My name has often
sparked confusion due to its gender ambiguity, mostly in the
workplace context. I recall arriving to more than one first day at
work and being greeted by something along the lines of, 'I thought
you typed your emails like a woman!' or conversely an apologetic,
'Sorry, the whole office thought you were a boy!'
I have never really
taken much offence to these situations, mostly because in the Sikh
tradition, or at least the culture of naming Sikh children, the name
is often gender- ambiguous. I have the same name as my cousin
brother, for example and our Sikh neighbours have a daughter with the
same name as my own brother. The only way to tell if a name belongs
to a man or to a woman is to check the middle name of the person in
question.
If the middle name
is 'Kaur' the person is a Female, and if it is 'Singh' then the name
most likely belongs to a Male.
This tradition of
taking the name of either Kaur / Singh has its inception in the
creation of the 'Khalsa': a momentous event in the history of the
Sikhs, where the 10th Guru declared that all those who chose to be
initiated in to ‘Khalsa’ would have to strip off their previous
identities, caste identifiers and class allegiances and instead
become betrothed to the ideals of equality, solidarity and commitment
to the delivery of Justice. One way of achieving this was taking up
the commonality of the name ‘Kaur’ or ‘Singh’.
The word Kaur has a
number of different translations, most commonly it has been
translated in to 'Princess', whilst other scholars have argued that
the root of the word is 'Prince'. This would explain why
historically, Sikh men have carried the name Kaur Singh. If we can
say that the real translation/ etymology of the word is 'Prince', we
can also acknowledge the sovereignty and royalty that was bestowed
upon women that day in Anandpur Sahib (the birthplace of Khalsa).
I was thus born with
the name Kaur threaded carefully through my identity, and as I
researched more deeply, I became more and more aware of the
centrality it has played in my identity as a woman and in the
solidarity it has enabled me to extend to other women.
I considered why
this was, and I arrived at the conclusion that the name ‘Kaur’
instilled a great sense of stability in me. I have found that the
conscious acceptance of other forms of identity is a more explicit
part of our experience as women. Of course, men negotiate a number of
different identities throughout their lives too, for example as
fathers, as friends, as sons, as colleagues etc. but the choice of
taking up a new identity, or negotiating an existing one, is
typically more complex for women. For example, the decision to get
married. From the point a woman gets engaged- shiny new ring on her
finger, to when she actually gets married- shiny new surname/ double
barrel surname, a new identity is more explicitly accepted. There are
other examples too, announcing to your office that you’re pregnant
and will soon be embarking on maternity leave is an explicit
negotiation- your decision that motherhood as an identity construct
will take precedence over your identity within your workplace. It is
a sad reality that women are often left behind in the race to advance
careers once they make decisions such as this. These very visual
identifiers which take place in a more public spaces highlight the
ongoing conscious acceptance we make of new identities as women. My
sister in law leaves behind her young son every morning in the care
of another, and as soon as she steps outside the house, her identity
as a mother is balanced once again to allow for the identity of an
employee. There are countless more examples we could explore.
Throughout this
instability of ever-evolving notions of which identities I will
decide to embrace in my life, I have found myself clinging ever more
to this stubbornly unchanging name- Kaur. I draw strength from my
history, and from a connection of sisterhood, which helps bring me
closer to other Kaurs. But also trains me to see non-Kaurs as my
sisters too.
My identification
with other women carrying this name, or indeed my feeling of
solidarity with both their successes and failures was made clear to
me when I first saw Rupi Kaur's collection of poetry, Milk and Honey,
on the shelf of my local Waterstones. My experience at this point is
very difficult to describe, so I will instead write about that lump
in my throat, my heart skippigng a beat. To see a part of my name
looking back at me and occupying a space I had always felt was
reserved for people who did not look like me was extremely powerful.
Representation is so important, that rheteroic is something I have
always believed in, but its something I truly felt that day. I
attended a workshop where a colleague of mine spoke about this, she
said, 'If you see something, you can become it'. The word ring truer
to me now than they ever did before.
In this tumultuous
ocean that is the world in 2018, this unyielding force that is name
Kaur- and the solidarity it has helped me to build with my sisters-
is what keeps me afloat.
Post a Comment