Sweetie!

Once again, I checked the bag to confirm it had our passports, credit cards and cash. It was a small anti-theft nylon bag, no bigger than my hand, that barely managed to hold all these things entrusted to it. I then slipped its strap cross body over my bra and stuffed the pouch inside my trousers, before wearing my shirt on top. For my other belongings like the inhalers and hair brush etc, I wore an outer cross-body bag over my shirt. It was quite a chore, and it had to be repeated daily. 

Walking with the nylon bag tucked inside my trousers, which had a lot already tucked inside them, was uncomfortable, to say the least. 

And when I needed to buy something, it was another story. I certainly didn't look very dignified lifting my shirt, digging into my trousers and then struggling to pull out cash or a card from the depths. And then carrying out the process in reverse to put the money back! 

It was no wonder I used to fling the bag in the hotel room at the end of each day. It was such a relief to get it off me, that anti-theft Auntie. 

The reason for all this was simple. We were travelling in Europe. I had been robbed of all my cash and cards the last time I was here alone and did not want to go through that hell again. No way. And if that meant I had to wear a nylon anti-theft bag across my body and into my trousers in the heat of summer, so be it. 

The first phase of our month-long trip was over. Today, was a busy day. We were travelling from Malaga to Tirano to start the second phase- scenic train journeys across Switzerland. Malaga to Milan by air, and Milan to Tirano by an inter-city train. 

As much as I love train journeys, trains give me anxiety. I find platforms confusing. I find finding seats nerve wracking. I find luggage storage stressful. So, when a woman stopped by and offered to help me put our luggage in the storage above the seats in the train in Milan, I was relieved. She called out to a couple of other friends and they all lifted one bag and tried to put it in the storage compartment. But what a clumsy lot they were. The luggage kept slipping from their hands and I ended up holding it up most of the time. Wait, one of them was pregnant- heavily pregnant! Why was she helping me pick up a bag?

That's when I felt it- a hand tapping on my waist. The moment I realized what that hand was up to and uttered my discovery to Aloka, my luggage was magically back down on the floor and the helpful ladies nowhere to be found. All the zips of the outer bag were undone, obviously by the woman standing closest to me. She had made full use of my extended arms and distracted head to go through everything in the outer bag. Fortunately, there was nothing of value in it. Everything of value was safely tucked away inside the inner bag in the depths of my trousers.

When we finally reached our hotel in Tirano, I took off the anti-theft bag, folded its strap and placed it gently on my bed-side table. "Good night Sweetie!" I whispered.

I am Free, I choose!

I loved a man once, but I broke up with him.

Brother was ashamed of his profession, mother was alarmed by his caste,

But breaking up was entirely my choice...

I chose. 

I then met this man they wanted me to marry

He is from our biradari, with a good paying job, but nothing like the one I once loved,

But saying yes to the proposition was entirely my choice...

I chose. 

I wanted to wait a year or two to know each other better

He didn't, and mother didn't either,

But saying yes to the wedding next month is entirely my choice...

I chose. 

He was in a fight recently and broke a leg while drunk

He works in a cruise, not in merchant navy as we were told earlier

But the decision to ignore these discoveries is entirely my choice... 

I chose.

I am proud of making my own money, I am good at my job

But then a girl's real job is keeping her husband's house, I am told.

Yes, leaving it all to move to his village far away is entirely my choice...

I chose.

"Don't worry about me didi" she said to me yesterday. 

You see, I am free, I choose. 

Soar on Aloki!

Seventeen years ago, I had a dream. A dream of a little girl in my home and in my heart. A happy little girl, who would fill my life with chatter and songs and laughter. I can’t explain why I had this particular dream, but it was almost like an obsession, a certain madness. And believe me, this dream wouldn’t have come true without this obsessions and my own mother's acceptance of it. (It took us two to tango!)

Many people questioned my madness. Some thought I was too old to be a mother to a young child, some other wondered why I would want to go through the stress of schooling another child, yet another family member worried about having to take care of the child if anything were to happen to me (my health had never been great).

I looked at these people and these objections incredulously. A child is a gift from the universe. Rearing a child is a privilege. How can anyone look at it as a burden or a duty? I knew fully well that joy comes hand in hand with sorrow, but that is no reason to not open the door to joy. Isn’t that why one is alive? For me, wanting to be a mother to another child was as urgent and necessary as wanting another breath.

And please, I had already done it once and loved every moment of it, so I wasn’t an ignorant fool. Err, maybe just a little bit!

Aloka came into our lives like magic. With my mother chasing my dream as hard I was, all the obstacles that seemed impossible to overcome at one time, vanished in a second. And just like that, a little baby girl in a silly bunny cap became my daughter in December 2007.

These last 17 years have been fuller of chatter and songs and dances and laughter than I could have ever imagined. I look at old pictures and videos and can’t help but notice how sassy she was (her own words) even as a little child. The way she posed for pictures, the way she acted in her tiktok videos, the way she danced to Korean songs, it was so different from anything I had ever seen. From a very young age, my little girl was her own person.

Now as a young woman, she is still doing things that surprise and delight this mother. I never tire of listening to the songs she sings in her honey-sweet voice. I look on incredulously as she picks up any new song effortlessly, making me understand what musical intelligence is. I relish the stylish food she cooks and the way she presents it. I love the way she demonstrates her love for her nani, whom she calls Corna, and for Mallika, whom she calls Minga Nani. I marvel at the way she sits quietly to listen to adults talking about serious issues. I am surprised at her deep understanding of people and her willingness to extend empathy even to people who hurt her. I enjoy seeing her dress up, always aware of the latest styles, yet careful about the appropriateness of what she wears to the occasion. And then, I smile at the way she still clutches Witchy Aunty in bed and gravitates towards candy shops just as she did as a young child.

Today, as I bid her goodbye at the examination centre where she is to take her exam, I felt my heart swelling with emotion. This dignified beautiful girl is almost ready to come out from under my wings and fly into her own world. 

Soar on Aloki! I am sure you will fly farther than I had and make this world a better place than I ever could.

Untangling

If I could doubt myself, so cruelly, so starkly, why shouldn't others be allowed to doubt me? If  I could not be kind to myself, what right do I have to expect kindness from others? If I allowed all harsh words to stick to me like venomous thorns, why should others not be allowed to push them in. 

A part of me now looks at this episode as a clear case of mental illness destroying a family and relationships within. A part of me knows this as the truth. A part of me therefore has tremendous compassion for all those who are suffering, mostly my son, but also Aloka and myself. This part of me may be incredulous that these events happened in and to my family, and makes me feel helpless and incredibly sad. But other than that, it's a fact, that's all. A painful fact, one I wish wasn't, but a fact still. 

The other part of me hears the harsh words and dies within with shame. This shame makes me restless and shaky and indecisive. I listen to myself more carefully, sometimes holding back words because they could be misinterpreted. I scrutinize my actions for signs of narcissism and manipulation, words that I never earlier associated with myself. I am deeply ashamed and defensive and self hating. 

The only way to find peace is by shutting myself down, by becoming numb, by closing doors. But after a while, shame sneaks in from tiny cracks and mocks my failed attempts at self defence. Shame turns to anger and I play and replay imagined angry monologs in which I show him a mirror to his cruelty. It is soothing, this mock reclaiming of my dignity, but only so much. 

How can I believe he is not well and then think my shame and anger are justified? These two thoughts can't stand true simultaneously.  

I truly believe this is not the way to live my life. It is absolutely wrong. Life is a precious gift and it deserves value and respect and gratitude. I have spent the last 2.5 years in a fog and when out of it, in pain. I am committed to break this cycle. I am committed to be grateful for this precious life and to give it the value and respect it deserves. And this is possible only when I am committed to looking at everyone who is suffering with unshaking compassion, regardless of any demeaning actions or words. It is going to be a process I know, but I am committed to seeing it through without forgetting or losing direction. 

Guilty, but Not as Charged!

I didn't notice the signs. They were there from as early as 2008, but I was ignorant. I took it as a behavioral quirk, a new habit that should be discouraged. Four years later, when there were more signs, I mistook them for humility and self doubt. And another couple of years later, I brushed them off as discomfort in strange settings.  And a year later, when there was a breakdown, I blamed it on the failed love affair, something situational, not organic. And after that, I forgave every small rudeness and squirmish. I brushed them aside because we had so little time with each other and who wanted to sulk or fight. 

In my defense, there were always things happening to offset any doubts I may harbor- best scores, best ratings, and applause from bosses, professors and friends. How could someone excelling in everything outwardly be struggling internally? So handsome, so accomplished, so comfortable in his skin as an adolescent- how could such a person have insecurities and social anxiety?

I just saw the duck moving smoothly across the water. I had no clue how much pedaling the duck was doing underwater to move just a foot forward. I am guilty of this ignorance. If I could do anything differently, it would be to get him support from someone knowledgeable, a professional, someone who would see it for what it really was. 

Someone unlike me, who believed that all a child needs is love and attention, who believed that a father's loss can be overcome by a mother's love, who believed that everyone's mind is hardy and obstinate like hers, and who foolishly believed that she has seen enough pain in her life to understand pain of another.  

Not true. Thus guilty. But not as charged.