Your Mother's Maiden Name?

My name is my identity, my history. My dad picked my first name, my cultural tradition determined my middle name, and my family caste dictated my surname. I did not take my husband's name when we were married. Many men insist that their wives change their name, but I think it's my choice and my husband agrees. My son shares his middle name with me and his last name with his father and even without a shared last name, we are a united family.

In the 1850s, Lucy Stone from Massachusetts (my home state) was the first recorded American woman to keep her name. In 1921, the Lucy Stone League of New York (where I live now) promoted the preservation of women's names. This group was openly chided and most women, regardless of education or career levels, continued to change their names upon marriage. During the 1970s, more women decided against changing their names. Hillary Rodham did not change her name; however, this offended many Arkansas voters who thought she did not support her husband. When her husband re-ran for Governor in 1982, she referred to herself Mrs. Bill Clinton. During his presidential run, she was Hillary Rodham Clinton, which again rubbed people the wrong way. In her 2008 presidential race, she was simply Hillary.

In 2009, a minority of married couples do not share the same last name. Is there a reason why a woman should change her name but a man should not? Several of my female friends have kept their names and this practice is no longer considered a political issue, but rather a personal preference. I married just before my 34th birthday. My name is on two academic degrees and four filled passports. My name is recognized by my colleagues and peers in my industry. My name makes it easier for old friends to find me on Facebook or Google searches.

A potential upside of changing your name is that you will share a name with your children, but I pondered if that mattered when I found out I was pregnant. I feel no less bonded to my son when I give his name at the Pediatrician's office. It would be convenient because I wouldn't have to explain that we are married and he is my son even though we have different last names. Luckily, I do not feel the need to explain this to anyone.

There are people who will refer to me as Mrs. Husband'sLastName. Some traditionalists (and members of my husband's family :) just won't oblige. It doesn't bother me because sometimes I like it and maybe someday, I will change my name. Again, it's my choice.

How will my son choose to answer when banks ask for his mother's maiden name as his password? Do I have a maiden name if I never changed my name? What is my married name? Am I a Mrs.? There are no rules to guide us. He could explain that my maiden and married names are one in the same. He could state that I don't have a maiden name when he is feeling combative. Or he could just say "Patel" and be done with it. I hope he chooses well.

Admirable Woman: A Tribute to My Mother

I was daunted when faced with this MBA application essay.

Identify someone you regard as a hero, a leader or role model whom you admire. Describe how this person has influenced your development.

Ten years ago, the essay portion of the SATs asked almost exactly this question. My mind went blank. I scribbled furiously about…Rosa Parks. I did not even know enough about Rosa Parks to fill the page but I babbled on and passed the writing portion with high marks. Don’t get me wrong, Rosa Parks is an iconic symbol of the Civil Rights movement. She is to be admired. However, my family did not move to the U.S. until the 1970’s and this choice did not strike me as especially personal. I vowed to redeem myself.

My initial instinct was to think of a woman. Not surprising as I consider myself a strong woman and I admire other such women. I rise up to challenges without relying on the guidance of others. Or so I thought until I tackled this question.

I chose to write about my mother. Not an easy task considering us first generation Indian-Americans were not exactly raised in gushing families that expressed emotions or acknowledged feelings. Would Harvard recognize the depths I needed to explore for this essay? Would I do my mother justice? Would I cry? Maybe. Hopefully. Yes.

"You’re too independent," exclaimed the Indian Uncles and Aunties. Only, they meant it in the pejorative sense of the word. It was okay when I graduated valedictorian of my high school and when I went away to an ivy league school. It was not okay when I wanted to do things my way. Often, my way would clash with the Indian way.

In my latest act of "rebellion," I had moved across the country to California to work and experience life. Most of my cousins and family friends had moved back into their parents’ homes after college. Some ventured out to a safe radius. That was the correct way, especially for an Indian girl.

Here I was paving my own path again. Well, as I learned in college, I’m not as unique an Indian-American female as I thought. When I really stopped to think about it, my mom cleared far more hurdles than I have ever faced.

My mom has two older sisters who married young - the eldest at 14 and the second at 16. Those were the 60s in India. Few women went to college, and if they did, they were more likely to be Brahmin or well-to-do. Certainly not a poor village girl. What was the point when women should get married and stay at home to raise their children and care for their husbands. Sure, she took home economics with the other girls in school and helped her parents at home. Why not learn how to sew, cook, and balance a budget?

My mom went to college and in the sprawling metropolis of Bombay, no less. I had some trepidation of moving to San Francisco on my own and that is nowhere near the size of Bombay. She did not think of it as fearless nor did she consider the social ramifications of seeming too educated among her soon to be Indian peers in America. She was simply smart.

My mom married my father after earning her B.A. in Economics. (that’s the same degree I obtained). None of my aunts had college degrees and many never finished high school. That’s not to say they were not intelligent. But, I recognized that my mom achieved something special. Unfortunately, it was not necessarily revered in an Indian woman of no social status. Thus, my mom never flaunted her education and downplayed her intelligence. That sounds familiar to me. Sometimes, we are both humble to a fault.

My dad returned to the U.S. to start his job, but my mom was now pregnant and stayed behind to wait for her visa call. The call came as she was in the hospital giving birth to my brother and she would have to wait almost a year for the next call. During this time, my mom stayed with her parents at first before moving in with my dad’s parents. That was not easy. As much as I loved my paternal grandparents, there was a certain way to treat a daughter-in-law back then. To Americans, it would have appeared that my mom was someone subservient. Again, she persevered. She was above that, yet remained the dutiful daughter-in-law.

My mom, at a mature 24, traveled to the U.S. on her own with a one year old to rejoin my father. A year later, I was born. There was no thought of paternity leave or a husband helping his wife back then. My dad returned to work immediately and my mom was left to run after a toddler, care for a newborn, cook dinner, and maintain the home. No nanny or family to help. Just an indomitable nature.

That was not the way things would remain. My parents began a joint entrepreneurship while I was still in diapers. My dad, to his forward thinking credit, recognized that my mom’s intelligence should not be wasted. My mom now worked full-time while managing the home. Watching my mom succeed in business ventures is what has developed my own business sense and entrepreneurial spirit. I, too, can do it all.

My life has been easy now that I think about it. I’m single at 27, living in San Francisco, well employed and have the goal of pursuing my MBA. I’m simply treading in my mom’s worn path. She’s the reason I’m "independent" and "defiant" and "confident." How could her daughter be anything less.

Phew, I did it. And within the imposed word limit. Harvard does not understand how verbose I can be. I inherited that from my mom, too.