Once in 3rd grade,

my class teacher aka Rani ma'am asked me why don't i have a _surname_ and she was dead serious this time like what could possibly be the reason that you don't and your sister has a first name, a middle name and a last name.

When I was a kid, I faced a bizarre kind of trouble—trouble that shouldn’t exist, but somehow, it did. The issue? I didn’t have a surname, a null surname.

Forms, school registrations, EVEN FACEBOOK (back when I was desperate to create an account)—everything demanded a last name. Sometimes, I could sneak by with just a dot (”.”) or some placeholder nonsense, but most of the time, it just didn’t work.

I remember being in 3rd grade, and Rani Ma’am inquired why I didn’t have a surname. This wasn’t her usual casual tone; she was dead serious. She even pointed out that my sister, who went to the same school, had all three names—first, middle, and last.

It was enough to make the 3rd grade anshuman question his life. That moment hit me like a ton of bricks. Why didn’t I have a surname? Was I adopted? Was there some deep family secret no one was telling me? It didn’t help that my friends would sometimes joke, “Oh, you must be adopted, bro. That’s why your parents didn’t bother giving you a full name.” Even my sister would join in on the teasing.

To make my facebook account, I split my name in two:

anshu and man

as last name. but i obviously didn’t like it…

Fueled by all this confusion and a bit of third-grade existential dread, I went back home and confronted my mom, one question, what reason did she and her husband have to leave me surname-less while my sister has all 3 name categories possible.

My mom froze. Went into deep silence for a couple of minutes, It felt like hours. I could tell she was thinking. Really thinking. Maybe she was debating whether to tell me the truth, or just let me suffer through troublesome life and realise it myself.

But eventually, she gave in to the sad anshuman’s troubled and inquisitive little mind.

“Don’t tell anyone this,”

she started, her voice low and serious,

“no matter what.”

That caught my attention immediately. I stopped crying, leaned in, and listened like my life depended on it.

“You do have a surname,” she said.

But I didn’t !!!!!!!!!

I didn’t even let her finish. “No, I don’t!!!” I shot back. “Rani Ma’am asked why I don’t! My friends make fun of me! Even my sister says I’m adopted!”

She reached out, held my hands to calm me down. Then she said something I will never forget.

“You’re special. You’re not just anyone. You’re a superhero. Just like SpiderMAN, BatMAN, SuperMAN, IronMAN … and that’s why you’re AnshuMAN.”

I blinked. She wasn’t done.

“You’re not just a superhero,” she added, “you’re even a god too, like HanuMAN.”

And that was it.

That was the day everything changed.

Ever since that conversation, I’ve never felt sad about not having a surname. When forms demand one, I split my name into “Anshu” and “Man” without hesitation. I’ve embraced it fully. I’m not missing something; I’m beyond it.

I’m Anshu Man — a superhero, a god, a supernatural force sent here for a greater purpose.

And honestly? That’s so much better than just being another kid with a last name.

• anshu man