannot hope to achieve true gender equality in Indian society.

It’s My Life — And I Know Best How to Live It

 

It’s My Life — And I Know Best How to Live It

There was a time in my life when everything seemed to be falling apart. I was in a dark, difficult place—emotionally, mentally, and even physically. It felt like I was drowning in pain no one could see, and certainly, no one could understand.

During that time, someone suggested I take the Art of Living course. Their intention, I’m sure, was to help. But the moment I heard it, I felt a wave of resistance rise up in me.

How could anyone else possibly tell me how to live my life?

My pain was unique. My circumstances were layered. No one knew the full story—what I had endured, what I was feeling, or what it truly meant to carry the weight I was carrying. No one saw my inner strength, my quiet resilience, or the flickers of hope I still held onto. So how could someone—no matter how well-meaning—offer a one-size-fits-all solution to something so deeply personal?

The truth is, advice often comes easily from the outside. But living through trauma, healing, and growth? That’s an inside job.

I chose not to follow that suggestion. Not out of arrogance, but out of self-trust. I decided to turn inward instead of outward. I wanted to find my own way of healing—one that honored my story, my pace, and my truth.

So I stopped chasing external guidance. I stopped listening to voices that claimed to know what was best for me. And instead, I listened to the quiet, persistent voice inside me—the one that had been drowned out for too long. It wasn’t always easy, and it certainly wasn’t fast. But over time, that choice changed everything.

Today, I can say with confidence that I have not just recovered—I have grown, evolved, and begun to thrive. But what saddens me is how often I see others falling into the same trap: thinking someone else has the answers they’re looking for.

Here’s what I want to say to anyone who might feel lost or broken:
You are not a problem to be fixed by someone else. You are a human being capable of healing, in your own way and on your own terms.

Yes, support is important. Guidance can be helpful. But at the end of the day, only you can walk your path. Only you can truly know what you need. And only you can decide what kind of life you want to live.

So trust yourself.
Honor your journey.
And remember: it’s your life—and you know best how to live it.

TAKE A STAND. ACCEPT RESPONSIBILITY. RESIST.

 

TAKE A STAND. ACCEPT RESPONSIBILITY. RESIST.

Let’s not sugarcoat it — we’re living in an age of manufactured consent, weaponized lies, and systemic gaslighting.

Once, to stand with the truth was an act of moral clarity. Today, it’s a revolutionary act. Because in this neoliberal capitalist hellscape, truth isn’t just inconvenient — it’s dangerous. It threatens the polished veneers of power, the profit machines, the corporate empires, the bought-out politicians, and the puppet masters in the media.

The truth? It’s being slaughtered.

Every. Single. Day.

Sliced up, twisted into soundbites, buried beneath headlines designed to distract, distort, and dumb us down. It’s not a mistake — it’s the system working exactly as it was designed to. Injustice thrives because the truth is anesthetized, mocked, and sold back to us in the form of slogans and spectacle.

And those who dare to stand with it? They’re not praised — they’re punished. Silenced. Criminalized. Branded as “radical,” “extremist,” “unpatriotic,” or “naïve.” Activists are surveilled. Whistleblowers are exiled. Journalists are jailed. The ones who speak up are cast out, not because they’re wrong, but because they’re right — and that terrifies the establishment.

Courtrooms are corrupted. Laws are weaponized. The media is complicit. Justice is a performance, staged for those with power, while the rest of us are told to shut up, stay in line, and scroll.

So what do we do?

We refuse to comply. We refuse to be complicit. We refuse to be silent.

To stand with the truth today is to enter the fight. It means rejecting the illusion of neutrality — because neutrality in the face of oppression is betrayal. It means recognizing that we are all part of a system that profits off lies — and choosing to fight back anyway.

It’s time to accept responsibility. Not the individualistic kind sold to us by self-help gurus and billionaires pretending to be saviors, but collective responsibility. The kind that links our voices, our stories, and our struggles together in resistance.

Because the truth doesn’t need saviors — it needs accomplices.

So take a stand. Speak out. Organize. Uplift. Unlearn. Resist.

The truth is under attack.

Will you protect it — or pretend you never saw it bleeding?

The Invisible Weight: The Emotional Toll of Supporting Survivors of Domestic Violence

 

The Invisible Weight: The Emotional Toll of Supporting Survivors of Domestic Violence

Working with women who are survivors or current victims of domestic violence is not just a professional responsibility—it’s a deeply emotional and often overwhelming experience. It is never easy. While I’ve committed myself to being a source of support, the emotional weight of their trauma often seeps into my own mental and emotional well-being.

There are moments when the urgency of their need collides with the fragility of my own mental state. Sometimes, women reach out in the middle of the night, desperate and afraid, because there’s no one else they can turn to. Just a few nights ago, one of my clients called me at 1:00 a.m. Her husband, heavily intoxicated, had beaten her and thrown her out of the house—into the freezing winter night. She had nowhere to go. No one else to call. In those moments, being her only support is a privilege—but also a burden that leaves lasting echoes in my mind.

On another occasion, I was scheduled to give an important interview. Just an hour and a half before the scheduled time, a woman called me in tears. Her voice shook with fear, pain, and desperation. She needed immediate help. I listened, comforted, and tried to guide her—but emotionally, it left me shaken. I carried that pain with me into the interview, and I couldn’t give it my best. As a human, I was disturbed. Her pain had become mine, and it was difficult to compartmentalize.

Many times, when I listen to the harrowing stories of abuse, violence, and betrayal, a deep anger rises within me. It’s not just a reaction to the injustice these women face, but also a reflection of my own unresolved emotions. Even as a child, I found it difficult to tolerate injustice. It would agitate me, unsettle me. And now, hearing these stories—each one a saga of pain, survival, and shattered dignity—it sometimes opens old wounds within me. Wounds I thought had healed.

These experiences are a reminder that supporting survivors is not just about offering services or professional counsel. It is about carrying a piece of their pain, being present in their most vulnerable moments, and sometimes, losing parts of yourself in the process.

But despite the emotional toll, I continue. Because every call answered, every woman heard, and every moment spent with a survivor fighting for dignity is worth it.

Learning the Practical Application of Human Rights

 Memories 

June 2017 at Gandhi Peace Foundation, Delhi 

with PUCL Interns 

The journey of understanding and applying human rights in real-world scenarios is a continuous one. Every case of a human rights violation brings with it unique circumstances and challenges, demanding a tailored approach. In the context of India, where the socio-political dynamics are complex and evolving, these violations are becoming increasingly frequent and, at times, more severe. Navigating this landscape requires more than just theoretical knowledge—it calls for hands-on experience, critical thinking, and empathy.

As a human rights professional, one is constantly learning—each day brings new insights, challenges, and perspectives. The field of human rights is dynamic and deeply intertwined with evolving political, social, and cultural realities. No two cases are ever truly alike; each presents its own set of complexities, requiring critical thinking, contextual understanding, and adaptability. Whether it's understanding emerging forms of discrimination, navigating legal frameworks, or responding to shifting public sentiments, the learning never stops. Engaging with diverse communities, listening to survivors, and collaborating with colleagues across disciplines further enriches this ongoing process. Ultimately, this continuous learning is not just a professional necessity—it is a moral imperative that strengthens one’s ability to advocate effectively and compassionately for justice and dignity.

I consider myself fortunate to have had the opportunity to work alongside some of the most respected figures in the field of human rights. Their experience, commitment, and strategic thinking have been invaluable learning resources for me. Collaborating with them allowed me to observe the importance of detail-oriented analysis in every case. Whether it’s a minor infraction or a major abuse, every incident demands a nuanced understanding of the law, the context, and the people involved.

From these experiences, I’ve come to appreciate the necessity of building thoughtful, well-informed strategies to resist oppression and advocate for justice effectively. Human rights work is not just about standing up against injustice—it’s about doing so with clarity, compassion, and a clear plan of action. This practical learning has not only deepened my commitment to the cause but also sharpened my ability to contribute meaningfully to it.

Some of the important learnings for this session are:

Human Rights are not abstract concepts. For the subjugated, the language of rights is essential for articulating everyday oppression, including the denial of basic entitlements such as education, health care, housing, employment opportunities, erosion of livelihoods, land alienation, displacement, and all forms of violence.

Against this complex hierarchy of unspeakable suffering, the rights discourse holds the state accountable and compels it to recognize the rights of the marginalized for meaningful survival.

The Scars That Speak: A Woman’s Quiet Revolution

 

Maya Angelou once said, “Each time a woman stands up for herself, without knowing it, possibly, without claiming it, she stands up for all women.”

I didn’t fully grasp the weight of those words when I was in the thick of my own storm—living a reality that felt like a waking nightmare. Everything I had known collapsed in an instant. It was as though the light vanished from the world, leaving me trapped in an all-consuming darkness.

That period was marked by unbearable pain—an agony so deep, so raw, it felt like my very soul was being torn apart. It was a chapter of grief, humiliation, and silent screams, one I wished I could erase from memory. But some pain doesn’t fade. It lingers. It embeds itself in your spirit. Each day that passes doesn’t dull the wounds—it sharpens them. 

In a world shaped by patriarchal norms, society rarely allows a woman to forget. It reminds her constantly of her place, of its expectations, of her so-called limitations.

The most painful betrayal came not just from strangers, but from those I once believed would shield me—family, colleagues, friends. Those in positions of power who could help, instead, looked away—or worse, twisted the knife deeper. At times, it felt like I was standing alone, abandoned by the very people I thought would stand beside me.

But here’s the truth that emerged from the ashes like a phoenix: I survived.

Through the searing hurt, through the silence and solitude, I endured. And in that endurance, something powerful awakened. I wasn’t just surviving—I was transforming. Each scar, each emotional wound, became a mark of resistance, a badge of resilience. Where once there was only sorrow, now there was strength. My pain became my power.

These scars, though invisible to the eye, carry stories. They tell of a woman who refused to be broken, who faced the darkness and chose to rise, again and again. And in rising, I found a new kind of freedom—not the absence of fear, but the refusal to be ruled by it. I began to imagine a different world—a freer one. One where women are not silenced but heard. Not shamed, but empowered.

This, I believe, is what Maya Angelou meant. Courage is not the absence of suffering; it’s the quiet determination to rise despite it. When a woman dares to take a stand—even unknowingly—she becomes a beacon for others. She becomes the voice, the hope, the fight for every woman who has ever been told to stay silent.

In reclaiming myself, I was reclaiming space for others, too. That is the legacy of courage. That is the revolution of simply standing up. This is my version of feminism. 

MN Roy Memorial Lecture 2017 on Free Speech, Nationalism and Sedition

 

12 May 2017 

Speaker: Hon'ble Justice Ajit Prakash Shah

Chair: Hon'ble Justice Jasti Chelameswar 

"There is a spiritual affinity between international Fascism and parochial and revivalist nationalism. That spiritual affinity persuades the average Indian nationalist to believe that the victory of Fascism will not in any way be prejudicial for India’s aspiration to freedom."

MN Roy, 1941

https://www.academia.edu/125515563/MN_Roy_Speech_on_Freedom_and_Fascism_with_background_note

"A nationalism with a revivalist programme cannot naturally appreciate the value of human progress made in the epoch of modern civilization. As a matter of fact, to derive the achievements of modern civilization has been the characteristic feature of orthodox Indian nationalism."

MN Roy, 1941

https://www.academia.edu/125515563/MN_Roy_Speech_on_Freedom_and_Fascism_with_background_note

M.N. Roy, writing in 1941, astutely observed the ideological kinship between international Fascism and parochial, revivalist nationalism. He argued that this “spiritual affinity” led many Indian nationalists of the time to believe—mistakenly—that the rise of Fascism posed no threat to India's quest for independence. This delusion, he warned, stemmed from a shared hostility to modern democratic values and rational progress.

Roy further noted that a nationalism grounded in revivalist sentiment was ill-equipped to recognize or value the advancements of modern civilization. In fact, he argued, orthodox Indian nationalism often made a point of rejecting the very foundations of modernity—reason, individual liberty, and human rights—in favor of a glorified, mythic past.

These reflections remain strikingly relevant today.

In 2017, former Chief Justice of the Delhi High Court, Justice A.P. Shah, invoked M.N. Roy’s critique during his MN Roy Memorial Lecture titled "Free Speech, Nationalism & Sedition," delivered on April 19 in New Delhi. Justice Shah highlighted the perils of narrow, exclusionary nationalism—echoing Roy’s concern that such ideologies often pave the way for authoritarianism rather than genuine freedom.

Justice Shah also examined the outdated and colonial nature of India’s sedition law, which still relies on the 1870 definition inherited from British rule. Contrasting India’s continued enforcement of sedition statutes with the UK’s repeal of its own sedition laws, he pointed out how many democracies have moved toward abolishing or substantially reforming such laws, recognizing them as incompatible with free expression in a modern, democratic society.

Roy’s warnings from 1941 and Justice Shah’s reflections in 2017 converge on a vital point: freedom and democracy cannot flourish under the shadow of dogmatic nationalism and legal repression. If India is to remain true to the spirit of its constitutional ideals, it must embrace progress, pluralism, and the free contestation of ideas, not a regression into authoritarian nostalgia.

The text of the speech is available here http://sacw.net/article13222.html 

The Founding Mothers: 15 Women Architects of Indian Constitution

 The Book Release event that took place on March 8, 2016

Justice Kurien Joseph 

Professor Mridula Mukherjee

Professor Bulbul Sharma

Pamela Philipose 

Dr MP Raju

Shabnam Hashmi

Sr Mary Scaria

Shalu Nigam 

At this book event, one of the most significant and thought-provoking concerns raised was the continued neglect of the Founding Mothers in post-colonial India. Why have the women who contributed so meaningfully to the freedom struggle and the building of modern India been so systematically erased from our national consciousness? Why do their stories remain footnotes, if mentioned at all, in our mainstream history, public discourse, or institutional memory?

This silence becomes even more troubling when placed in the broader context of India’s post-independence journey. Despite constitutional guarantees of equality, decades of democratic governance, and growing conversations around gender justice, women still remain strikingly underrepresented in the highest echelons of power. Whether in the judiciary, the Parliament, or key positions within bureaucratic and academic institutions, the absence of women—especially in leadership roles—is stark.

The question, then, is not only about historical neglect but also about the systemic barriers that continue to limit women’s advancement. Structural patriarchy, tokenism, lack of mentorship, societal expectations, and institutional inertia all contribute to this ongoing marginalization. Even where legal frameworks exist to promote gender equality, their implementation is often half-hearted or obstructed by deep-rooted biases.

This raises urgent questions about the kind of democracy we have built—one that, despite its commitments on paper, has struggled to ensure equal participation and recognition for half of its population. Recognizing the contributions of the Founding Mothers is not only a matter of historical justice; it is also a political and cultural necessity. Their stories have the power to inspire new generations, challenge dominant narratives, and push institutions to reflect the inclusive ideals enshrined in our Constitution.

The Founding Mothers: 15 Women Architects of the Indian Constitution

 THE FOUNDING MOTHERS: 15 Women Architects of the Indian Constitution

2016

A Book 

by Sr Mary Scaria and Shalu Nigam 

Media House Delhi 

In 2016, when we began the task of collecting material on the Founding Mothers of India—women who played pivotal roles in the country’s freedom struggle—we were met with a troubling silence in digital spaces. Information was sparse, fragmented, and often buried beneath layers of male-centric historical narratives. It quickly became clear that these women, despite their immense sacrifices and contributions, had been largely overlooked by mainstream historical discourse.

This erasure raises a deeply unsettling question: Why have these remarkable women been ignored when they stood shoulder to shoulder with their male counterparts in the fight for independence? They organized protests, led movements, endured imprisonment, and gave voice to the voiceless—yet their stories remain absent from our collective memory.

Even more troubling is the fact that educational institutions—schools, colleges, and even law schools—rarely include them in their curricula. History textbooks offer only passing references, if any, and students grow up learning about a selective and incomplete version of the freedom struggle. The absence of these narratives not only does a disservice to the legacy of these women but also deprives future generations of diverse role models who embody courage, resilience, and leadership.

It is disheartening to witness this historical neglect. Recognizing and honoring the Founding Mothers is not merely a matter of academic interest—it is a necessary step toward a more inclusive and truthful retelling of our past. Their stories deserve to be told, studied, and celebrated with the same reverence afforded to their male counterparts. Only then can we begin to repair the gaps in our national memory and truly understand the richness of our freedom struggle.

When the mainstream discourse has forgotten the women who played a significant role in the making of the Indian Constitution, this book was the first of its kind to put together brief profiles of those 15 women who drafted the Constitution. These women include 

Ammu Swaminathan

Annie Mascarene.

Begum Aizaz Rasul

Dakshayani Velayudhan

Durgabai Deshmukh.

Hansa Mehta

Kamala Chaudhri

Leela Roy

Malati Devi Choudhury

Purnima Banerjee

Rajkumari Amrit Kaur

Renuka Ray

Sarojini Naidu

Sucheta Kripalani.

Vijayalakshmi Pandit.

These women played a significant role in the freedom struggle. Many have dedicated their lives despite facing misogyny. They left a long-lasting legacy. They were an inspiration for future generations of women.  

Though one of the critiques being raised is that many of them are from the elite classes, they played a pivotal role in crafting women's rights as equal citizens. When a section of the orthodox nationalists sees women as mothers, wives, and daughters, it is the progressive discourse that demands women's equal rights.  

Write with a Purpose

 Write with a Purpose

Reading and writing serve a wide range of purposes, from simple enjoyment to the transmission of knowledge, to theoretical or academic discourse, and even to raising awareness or influencing policy changes. Writing can serve as a powerful tool for communication, advocacy, education, and transformation. For me, however, writing has always been about creating change—whether that’s in a community, in individuals, or within systems.

While my academic training equipped me with research methods and theoretical frameworks, I quickly realized that their real-world application was more complex than what was taught in the classroom. Theories, no matter how well-constructed, often fail to account for the nuances of lived experience. In practice, one must continually adapt and refine theories based on what is observed on the ground. This has been one of the most valuable lessons I’ve learned in my social work journey.

Professional social work taught me the importance of bridging theory and practice, and this connection forms a continuous cycle of growth and reflection. Theories provide a foundational understanding, but it’s the real-world experiences—those lived on the ground—that bring them to life and give them meaning. Through writing, I strive to document these experiences and, in doing so, not only connect them to the academic theories I’ve learned but also challenge and expand those theories. This dynamic interplay between theory and practice allows both to evolve, making the writing process itself a vehicle for transformation.

Both in law and social sciences, theory cannot exist in a vacuum. Legal principles, much like social science theories, need to be rooted in real-world experiences to be truly effective and impactful.

In the field of law, this connection is especially critical. The theoretical concepts of justice, rights, and equity must be applied to the concrete realities faced by clients. A lawyer's role goes beyond just understanding the technicalities of the law; it’s about translating those abstract principles into arguments that are grounded in the specific facts and circumstances of the case. Whether it's a criminal defense attorney advocating for fairness or a family lawyer fighting for a child's best interests, the legal framework must always be aligned with the human experience it seeks to govern or protect.

Similarly, in social sciences, theories are developed to explain human behavior, societal structures, and relationships. But these theories are only meaningful when connected to the lived experiences of individuals and communities. A theory about social inequality, for example, needs to be tested and refined through real-world data, observations, and interactions. Without this grounding, such theories remain theoretical abstractions, disconnected from the struggles and realities they aim to address.

This dynamic of theory meeting practice—whether in law, social work, or any other field—creates a powerful feedback loop. Theory helps guide action, but real-world action, in turn, challenges and refines theory. Both must evolve together for any meaningful change to occur. So, in both law and social science, it’s not enough to study or apply theory in isolation. We must always consider the practical realities, ensuring that the legal or theoretical frameworks are relevant, applicable, and just in the context of real people's lives.

Therefore, writing is not just an intellectual exercise; it is a tool for social change. It’s about giving voice to the realities of the people I work with, understanding their experiences through both theoretical and practical lenses, and sharing insights that can lead to meaningful action and reform. Through this approach, I hope my writing contributes to a larger dialogue—one that moves from ideas to action, from theory to tangible impact.

I Love My Scars

 I Love My Scars

We live in a world where women’s bodies are treated like products—packaged, polished, perfected for sale. In a capitalist, patriarchal society, the female body is not owned by the woman herself. It is scrutinized, sized, sexualized, and commodified. We are bombarded with messages about how we should look—fair skin, flawless features, the “right” curves in the “right” places, zero wrinkles, zero stretch marks, zero signs of real life. The capitalist patriarchal society does everything to body-shame a woman. 

From beauty creams that promise to lighten our skin, to plastic surgeries that reshape our features, to fitness industries that obsess over waistlines—this economy thrives on our supposed imperfections. Women are made to feel as though they are never enough. And as we internalize these expectations, self-hatred is sold to us as self-improvement. Insecurity becomes profitable. Shame becomes marketable. Capitalism has turned our bodies into battlegrounds, and our confidence into a currency.

But I reject this model. I reject this cruel, exhausting game of chasing an illusion. I reject the idea that beauty lies in smoothness, symmetry, or silence.

I love my scars.

Every scar on my body tells a story. A story of survival. Of resistance. Of living through things that were meant to break me, but didn’t. My scars are not flaws. They are evidence of my survival and resistance against the injustice I faced. They are declarations that I’ve fought, that I’ve endured, that I’ve made it through nights darker than my skin, and wounds deeper than any cosmetic brand could cover.

I refuse to erase the parts of me that capitalism calls “ugly.” I refuse to hide my stretch marks, my wrinkles, my burnt patches, my uneven tone. I am not here to be consumed or approved of. My body is not a product. It is a testament.

I no longer stand before the mirror and search for what needs to be fixed. I now ask myself: What needs to be celebrated?

This rejection is not just personal—it’s political. When I say I love my scars, I am also saying: I reject your billion-dollar industry that feeds on human insecurity. I reject your advertisements that teach girls to hate themselves. I reject your narrow standards of beauty that erase entire cultures, skin tones, and body types. I reject the lie that looking “perfect” will bring freedom.

Loving my scars is my rebellion. It is my refusal to conform. It is my way of healing from a system that tried to convince me I was broken.

Because I am not broken. I am whole—with my scars, with my history, with my unfiltered body. And I am not alone. Women across the world are waking up, unlearning, and reclaiming. We are not buying into your standards anymore. We are creating our own.

So no, I will not hide. I will not conceal. I will not shrink.

I love my scars.
Because they are mine.
Because they speak the truth in a world that profits from lies.
Because they remind me—I survived, and I’m still here.

Dowry Abuse: A Worse Neglect

 Dowry Abuse: A Worse Neglect

That day, I met the family of a young woman fighting for her life. She had suffered 70% burns—her body charred, her spirit barely clinging on. Her crime? She hadn’t brought enough dowry. Her husband and in-laws wanted ₹5 lakhs and a car. When demands weren’t met, they responded with fire. This wasn’t an isolated incident—it was a chilling example of a widespread, deeply entrenched violence that we, as a society, continue to ignore or normalize.

Dowry giving and taking are illegal in India. The Dowry Prohibition Act has been in place for over six decades. Yet, this practice thrives—openly, shamelessly. In most North Indian households, dowry isn’t a cultural relic of the past—it’s a living, breathing system. From the moment a girl is born, her parents begin saving, not for her education or well-being, but for her wedding. Not for her dreams, but for her departure. Not for her life, but for her transaction.

It’s a kind of slow, sanctioned violence. Parents skip investing in a girl’s health, her ambitions, her voice—but they will spend their lives accumulating gold and gifts. The irony is cruel: Indian families rarely train girls to win medals or accolades; instead, they train them to remain quiet, to endure, and eventually to be handed over like goods in an auction—decorated in jewelry, burdened with shame, and told this is what makes a “good daughter.”

And dowry doesn’t ensure safety. It doesn’t buy love, respect, or dignity. The myth that it secures a girl’s future is one of the most dangerous lies ever sold. A woman can bring a million rupees and still be harassed, tortured, or killed. Because the issue isn’t just the money—it’s the idea that women are liabilities. That they must "earn" their place in a household with gifts and submission.

I know this intimately—not just from my work as a lawyer, researcher, and social worker, but from my own life.

My parents, too, saved obsessively for my marriage. They spent more on ceremonies, jewelry, gifts, and dowry than they ever did on supporting my aspirations. I remember telling them—insisting—that I didn’t want dowry. That I didn’t even want to get married. I wanted to study, to dream, to build a life on my own terms. But my voice was drowned in emotional blackmail.

“What will society say?”
“What will the relatives think?”
“What kind of parents don’t give anything to their daughter?”

They weren’t worried about my happiness. They weren’t listening to my dreams. They were held hostage by the judgments of a rotten society that punishes the bold and rewards the complicit. My refusal didn’t matter. My discomfort didn’t matter. What mattered was “what people would say.”

And I ask—when will this change? When will parents value their daughters as human beings, not as burdens to be packaged and handed off with bribes disguised as blessings? When will girls stop being raised for marriage and start being raised for life? Who will smash this deeply embedded patriarchy? 

Dowry is not just a cultural “expectation.” It is a crime. It is a human rights violation. And the silence around it—especially among the educated, the middle class, the so-called “progressive” families—is deafening.

The Indian society must stop romanticizing extravagant weddings and start asking uncomfortable questions. We must stop calling dowry “gifts” and name it for what it is: extortion. We must challenge every ritual, every tradition, every pressure that demands a woman pay for her place in society with gold and obedience.

And most of all, society must teach girls that they are not commodities. They do not have to buy love or acceptance. That they do not have to play along with systems that are designed to destroy them.

Dowry abuse is the fault of the in-laws who demand dowry and commit violence. It is also the failure of every parent who believes a daughter's worth is measured in ornaments. It is the failure of every community that prefers a "settled marriage" over an educated girl with dreams. It is the failure of the state, of the courts, of law enforcement that looks away until it’s too late—until a woman is burned, bruised, broken, or dead.

Enough is enough.

This is not just about one woman in a hospital bed. It’s about a system that kills women slowly, through silence, shame, and gold.

Let us stop asking “what will society say,” and start asking:
What will it take to end this violence?

What’s in Thy Name?

 What’s in Thy Name?

 

Shakespeare in Romeo and Juliet’s passionate adventure noted, “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose/ By any other name would smell as sweet.” In another play, Hamlet, the protagonist denounces his mother's swift remarriage with the statement, "Frailty, thy name is a woman." As a feminist, centuries later, I see that this phrase has various connotations in different situations, calling vanity, thy name is woman.

To answer this famous question by Shakespeare, `What’s in thy name?’  I would say a lot. The name holds everything from one’s identity to one’s existence as a human being. A person’s name denotes one’s identity, one’s uniqueness, and one’s specific individuality. It is an assertion of one’s self as a unique individual, a person in her own being. The `name’ gives recognition to a person as an exceptional human being through which she asserts her identity and existence. 

Sigmund Freud in his famous work Totem and Taboo noted, “A human being’s name is a principal component of his person, perhaps a piece of his soul”. Names play an instrumental role in determining the background, ethnicity, and gender. They reflect and shape social values. Name penetrates the core of our being. Anthropologists determine names as a `cultural universal’. No society ever exists without names.

 A name provides a label to a `self’ it is a way to relate to human existence rather than simply being alive.  It is a symbol of self-awareness and the existence of one’s being, which may be differentiated from a simply living object.  In the context of language, it is a symbol of self-identification. Name is a part of day-to-day human existence. To greet someone or to meet anyone, the first thing a person pronounces is his or her name. From an unofficial description of self to each and every requirement on an official document, a name plays a significant role. A person’s self-awareness and identity as a human exist in her name. A name may represent a real person and define what she may be. Behind a title or a label, there is a real person.

A name does act as a kind of label of a brand of a person. Even in the academic world, a person’s credibility is determined by the number of papers being published in a reputed journal or several books she has written.  A name, therefore, connects a person to his or her accomplishments, network, fame, and credibility and plays a significant role in determining his or her status in today’s fast-changing occupational world.

Can a different criterion be used to identify someone besides the name?

The answer may be yes or no. Yes, because in a situation like a prison, a prisoner may be recognized as by his number or in a hospital set up a person is recognized as a bed number or in a government document a person can be recognized through a file number, no, as that does not determine his or her uniqueness as a human. S/he may hold an identity in these set up but that is not a personal identity of a person as a human being as an individual with distinct personal qualities or a discreet social background.

With the introduction of the ration card, voter card, etc, different parameters are being used to identify a person. Because of these technical interventions and the digitization of identity, people have been facing numerous problems.

A name, therefore, helps an individual to relate to his or her personal and social background.  A person may not be able to relate to a unique identification number, but may easily relate to her name. A particular name may or may not signify a meaning, yet it helps the bearer to identify with herself. The culture, the language, and the societal norms come together in the process of relating a human being to its existence.

Name Game

`Name’ is something that a person acquires by his or her birth. Sadly, one cannot play an active role during that process of `naming’ self. A person’s name is given to him by her parents, friends or relatives. However, a person does have a choice during the whole tenure of her life to change this given name because that name belongs to this person and as a feisty owner of her own name, she has a right to change it at any given point of time.

However, during the naming process, in many cultures, individuals are named in a manner that may depict their linkages to their caste, clan, family, father’s name, place etc, which signifies that a person does belong to that specific group. Thus, a person’s name may have different specific components, an individual’s name, his or her surname, and middle name, based on these factors as per cultural prevalence, the study of which is interestingly called `Anthroponomy’. 

In many cultures, it is believed that the names bear a mystical, powerful force on the bearers and may have a metaphysical influence on the bearer, determining her personality, characteristics, temperament etc. Naming a person is, nevertheless, not an easy process in many parts of the world. Besides astrological calculations and cultural connotations there are legal implications in naming a person in different parts of the globe.

In India, generally, a child is named by her parents, kin etc, mostly after consulting an astrologer. Often, different sections of society follow different practices and rituals in naming a child. For example, among Hindus, during the naming ceremony, a priest is called amongst pompous celebrations.

 But in other parts of the world, including Europe, the USA, China, and Japan, parents need to follow certain rules while naming a child. In most of these countries, parents need to register the name of the child at the local government office which may disapprove the name in case it is deemed to be offensive. However, as per the laws in many of these countries, an age limit is prescribed for a person where she can register to change her name.

In Germany, one has to register the name of the child to the officer of vital statistics of the particular area, who may approve the name on the basis of the gender of the child and ensures that the child is not named after a product, object etc. Denmark has a strict personal naming law in place. As per this law, parents cannot choose any odd or fancy names for their children. The law states that the name should indicate the gender of the child and that a last name cannot be used as a first name. Similarly, in Norway, offensive last names are not allowed.

Iceland formed an `Icelandic Naming Committee’ in 1991, which approves the names based on the fact that it should fit in Icelandic culture, be grammatically correct, and must contain letters in the Icelandic alphabets. A Name register is being maintained, and if parents want a different name, they need to pay fee to seek approval for a new name. The law mandates that the names should be gender specific and should be such that it should not embarrass the child in the future. Even for surnames, there is an interesting tradition which allows the use of the father’s or the mother’s name or the family’s name that is being passed from generation to generation.

In Sweden, a naming law was enacted originally to prevent non-noble families from giving their children noble names. Later, it was changed to include the clause that parents cannot name their children if that particular name is found to be offensive or cause discomfort. Further, as per this law, a person can change their name only once, and this must reflect the original name.

New Zealand’s Birth, Death and Marriage Registration Act, 1995, does not allow offensive names, unreasonably long or resembling an official title or rank. To change one’s name the person has to make a statutory declaration for approval and registration under the law. In Australia, people above 18 years of age may register to change their names once in 12 months. UK laws allow anyone who is 16 to change his/her name. Canada allows marriage certificates as evidence of a change of name after marriage.

In Japan, the law ensures that all names should be easily read and written in Japanese and it may restrict the names deemed inappropriate. The laws in China recommend that a Chinese name should be simple, easily readable, and have easily identifiable characters.   Technical capability rather than appropriateness is the basis for naming in China. Article 99 of the General Principles of Civil Law in China guarantees citizens the right to choose their names. Under Article 22 of the Marriage Law, children can select the surname of any parent.

The laws in the USA regulate the change of name though a person can adopt any name she desires, however, a court order is required to officially accept the changed name by many institutions like banks and government offices. The applicant is required to give an explanation to change his or her name. The law prohibits the use of a name that misleads, is derogatory or offensive, for an unlawful purpose, incites violence, is obscene, is a racial slur, or is a threat.

Therefore, globally, the naming process for identifying a person has acquired a special significance either legally or culturally. Once acquired at birth, the name can be changed by its owner at any given point of time though one has to fulfill certain legal formalities to do so.  Generally, people across the globe change their birth names at adoption or marriage.

Changing Name after Marriage and its Implications

Changing one’s name after marriage, especially that of women is prevalent across many cultures and countries across the globe. In North India, as in many cultures across the world, where patriarchy dominates, traditionally a woman inherits her surname or birth name from her father and changes it to match her husband's surname, which he inherited from his father. Though this is not legally binding, this tradition is strictly followed in many communities. Neither the property law nor any other law demands statutory compliance from women to change their names; however, this practice or custom has been continued for generations.

For many, this practice of naming based on male lineage is seen as reiterating patriarchy. It may be construed as an extension of male domination as a father before marriage and control of her husband after marriage. Female ancestors are recognized in a matrilineal society; however, in a patriarchal setup up a female’s surname is determined by her place of stay or, in a strictly traditional setup, by her control and ownership patterns. The norms of patriarchy have been engrained using strategies and tactics that permeate everyday living including that of giving up one’s identity and one’s individuality.

Marriage as an institution in a patriarchal context not only determines one’s daily existence, but it also forces women to give up their birth identity and take up the identity of their husbands. Further, the continuation of the male lineage is ensured through the process where children born out of such wedlock take on the identity of the father. Personal laws enforce patriarchal norms through sets of customs, rules and regulations that undermine the status of women within the domain of family. They permeate day-to-day existence and life, including a simple naming process.

In the Western hemisphere, a strong movement emerged in the mid-nineteenth century when Lucy Stone, a women's rights activist, initiated a movement against changing birth name for women after marriage. According to her, “A wife should no more take her husband's name than he should hers. My name is my identity and must not be lost”. A Lucy Stone League was created. The practice of women keeping their last names was popularized during the Women’s Rights Movement of the early 70s in the US, and peaked in the 1990s at 23 percent.

In the early 20th century, a "Lucy Stoner" was the common name for those who believed a woman had the right to keep the name she was born with, even after marriage. The Lucy Stoners of the U.S. during that period handled many challenges as they had to fight to get passports issued in their own names, to open bank accounts in their own names, and even to take out copyrights in the same names their works had been copyrighted in before marriage. They won some of these rights but at the cost of being portrayed as fanatics over a trivial issue like a name.

However, by the 2000s, only 18 percent of women were keeping their names, in the Journal of Social Behavior and Personality according to a study published in 2009. The reasons women cite for taking their spouse's surname vary: some like the tradition of it, and others find it romantic. In some cases, it's more important to their husbands, and some feel it will be more convenient once they have children. Some women even argue, counterintuitively, that taking their husband’s name is a feminist choice.

Myriads of options were adopted when it came to the name-change debate after this surge of feminism in the West. One may decide to keep her birth name, take her husband’s name, opt for taking his last name and make’s own maiden name as one’s middle name, take his last name legally but keep one’s own name professionally, or hyphenate the two names. Gradually, with globalization and technology, this trend spread globally, and women all over the world now have the freedom to access any of these options, with the only bottleneck of fulfilling all local legal procedures, rules, and other formalities and technicalities.

My Name My Identity

However, local, cultural, and religious traditions do prevent women from enjoying this freedom to opt for options for keeping their own birth name after marriage. For example, in India, the religious personal laws reiterate the principle of husband’s control over a woman and disallow women to exercise the freedom to opt for their birth name after marriage. The women struggled hard against legal and cultural norms to assert their right to enjoy this liberty.  A few of them challenged the law, resisted the cultural norms, and strived hard to protect their identities. This identity dilemma not only affects their own lives but continues to impact the lives of their children and becomes more prominent in cases where women obtain divorce after marriage.

Whether it relates to the battle of custody of children after divorce or in the simple matter relating to opening of bank account, the protection of one’s identity as a woman became a major issue.  In fact, the Supreme Court of India in the legal case of Gita Hariharan v RBI and Vandana Shiva v Union of India, upheld the principle of gender equality while recognizing the role of women as custodians and guardians of the child equal to that of the father and not `after’ him. A woman as a mother, thus, is granted the right to manage the minor children’s care and property in the absence of the father.  The identity associated with one’s name therefore is of significant value in not only her own life but also of her children and has a major implication in defining and shaping lives. 

For the Namesake

During my own efforts to get insight into this aspect of changing name after marriage in India, I came across different reasons given by friends, kin, neighbors, colleagues, and women whom I interacted with. These women are from different backgrounds; however, some of the reasons given are similar in nature. These delve from day-to-day convenience, age-old tradition, and practice, changing names may ease claims in property rights and inheritance matters, and ease for children to comprehend relationships and family tree, among others. Though many of them have even hyphenated two names, yet, the question of protecting identity has hardly been thought about.

Surprisingly, the reason for a claim in property rights emerged even though the Hindu Succession law was amended in 2005. However, the tradition and custom before this amendment was that once married a daughter cannot claim any inheritance rights in the property that belongs to her father and that all this property generally belongs to and is divided among brothers. Yet, after all these years of struggle by the women’s movement in India to push such amendments to succession law the mindset even among women at the ground level remains the same.

The women who obtain divorce or were into that process, struggle with the dilemma of changing names again. In a few cases, they have to get their name changed in all the legal documents, struggling with bureaucratic procedures to obtain affidavits and legal papers in their own name because they do not wish they continue with the name they acquired after marriage. The reasons for re-changing to birth name include avoiding any severe ties associated with the relationship (if I am not continuing any relationship with him, why should I stick with his name?) to asserting their own self as an independent person.

Why Name is important?

The question arises, why did I choose this topic? In my own life, this issue gained importance because by the time I got married, I was enrolled for my PhD and had started writing and publishing. Changing my name was the last thing I had in my mind amidst the chaos of marriage, completing my studies etc. However, I was forced to change my name after marriage. I was headstrong enough not to accept any of the changes. I believed changing the name would imply not only giving up my identity, something I was born with, but also it may involve hassles in getting all the formalities done at various ends. Soon enough, my marriage ended, and I was satisfied that my obstinacy of not giving up the label I have been putting up since my birth has helped me somehow, despite the commotion raised.  For example, I have been held as a traitor and disloyal by my in-laws for not changing my name after marriage. The matter does not end here.

The lawyer whom I consulted for my divorce case never agreed with my point relating to continuing with my birth name. Neither the senior woman lawyer hired by my ex-husband agreed. This point was raised during the arguments before the judge, but she was kind enough to overlook this issue. Then marriage registration process was not formalized under the law.

Even after the years, I obtained a divorce, the name matter does not stop haunting me. There was an insurance policy that I had taken years ago when my marriage existed. Somehow, it shows my husband’s surname rather than my birth name. When this policy matured, I went to the insurance office to claim my money. The insurance officer refused to do so. Even after explaining to him about my current marital status and showing all the evidences that exist on paper, he insisted on getting an affidavit that I had changed my name after marriage.

Even today, this dilemma still exists before me as many official documents demand the husband’s name or father’s name on any official documents besides the column which asks about your marital status.

After the birth of my daughter, when my ex-husband and in-laws refused to even look at her, I further resolved that my daughter would carry my surname rather than his, and this further initiated another struggle.

It was at the turn of the millennium, when I approached a famous school in South Delhi for the admission of my daughter, that my divorce case was already in process. The school demanded a birth certificate which I instantly provided but it carries the name of my ex-husband as her father. The Principal of the School was kind enough to state that in his school, all children are being treated equally and that my daughter will not face any issues. However, the in-charge of the Preprimary section had different views. She argued that my ex-husband was my child’s father, and I cannot deny the fact. Secondly, the child may face difficulty if she sees that all other kids on their identity cards will carry their father’s name, but her card will carry a blank in the column of father’s name. The feminist in me refused to accept these views and retorted “But my ex-husband or his family has refused to take care of the child. If they have disowned her then why should she carry his tag for her entire life? Why can’t she carry my name?”

Meanwhile, the judgment in the case of Gita Hariharan was already out, and legally it ensures that under the Hindu Minority and Guardianship Act, the mother can be treated as a guardian of the child in the `absence’ of the father. The phrase `absence of father’ includes not only physical absence, but the court was liberal enough in interpreting it to the situation where the father refused to accept the responsibility of the child. Regarding the father’s name column in the ID card, I suggested to her that in that particular column, I can go for the guardian’s name instead of the father’s name. She finally agreed to it. This is not the only place where I have to fight to protect the identity of my daughter, but there are other places where I need to argue this fact.

At the passport office, when I left the column of father’s name blank in the passport application form, the officer at the counter initially refused to accept the application. But I was prepared. I showed him the copy of the judgment by the SC along with my divorce decree.  After much of the arguments, he asked me to approach his senior official. Fortunately, the senior official does agree to my request after showing him all the documents including the copy of the SC judgment.

Today, the column of father’s name in the passport of my daughter is blank rather, it contains the column, the mother’s name, where I take pride in finding my name, thus continuing my lineage and my identity as a mother.

Sailing in this world where we have preconceived notions about many things including name change, was never smooth. Someone asked, aren’t you depriving your kid of her connection with her father’s family or property? My response to that was yes, it was my choice and under those given circumstances, what I felt was appropriate was to let my child know by her mother’s name. However, she again has a choice to discontinue if she desires and adopts whatever she likes. Regarding the property issue and connection with the father’s family, when her father and his family have disowned her so why I should keep this hope alive in her that one day they may come back looking for her.

Can one continue to carry a legacy of a name that does not belong to her? Just because one is born in a particular family, should one continue to carry the same name even if s/he is denied the privilege of the legacy? And yes, recently she did exercise her choice of choosing her name while she appeared for her tenth-grade board examination.

I was aware of the law and could fight for rights; however, several women whom I met were not so privileged to know about their rights to continue with their birth name after the breakdown of marriage. Many of them who underwent divorce proceedings never wanted to go through the hassles of changing their marriage names again to their birth names, even though they do not wish to continue with the tag of their ex-husbands.

A few of them decided to change their name; however, they faced difficulty as their children had been enrolled in academic institutions with their father’s surname. These women opined that if they changed their current name to their birth name, it would create chaos and confusion.

However, some of the questions that never left my mind were why someone has to change their name after marriage? If it is a custom, tradition or ritual, why does it exist so, and why can it not be changed? Why a child cannot take a mother’s name? Why does everyone insist that father’s name is important for a child? Should a child be given the liberty to pick up any of the parents’ names? In a patriarchal setup, marriage as an institution do compel women to take up their husband’s name and be identified as Mrs. Him however, with the changing social and cultural milieu, I believe that every woman should be made aware that she can make a choice to remain Ms Self in case she chooses to.

Remaining Ms Self may not hinder any relationship legally or otherwise because that pertains to one’s identity. Thus, my right to choose my name exists with me and nobody else has a right to label me or change my name, whether or not I decide to marry.

A name, therefore, may have significance in one’s lifetime depending on one’s own perspective.  `To be or not to be’ to continue with one’s label and one’s identity is the choice which a person should be entitled to.

“To be, or not to be, that is the question: Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles.”