Switching names

It is quite a politically incorrect thing to say these days, but I love being married. When I first entered into holy matrimony, I had not thought about how smooth or bumpy the road ahead would be. I was not given to such reflections then. I was simply happy to be participating in an ancient Vedic ceremony, with the young man who wanted to marry me. It was only when the Sanskrit vows we were making to each other, were explained to me in simple language, by the energetic pundit, that I had a moment of panic. 

I panicked because I realised, I had just told me brand-new husband, in front of innumerable witnesses that, among other things, I would greet him everyday with sweet words and even if I had just one piece of bread with me, I would share half of it with him. Now the sharing of food bit was okay because I was a fussy eater and in most cases I would not have minded passing the entire lot to my spouse. But the former vow made me uneasy. The one where I was supposed to greet him with sweet words, day after day! 

Firstly I could not understand the concept of greeting him when I was living with him. I mean was I supposed to say “hello” to him every now and then at several points in time? I turned to check this with my mother who was sitting next to me during the marriage proceedings. She simply raised her brows at me and gave me a serene content smile. I did not get a chance to prod her further because I got caught up with the next set of instructions that were being issued by the priest. 

While I was still worrying about the sweet worded greetings, without my even realising it, abruptly my name got changed. All along I was Miss P and now I was Mrs M. As soon as I got married my father’s surname was scratched out and my husband’s surname added to my name. It happened so fast that it took me completely by surprise. 

In fact I was sitting in the garden of the hotel where we having lunch a day after our wedding. My spouse went away to make a phone call. Suddenly I heard a woman calling out to someone in a loud voice. “Mrs M”, she said. There was no response. “Mrs M”, she yelled in a louder voice. Nobody answered. “Who is this deaf lady?” said the voice in my head. “Mrs M”, she shouted again, waving in my direction. 

When she strode up to me and shook me by the arm I realised, with complete astonishment, that she was calling me by my own most unfamiliar married name. It took me sometime to get over the shock. When my husband came back I forgot to greet him sweetly in my rush to tell him about the incident. He laughed uproariously and from then onwards the name simply got stuck. 

“So you were Miss P,” our daughter noted the other day. 

“Yes,” I said. 

“Then you became Mrs M,” she went on. 

“Yes,” I agreed. 

“Which surname do you like better?” she asked. 

“Both,” I said. 

“If you had to pick one?” she was persistent. 

“A combination of the two,” I answered. 

“That would become a double-barrelled name,” she stated. 

“Exactly! Better to call her Madam PM,” my husband laughed.