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.

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 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.

 

America By Default pt. 2

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Two and a half months after being settled in my University by my best friend and her hubby, I got the worst news ever that changed our world. My Abajaan (grandpa) had passed away and his words still rang in my ears…it was the last goodbye. My problem of trusting everyone was about to be tested. I left my backpack at a friends dorm room and went to an acquaintance’s home to call my mother and him. I was distraught and was not thinking right. I stayed there till I calmed down, and then got my bags and walked home in a daze.

Like I said my trust was about to be tested. In my time of grief, this person who lived in the dorms decided to go through my bag while I was making calls and took my credit card number. When I got the bill I was shocked-he had called a sex line with my credit card. I did my research on where the call originated from-it was his room. I confronted him, he denied it. I was so angry, and I decided to file a police report against him. They arrested him while he was asleep. He got out and then a few weeks later they arrested him again. So he did what most guys would do…smear my name among the Muslim students. He wanted me dead. I had some angels watching over me at the school. You all know who you are. I did not care and knew that eventually they too will find out who he really is. Took a year or so, but I got my apologies from the Muslim Students. I distanced myself from a lot of people and associated myself with the Indian students, trusted no one, except a few.

During the second year, he decided to visit. Something was different…with me, or him-I did not know. This caused a friction between my best friend and me and we stopped talking for a few years. When he left I knew it was over. I was heart-broken but learnt two valuable lessons-trust no one and love is an over-rated word. He then emailed me to let me know it was and was because of religion. Wish he had the balls to say that to my face. So why was I still in America? Because my parents had spent money to send me here and I was not going to let a guy make me disrespect them in any way. Yes, I came here because of him, he was the default in my life, but probably ended being a blessing too because it led to other adventures.

University definitely was an eye opener-a little sweet and bitter. I had no family, and no one to advise me on what I needed to do. I was trying to make sure I was getting the grades, while trying to deal with two different losses. No one told me life would be this ridiculous. So I graduated, managed to get a job too, much to my surprise. Moved to another state by myself and started a new chapter in my life-my career.

 

The silent killer

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When I was a little girl, I always wondered why people were sad. I always remember my childhood as a happy one. Mom and dad told me that I always smiled and I still do, its instinctive with me, even when I am feeling down and out. But soon I had forgotten how to smile.

People assume that because you smile, all must be well and good with you. But behind that smile the silent killer was always waiting and watching me. It just wanted to take me to this awful place. I managed to keep it at bay for a long time, until I lost my first baby. Even then, I did my best to keep it away, because another life was dependent on me. He arrived, then I lost my job, and for a while it was fine, till one day something changed. I cannot explain what it was, but it got me.

I wish I could describe the feeling, but it is something I would never wish on my worst enemy. The days turned into months and months into years. The darkness was consuming me very slowly and paving a path of destruction. To wake up in a fog like state, and to still continue the day because there was a little boy who looked up to his mommy was the toughest thing for me. People who have been through this will understand, others will use this opportunity to put you down. I was alone in this battle, and did not see a way out or that “light” in the tunnel. It was dark, very dark. It was me against everyone else, but the worst part was it was me against me. The closest people to me did not understand. I was told I needed to get a grip on myself and snap out of it, like I really wanted to be in that state. It was winning and I was losing, and this inner battle continued to drain me daily. My mind told me no one cared, so I proceeded to almost do the most foolish thing ever, I wanted to end it all. I always thought it was cowardly to take ones life, but I do not judge anymore, because when you are completely overwhelmed and beaten, ending ones life is the solution. I knew I was at my lowest point of my life and I had to get out of it.

I could not do it because I have always been competitive in my life and I was not about to lose to this darkness. I was not about to give the satisfaction to those who wanted to see me lose. I spoke to two of my closest friends, and then to an acquaintance I had last seen over two decades ago. These three people “listened” and did not judge me. That made a difference. A lot of tears were shed and were wiped by my toddler who was always there too. I felt like the worst mother for allowing my son to see me like this, and felt I never did enough for him. But he is an amazing little boy and I could not be more proud of him. I am not ashamed of what I went through and I talk openly about it, much to the dismay of some people. So if you want to judge me, then I will have no choice but to distance myself from your toxic nature.

If I can make a difference in someones life, that would mean so much to me. So if you feel beaten, and don’t see a way out, please reach out to your loved ones or a professional. Life is not easy, and we all need to be kind to one another. We all deserve to be happy no matter what life throws at us, as too many lives have been lost already.

Now I wake up every morning and am thankful for the day. Do I have cloudy days, absolutely-we all do. I just keep at my yoga, my music and focus on myself more. Yes I am a mother, but my health and well being come first, because without it I am useless to my son. So yes I have become selfish and thick skinned but for good reason, but life is good.

 

COLLEGE!! OH BOY!

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Okay, after a couple of detours, lets get back on track. Let’s get on with how I ended up in America “by default”.

I walked through those college gates with the largest chip on my shoulder. I did not want to be there. After my mother dropped me off I took a deep breath, held my head up high like a complete snob and walked in confidently. I had no idea what to expect. Was I going to be ragged? Was I going to get into a fight on my first day? It actually turned out to be quite a boring first day … just like the next few months. I’m pretty sure the girls thought I was rude and stuck-up. It worked in my favor because I was not there to make friends. I was never ragged by the seniors. I remember being in the nurses office often because I would faint constantly. I still do. I have no idea why.

Even though I was not there to make friends I ended up making solid connections with some mental females. I still share a bond with them today. I don’t know what I would have done without them in my life. They are part of the reason I am still breathing today. Them and my ability to survive anything thrown at me have kept me going. By the middle of the year I had made a few friends, and my attitude about being there was changing slowly. I still missed him so much, but had to move on. I went on to win the college queen title, which was so weird, but fun to take part in.

Home life was an adjustment. I kept to myself a lot. I fought a lot with everyone. In other words, I was a complete bitch. Dancing was my stress buster and I did a lot of dancing in those three years. I met a lot of good dancers, but my two favorites were my dad and my brother. They both could keep up with me. That was awesome. I learned the bus routes and would go to my moms work after college to hang out. I did not have my own transportation as yet. I relied on my mother every morning to drop me to college. That changed toward the end of the first year when my dad bought me my first bike. It gave me my independence back and gave my dad gray hair.

My first year in college was not as exciting as the next two years. That is where all the action was. It was leading me to meeting my soulmate…at least I thought he was. It was also putting things in place for me to leave my home forever. Changes were taking place…..but for now we were a family again.

MASTI…