I am a Loser

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Picked up my son from school last week, and the first words that came out of his mouth were, “I am a loser Mom.”

Never in my wildest dreams would I have ever expected my son to say these words. Where had he heard them, who called him that? All these questions raced through my head, while the pit in my stomach grew. My first reaction was that of shock, and then the anger came. I asked him at the top of my voice what happened in school?

A little background about my son. He is a happy little kid, an honest little boy with a big heart, who sees good in everyone. He is the kid who gets picked on because he is gullible, and simple. But yet he continues to trust, and help his friends whenever he can.

He is starting to understand that the world is made up of people who don’t want the best for him. This crushes his spirit, and in turn makes the lioness in me come out. There is a constant battle in my head that wants to tell him to go ahead and be mean to them, but then we have enough of the mean kids around. I am raising my child to show respect, love and honesty no matter what, and who hurts him. But I am also raising him to stand up for himself, and for others who cannot.

But what happens when he cannot approach an adult in school? What if he is scared he is not being heard? I told him I would have his back as long as he has been honest, and respectful. He knows no matter what the consequences, to always speak the truth.

We need to do right by all children. They need to have a safe space to grow, to evolve, and to be able to make express themselves. We should teach them about love, respect and being honest with one another. If they make a mistake, which they should, then we need to be patient with them, and make it a learning experience. They should never feel like they are alone when they are in school, or at home.

These kids are our future, and it is our responsibility as adults to show them the right path.

Connected, yet disconnected…c’est la vie

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We get so busy with our lives that we forget what it truly means to live. We use this excuse of being so busy that we don’t have time to meet with our old friends, meet with our family or to truly live. 

I found out today that a friend passed away back in April. I was shocked on why I was just finding out. He was younger than me, and was my brothers classmate. I have basically known him almost 30 years. He leaves behind his wife, kids and parents. My heart breaks for his family, especially for his parents. I am grateful I got to see him a few years ago and he got to spend time with my family. But just like that a young life was taken.

I have always said that our life is unpredictable, and death is inevitable. But how we chose to live our life everyday does matter. I have stopped watching the news because it is so depressing, I also keep toxic people at bay, but I do eat that ice cream when I want. But I am also working on getting healthier for myself so I can live my life better. I am trying to consciously do things that make me happy, though I have days that are just too hard to handle. I will still get up, wear that smile and be thankful to be able to see another sunrise. 

So my dear friend…I hope you are at peace wherever you are. I hope and pray your family finds solace in all the good memories. And I hope we take this as a lesson on how short this life truly is. 


Till we meet again…..

Why I never took many photographs with my son

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Sitting here and thinking back to when I had my first baby, I remember easing into motherhood with so much joy. But that joy was short-lived when I went into postpartum depression as I got laid off right after I had my son. The timing could not be any better.

Being a new mother and not knowing what the hell I was doing, and having a baby who was colicky also did not help. I was exhausted, and there were times I wanted to run away from everything. I was battling low self-esteem, depression and loneliness. The weight kept creeping on, and that brought me down even more. I never wanted to be in any photographs, but loved taking photographs of my newborn son. I took thousands of photographs during the first three to four years of his life, and still do. But I was hardly in any of them. I hated my appearance, and it did not help matters when my side of the family kept reminding me on how I need to lose the weight. They told me how I would look pretty if I lost the weight. Ugh!!! I wanted to scream at everyone. Even when I visited India, I was told by the shopkeepers that I was too fat, and they did not have anything for me. Everyone had this image that being thin makes one beautiful. A very brief background about me: I never used to be a big girl, I was into sports and was always fit. I remember being told that I was too thin and needed to put on weight. No one seemed satisfied with how I looked. I was never bothered about what people thought about me back then, so why was it bothering me now.

The weight came on after my two pregnancies in one year, sending my hormones into a tailspin. I did not care about myself as I was too busy taking care of my baby. When my son was about three or so, I was going through his baby year photographs and realized how I was not part of most of the pictures. I casually mentioned this to my mother in law, and a couple of sister in laws. They told me that when I am much older, and when my son was older too, he would probably ask me why I was never in any of his memories. They encouraged me to be in the pictures with him. That took about seven to eight months, and I finally started to feel comfortable in my skin.

Though the comments never stopped on how fat I was, but by now I had grown a thick hide. I was confident about myself, and the people kept talking but I did not care. My son is now eight, and I absolutely love being in photographs with him, making goofy faces and being silly. I know I will be able to look back on these days with a lot of happiness and pride. I am still not “thin”, but that is okay. Who said we need to be thin to feel beautiful? I love the way I look and feel now. I have never been more confident in my life, and most importantly I am the most beautiful woman to my little man. What more can I ask for.

And then there was a wedding….or something like that.

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So I don’t know how many times I have started, and re-started this particular blog. This was supposed to be the next step after the “awkward proposal”. There was someone who did not approve of this…but since I am at a stage in my life where I don’t care about what anyone thinks anymore, here goes.

After returning from India, we went back to being busy with our respective jobs. After a month or so we picked a date, actually I did. So the date I picked was a month after my birthday. I figured it would be easy to remember.

Wedding planning is the most stressful event ever, even worse when you have no one from your own family to advise and help. As much as I wanted a traditional Indian wedding with the dancing, henna, and Rukhsati, I knew that was never going to happen. He is a Catholic, and I am a Muslim, so we wanted to have something very small at a non-denominational chapel.  In order to have a Catholic wedding, one needs to go through a marriage class with the priest. Well, we went to see a priest, and had to fill out a questionnaire each and then we were questioned individually. When he asked me if I was going to baptize my child, I said I was not even sure I wanted a child. But they needed an answer and a signature, which would then go to the Archdiocese of Washington DC. Well, my answer was no I was not. At that point the “interview” was stopped and he called my fiance in, and said we could not get married in a Catholic Church, which I already knew before even going to meet this priest. So I looked at different chapels on my own, but nothing was working out.

This planning was annoying especially since I was trying to do it on my own without any help. So with the date picked, I had my mom print cards in India, and I sent out an Evite out to family & friends in the United States. Those who wanted to be there could, and those who did not, oh well. I definitely ruffled some feathers, but with no family support here, and none from the groom to be, I made the decision to get the marriage license and made an appointment for September 1st, So that September 1st morning, sitting at the courthouse, my heart broke again. It was another big event in my life, and I had no family. The price we pay when we move half way across the world. So after we said our “I do” to the judge, we then headed on our 14 hour drive to Memphis. I drove all the way because my lovely husband could not drive my car (Stick-shift). 

My gorgeous aunt had invited people over for a dinner to celebrate our marriage. My in-laws, a couple of my sister and brother in laws flew in for a day. That really made my day, but I missed the most important people in my life-my parents. There was no honeymoon as we had to head back to work. There was no “giving away” of the bride, which come to think of it, still has not happened. Maybe I should have my Indian wedding someday…so my father can formally give me away.

So now as a married couple, we start a new journey, and oh boy! no one warned me about the hidden dangers of being married….hee hee!!! 

joon joon and me

The awkward proposal

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My sincere apologies again…life has a funny way of taking over 🙂 Anyway…here is the next one…

So I arrived in India before him, because he had to work. I had gone to a store and already picked out my engagement ring because I did not want him to spend too much on a ring. So me being the completely non-traditional bride to be, picked out an eternity band instead of the usual solitaire.

He arrived in time to experience the Indian rush hour traffic. He sat quietly till we got home. I think he was a little shook up with the traffic, which was not that bad. But for a foreigner who had never left the confines of his country, this must have been quite a shock to his system. He made it clear that he would never be able to drive in India.

Well, I am going to hand over this piece to him to finish up: (disclaimer: he thinks he is funny)

HIS WORDS: “I came to India intent on conquering my first land and with my victory, bringing back a bride as my trophy.  I walked onto the tarmac at the airport to throngs of screaming fans chanting “#1 Gora ! #1 Gora !” I signed autographs and took the first selfies ever in India while I waited for Salimeh to retrieve the luggage and put it into the dickie(trunk) of the car.”

Okay that is about how far I will let him write…clearly this is funny to him.

So the deal with him coming to India was to propose for my hand in marriage. Awkward because while my dad and he were smoking a cigarette, he quickly asked my dad, and my dad said yes. Of course, he forgot to ask my mother who is just as important to me, not sure why he bypassed the CEO of the house. Then he and I went for a late night coffee and he was fumbling. I asked him if he was going to propose or not, and he finally got down on one knee and asked me.

I know, I’m boring, but I hate surprises, hence we did the shopping together, and I could not understand what he was waiting for. Like I mentioned, I was the non-traditional bride to be.

Anyway, formalities were complete. So in a day mom organized a small dinner for us. Only in India, can this be done so quick. We had close family and friends with us, but I missed having my school and college friends with me. The stay in India was too short, and I knew the next time I would visit, I would be a married woman. Oh boy, marriage and me!!! Let’s see what happens….

Oh, and I obviously said yes.

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Future addition to our family…The Gora
Family after my engagement

On to 2017….

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So at the end of 2015 something happened to me. I have no idea what, but I felt a change come over me. I cannot explain how, why, or when, but it was for the good. In my past blogs I wrote a little about the lows in my life, and how it affected me very deeply. This new, strange feeling was like a weight being lifted off my shoulders. Why it happened, I have no clue. But I had never felt so good about myself, the way I looked, or even what I said. I basically did not give a shit anymore. I fell in love with someone so special who could make or break me and it was none other than me.

Took me long enough to realize that I was the only one who could fix me, and no one else could. There are people who thrive on others misery, then there are your well wishers who always have your back no matter what. But the only one person that mattered was myself. “I” had to get out of this rut and fix myself and no one else could do this for me. Even my closest ones never really knew what I was going through and how I almost did not make it.

But as I sit here with 2016 winding down, all I can say is WOW! what a fantastic 2016 it has been. I have enjoyed every single moment of it. Making new friends, making more memories with my son, traveling, meeting old friends, got a new job and even had major reconstructive surgery. I survived 2016, well another couple of hours to go.

But I do want to give some credit to one person. Sometime during 2015, I reconnected with someone I had not heard from in 20 some years. This person became a confidante. I could talk about my worries, my fears and was never judged by this person. On one such occasion as I was chatting with this person, I penned my first blog and it felt good. Then I was on a roll, and started on my life story which was so therapeutic. Not being a writer, and being able to pen everything from my heart helped me tremendously. I was also introduced to yoga, meditation and something called the Isha Kriya. I was happy, and I had full control of my emotions again. I was comfortable discussing anything and everything with this person. I wish everyone finds one such person in their life. 

So as I get ready to welcome 2017, I am hoping for a much more positive year, a fun year and most of all a fulfilling year. So wishing you all an amazing 2017 and may we all have more adventures, volunteer more, and be kind to one another.

My Work Ethic

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I do apologize for absconding for a while. I was and am tied up in recovery from my surgery.

I was sitting here pondering about why so many people complain about their work so much, and also those who feel it is beneath them to take up certain jobs even though they are unemployed. I think it all boils down to attitude.

At an early age my brother and I were taught the value for money because we hardly had any. So we learnt not to ask for many things. We were content with what we had, and as adults still are. As a teenager my paternal grandfather Abajaan, started a small business (minus his other major ones) at the back of the house. This was when I was staying with them. We made crayons, canvas paper…etc and I was tasked with wrapping the crayons with paper and then boxing them. I enjoyed what I did and got paid 100 rupees a month($1.47). I also tried to market the product, but not much as I was still in school. Besides this he also sold milk from his farm to local restaurants. I would go with the driver in the evening to these restaurants and help in delivery. I managed all this while being active in sports and school work. I enjoyed it very much. So when I moved to the United States no work was beneath me, because my foundation had been laid.

I got my first paying job with the university and then went on to work with a rental car company. Were there days where i complained? Absolutely, but it was always towards something I felt was not right, not toward the job I was doing. I loved every minute of working and was always told I was reliable. After working for so many years I got  laid off. It was heart wrenching for me. I had just given birth when I lost my job and the combination almost proved deadly. And to make matters worse the market crash did not help at all where I lost most of my savings.

So after being unemployed for almost eight years, I am working again (part-time) and absolutely love what I do. So to those that complain constantly all I have to say is “be grateful”. There are plenty of people struggling everyday to survive this brutal world. Be grateful for being able to afford to buy the things you want, because I know what it is like to not have anything. I have always been grateful all my life for what I had and did not have. It put things into perspective where life was concerned and I hope I can instill a little bit of that in my son. I am extremely grateful to my mother and father for teaching me that no work is beneath me . If my grandpa could carry sacks of coal on his back even though he came from an affluent family, then I can work any where.

September 21st

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Every year as September 21st rolls around, I find myself picturing what my kid would have looked like now. She would have been eight on the 21st.

I lost Sasha due to a miscarriage while I was visiting my parents back in India. It was my first pregnancy, and this devastated me as I was older when I got pregnant. As I sit here with a lump in my throat, which is a common occurrence around this time, I often wonder what kind of child my Sasha would have been. She would have been eight tomorrow, celebrating along with her great-grandfathers birthday.

My emotions regarding her have always been extremely private. I mourned for her alone, and I find myself crying often around this time by myself. Even though I never got to see her at all, I have this image of her-a spunky little fire-cracker. But then again, I currently have a spunky little fire-cracker of my own now. I cannot pen exactly what I feel, but anyone that has suffered a miscarriage would probably understand.

Some people find it strange that I buy a cupcake in her memory every 21st September, and they don’t understand why I don’t just move on. I have moved on, but not according to the way society thinks I should. I keep her memory alive, because the sound of that heartbeat is a life that was very dear to me. I love that I can celebrate this with my son, and he knows that Sasha was the big sister he would never have. And he also knows that she probably protected him, when I almost lost him too.

So to my little Sasha: as you celebrate your eight birthday with your great grandpa, I wanted to let you know that we love you and miss you. So till we meet…

Happy Birthday my fire-cracker!

Your Mommy.

 

The #1 Gora’s entry…and a tragedy

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So my husband is a little nervous about this particular draft, not sure why. Anyway, here goes….

So this assistant manager was moved to my office, and he barely smiled. He was what we would call a Khadoos (grumpy). I did not like him at all and thought he could at least smile once in a way. I did not get his humor. Why was it funny to laugh at the stupidest things? Maybe I was the grumpy one, who knows.

I was moved to another office and did not have to work with him anymore, yay!! But one evening I ended up climbing a curb and damaging one of my tires by the park. It was almost dark, and who do I decide to call for help-that same grumpy manager as he lived down the street. I needed someone to have their headlights on, so I could change my own tire, but he being a gentleman changed my tire. He then asked why I was stalking him? I just stared at him in disbelief and asked why the hell would I want to do that? Like I mentioned before, he has a weird sense of humor. I did not find that funny. I don’t remember how we decided to go for a movie one day, but I guess that was the start of a very interesting chapter. He was not my type, which was tall, dark and had to wear glasses, in fact he was short, white and too chikna.

We were working one morning when one of the employees came running in and said the tower fell. I looked at her and asked her what tower she was talking about. She was scared. We quickly turned on the radio in the car, the second tower was hit. What the hell had just happened? I was just there exactly a week ago and now this. I had all these thoughts running in my head-how did they not see the tower? why were they flying so low? was this an accident? I heard a scream from the office, the Pentagon was hit. We worked in the DC Metro area. Were we under attack? There was so much confusion. We continued to work as we had people waiting. Even though everyone was concerned we had a job to get done. One comment that I heard from one of the managers was “damn Muslims and their jihad”. I was completely taken aback. The next nine hours was chaos as the flood of people from D.C. came through our area as we were only 3 miles from the DC line.

We survived the 9/11 attacks, only to be in the cross-hairs of the Beltway Sniper in 2002. A lot of those shootings were extremely close to where we worked and places we visited frequently. So it was an extremely tense time, but those managers words still ring in my ears even today. What was happening to the world that I loved? So many unanswered questions. But among all this chaos happening in the world, I was beginning to accept this khadoos as mine.

After about three years, he introduced me to his family. I was extremely overwhelmed as it was a large family, and I hadn’t really been around family in years. They were sweet and extremely welcoming. I had crawled into this shell and generally did not let people into my life that easily, so I probably came off as shy or rude. There were lots of kids around and I didn’t do well with so many children at all, I still don’t. He and I talked about getting married, but I informed him that he had to speak with my parents first. For that he would have to travel overseas to my home in India. He had never left the United States, so this was going to be fun. Nothing like travelling to India on a first overseas trip. He had no idea what awaited him. All I told him was to come with no preconceived notions and an extremely open mind. The journey had begun….

The Monster….

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In my second blog, I had ended it with the return of my suppressed memories. I was a little hesitant to write about it, not because I am scared but because it was an extremely personal thing I had been dealing with for over 35 years of my life.

As children we imagine different kinds of monsters that we learn through fairy-tales, movies..etc, but sometimes the innocent are exposed to the real kind too. For those closest to me, they know how I feel about people that hurt children. Personally, there should be no second chances, because they can never be rehabilitated. Either lock them up forever or execute them-yes I am very extreme in my views when it concerns a child.

Back in the day teaching children to come forward if something happened to them was never really heard of. And even if the child approached their parents, most parents would not know what to do, or they would let it be, thinking the child was making up stories. In my case I never told anyone, nor did anyone know. This was my viewpoint on how things were in India while I was growing up, and from what I have heard things are changing.

Most pedophiles are almost always family members or family friends of the child, so that is why most cases are never reported. I started teaching my child when he was four years old about his personal space, and if anyone violated that space of his he needed to let me know. I informed him that it didn’t matter who it was, and that he needed to know I was there for him no matter what. I felt sick to my stomach having to tell my son all this, because his job was to be a child and not worry about all this.

I had no one to tell me about the dangers of such family members, friends or strangers. I was a happy child for the most part, and remember that most of my childhood was spent in playing and having fun with my brother and our friends. After I turned sixteen, I woke up screaming one night, the monster in my dreams was back. All my suppressed memories came flooding back to me. I remember being nine and knew that I had to stay away from that monster, but would sometimes get trapped and did not know where to go, or whom to tell. I was finally getting old enough to know that whatever was happening was not right. My parents had no clue, actually no one did. This person soon left the country and was helped by my family in his travels.

I could smell the alcohol even if he was not present, I started becoming more angry at things and would fight with my parents as I got older. The nightmares kept me awake even though he did not live in the same country, I kept thinking back to when I was very little around five through nine. I cringe at the thought of what happened to me, only to find out years later, I was not his only victim. It did not matter if you were a little boy or girl, he had no preference. I do thank god I was never raped, but what happened scarred me enough for life. I was once asked by a relative when I was in my twenties, why things were always happening to me. It was like I was being blamed for what happened as a child. Yes, my problem was I was too trusting of people, and I learnt how not to ever trust anyone. I eventually told mom in a fit of anger, because she never understood why I would curse this person out. She just broke down and cried. I cannot remember if I told my father.

Eventually, I left India and started my life away, and he was in the neighboring country. On one of my trips home a few years ago, I stayed in India for three months, and I learnt he was sent back to India too. He was living in the same city, and had moved back to the same house. I had moved on, but all those memories came back in an instance, but this time I was much stronger. I had my son with me, and I informed my parents that my son was not setting foot in that house. I had all this pent up anger and I wanted him to suffer so much. And even though my parents had taught me never to wish ill on anyone, no matter what they had done to you. Well, I did wish ill from that soul of my five year old self, and that nine year old self he tried to destroy. He did die a very painful death from what I heard. I did not feel anything at the news. I just remember saying “good”.

I am at such a good place in my life right now, and my job is to protect my child from any evil lurking nearby. And yes, I will be arrested if anyone ever hurts my child-no questions about it. So please keep your kids safe by educating them, and watching over them.