The sign of me

I think choosing a signature was one of the toughest decisions in life. It happened when I was around ten, when I had to sign my friend's autograph book. I leafed through the other pages in the book to see thee signatures of the rest of my classmates. Most had just written their full names. Some, had tried to dress them up with curls and curves. I tried to be different - in my own way. I simply wrote my first name the way my mom did. Till the age of 15, that was my signature - in autograph books, slam books, on posters and photographs - and my classmates loved it.

But then I moved cities, changed schools and had to sit for the board exam. The sign on my admit card was to be my stamp for the rest of my life. Dad said that I should add a last name there. And so I did. The sign became my sealed consent on receipts, letters, applications, bank documents, etc.

The sign stayed the same - just getting bigger over the years. I didn't realise how big it was till it didn't fit well enough on the revenue stamps attached to the marriage registration form. The husband managed to fit his in really well. I had to squeeze mine up but was still left with little breathing space.

It was for the sake of my signature that I decided to go against the idea of adding the husband's last name to it. (I had tried it out on the voter's ID form and it almost looked like a sentence! I got an ID that dropped my maiden surname and misspelt my husband's too.) When Vishwas told me he liked my sign, I had said, "That's the first thing you see when I give you a sample. It's so big that you can't miss it." It's the bigness he liked, he told me, much to my surprise. Since then, I've tried to appreciate it for what it is. And after reading this piece, I'm certainly not inclined to make it smaller!