From hopeless to happy – Leaving a bad marriage

 

On my 30th birthday, a little shy of my 5th wedding anniversary, I pulled the plug on my marriage. Was it a simple decision? Did I have complete clarity about whether it was the right decision or not? Did it happen in one fell swoop? No, not by a long shot. It was a long, arduous, and heartbreaking process. When I look back on it now, I feel it’s a minor miracle that I managed to get myself out of that. 

It started a year ago. The ex and I had been going to a therapist for over a year, individually and as a couple. We were trying hard to resolve our issues and make our marriage work, as much for ourselves as for our 1-year-old son. I was struggling with a bad marriage and postpartum depression. The ex had just returned from Mexico where he’d had yet another affair. I was still trying to come to terms with it, but I could feel my happiness and sanity slipping through my fingers. I felt helpless and confused. The stress had started telling on me physically big time. I’d have crippling backaches which wouldn’t let me move, high fevers, and severe weight gain. Despite the therapy and my best efforts to make sense of what was happening and how to change it, I didn’t see much hope for it working out. Then, in one individual session with my therapist, I found something that made sense.

My therapist asked that we both get to the core of our issues with each other. We write down up to 3 things, which are non-negotiable for us in the marriage and see whether the other person is willing to work with us on it. At this time the ex was in Canada for work. I emailed him and he agreed. We set a date and shared our list. I had just one point. Fidelity. Everything else I was willing to work with and around but fidelity was non-negotiable. He didn’t agree. His list left me in shock. Not just for how shallow it was, but because it gave me complete clarity for the first time that this man really had no idea about what the reasons for our bad marriage and unhappiness were. He was living in his own world. 

That was the day I decided to pull the plug. Somehow all the crying in the shower, suicidal thoughts, fights, and affairs – none of them had had that impact on me. Seeing it on paper finally cut through the haze and allowed me to decide that time was up. This was not wanted for my son or myself. 

Over an ISD called I told the ex that it was over for me. He insisted we try to work it out but I knew it wasn’t going to work. He was in Canada for another 2 months. He said we’d talk when he came back.

Those next two months were the strangest in my life. While I felt a weight had lifted off my shoulders and I started feeling healthier and happier, I was also overcome by anger and grief. Why was this happening to me? I’d never wanted anything more than a happy family life, and now, just like that, it was over for me. 

Then he came back. And he was the man I had fallen in love with. He was cooking for me, complimenting me, trying to seduce me. It was hard not to fall back into that. In fact, I did fall back. We were staying in separate rooms in the same house and I wondered if we might still be able to make it work. I decided to talk to him, and in that discussion, I remembered why I had decided to leave him. He was the same, the changes had just been cosmetic because he was too scared to leave the marriage. But I was ready. I was terrified and I had no idea how hard the road ahead was going to be, but I knew I didn’t want him in my life anymore. 

I didn’t want the self-doubt or the unhappiness he brought into my life anymore. I had let him destroy my self-esteem, my career, my friendships, and my dreams. Now, I was ready to start rebuilding it all, bit by bit. In that year I had gone from hopelessness to depression to anger to grief. I knew it wasn’t over, that in the following months, I would experience most of these emotions again, but I did have a better future at the end of that than I would have had in my marriage. No matter how scary it was, I knew I had more chances of happiness outside of my marriage than I had in it. That was the day, I knew without a shred of doubt that my marriage was over, I may grieve over it but I was never going back to it. 

Dear Aunty,

It's been a year since you left and not a day has gone by when I don't think of you. On some days it can be a fleeting thought, but on others it can leave me sobbing. I've spent a year trying to understand this connect to you, trying to understand whether I'm imagining the closeness we shared. I still have no answers, other than to know that when I miss you it leaves me gutted.

I missed you when your grandson broke his arm, when he went to grade big 1, when he read his first sentence and when today he played his first chess tournament. I know how much you loved him. You would have been proud and you would have laughed when I told you about how he calls himself a potty launcher (he totally loves potty conversations, just like you.) You would have annoyed me to death asking about what he eats now, what he's playing, what he's saying. You always had a million questions to ask about him whenever you called. I hate that you won't see him grow. I hate that he will not know you, or love you, or miss you like I do. I hate that he will miss out on having you in his life. He will never see you cooking with a whiskey soda in hand, a little tipsy and a little giggly.

He won't know the incredible will you had. I cannot imagine what your life must have been like. To love a man so passionately that you gave yourself up for him. And then to have to share him, to have to split that love for the rest of your life. I cannot imagine your loneliness and your heartbreak. I only saw what it did to you. We look for role models and inspirational people who have gone out and done big things in life. But I feel it's people like you, who fought every day to make life just a little bit worth living. You fought the people you loved most and you fought the demons raging inside your head. And on some days you won, and those days were worth it all. I wish you'd fought harder to still be here today. It was not yet your time to go.

I remember hating you when I got married. But I was young and foolish and I didn't understand you. I think I made up for it in the last few years. I wish we had more such years together. I miss you, so much. I miss the pride you would've felt in seeing me in a documentary, in seeing my name on screen, in seeing me turn my life around. I miss you when I hear people bitch about their mothers-in-law, because honestly, I had one of the coolest. You never asked me to be anyone else.

There are a thousand memories of you that swirl through my head and almost all of them are hilarious. Your laughter was infectious and your love was so pure. You were like a little child, no boundaries. It could piss the hell out of me at times, but it also made you the large-hearted person you were. I still remember the time you raged at me and I had to call your son back from office because it was the most bizarre thing I had ever witnessed. But I also remember how genuinely apologetic you were when the storm inside your head was over. I wish I could have helped you more, so that you could have been happier, more at peace.

I thought long and hard about how to mark today for your grandson and myself. You weren't religious and neither am I. I thought of all the things that meant the most to you, and I came up with biscuits from Frontier. You and I, we're both foodies, but the passion with which you loved those biscuits, I've never seen that, before or after. So that's what we did Aunty, we bought lots of biscuits and gave them to the kids on the street. I think you would've been happy if you knew that.

I miss you Aunty, every single day. There's still so much we had to do together. And you never gave me that recipe of baingan with dahi. And I still think of you every time I break a cucumber in half so that it's not bitter. Or when I open the wallet you gifted me by mistake.

I don't know how to reconcile myself with the fact that you're gone. I still keep thinking that if I get on the metro I'll find you at home or at the hospital where I last held your hand as you slipped away. Maybe, that's why, I haven't been able to go to your house for the last year.

As I turn 35...

Five years ago, on the eve of my birthday, on an international call I told my husband I wanted a divorce. The two years preceding that, I'd lived in my own personal hell, going back and forth, trying to decide whether it was time to pull the plug on my marriage. I was brought up to believe that marriage is forever and you don't give up on it. But I kept thinking, do I really want my forever to look like this? Yet the part of me that held back was screaming that I won't survive the split. And as I made my decision that night, I was convinced I wouldn't survive. That I hadn't just decided to end my marriage, I had decided to end my life. It was the last time I celebrated my birthday till this year, after half a decade.

As I brought in my birthday, surrounded by my closest friends I realized how wrong I was. I didn't just survive, I thrived. From the girl who didn't know how to write a cheque, I became the girl who now has fun with stocks. From the woman who felt all her dreams had turned to dust, I became the woman who pushed and fought to make my dreams come true, even if in a different way than I had imagined. And from a mother who felt resentful and tied down by her child, I became the mother who understood that her child makes her a better, happier person every day.

Was it easy? Hell no! The last five years have been the hardest of my life. I started out broke, unhealthy and unhappier than I had ever been. I spent a large chunk of the first few months getting drunk out of my wits and crying on the bathroom floor. I didn't know what the next day would bring. Would I ever earn enough to sustain my child and I? Did I have what it takes to be a mother, a good one? I was a broken human being. I just wanted to hide in a corner and ignore everything that came my way. And then, bit by bit hope started trickling in. People who were somewhat my friends came forward in unimaginable ways, offering unconditional support that I hadn't expected. I realized that if I wanted a healthy, happy child I was going to have to get my shit together and be the kickass role model he needed. And so I started to get my shit together. From shitty jobs, sleepless nights and complete cluelessness, I started heading towards something more meaningful in life.

The last five years have been hard and depressing and sometimes I've just wanted to quit. I've cried in the most unexpected places and moments. I have raged and screamed and asked why me a million times. But they have also been immensely rewarding and empowering. I have grown, as a woman, as a mother, as a friend. I have started discovering who I am, and I've started falling in love with who I am discovering. When people tell me that the good old college days were the best, I can't help but cringe and feel no. I loved that time, for the fun and the parties and the drunkenness. But this, this is the time I am loving the most. I am making my own decisions, decisions that take me closer to where and who I want to be. I am learning that life is rarely what you planned for, but the unplanned craziness that comes your way is just as good, if not better. And in these moments of finding myself, my voice, of being authentic, I am finding new ways of making my dreams come true.

So as I turn 35, I can't help but be full of love and gratitude for everyone who has come into my life. The support and love I have received from expected and totally unexpected quarters has been heartwarming. Never had I imagined that I would reach a place of such happiness in my life, professionally and personally. Thank you.

To My Son's Grandmother

All I want to do right now is pick up the phone and give you a call. To hear your strangely nasal, halting voice. It is the voice that grated on my nerves while I was married. The voice I avoided and mocked. And yet in the last four years it became the voice I started to associate with comfort and understanding.
It is that need for comfort and understanding that makes me yearn to talk to you now. Not a day has gone by when you haven't entered my thoughts. My brain cannot wrap itself around the idea that you will never call me again. That I will not see your name flickering on my phone screen. I feel like an epic failure as a mother right now. You were the only one who would reassure me that I am not, without giving me any 'gyaan'.
That's what connected me to you - your authenticity. No one could ever doubt your intentions or say you were put on. When you disliked me or were pissed off, it was in my face. When you supported me, it was unconditional.
Every time I think of you, I wish things had been different. I wish so many years hadn't been wasted, shrouded in misunderstandings and unhappiness. I wish I'd had more time with you, that your grandson had more time with you. I know you loved him with all your heart, and I am so so sorry that he wasn't a bigger part of your life.
I see so much of you in me. I know you saw it too. You saw me make the decision you hadn't been able to. And you supported me through it, even though that meant you had to acknowledge your son's shortcomings. As a mother, I can only imagine how hard that must have been for you. But as a woman, I know you respected my choice, and it brought both of us closer.
We are so similar, you and I. Both scared, broken and lonely little children. Willing to give up so much of ourselves just to be loved, to be needed. I saw what it did to you, and I wish I could have helped you more. I'd like to think I did a little, just by listening to you and visiting you. But I wish I could have done more. I was trying so hard to save myself, I didn't think of you till much later.
I miss our long conversations, I miss how you always rooted for me. I wish I'd had more of them. I wish I'd visited more and stayed over a few days like you kept asking me to do. I kept thinking I would do it this summer vacation, but it's too late now.
I wish I'd spoken to you before you left the house. I hope you weren't still angry with me for not calling, when you left. I hope you know I came and met you and brought your grandson too. I hope that gave you some peace and happiness.
I can't bear to be in that house without you. It was your house. You were it's heart, it's life source. Even if you were alone there, it was never empty. But without you, no matter how many people are there, it's vacant. I feel like I'm betraying you, when I go there now. You were the link for me, the connect. Now that you're gone, I don't belong.
You always complained that I never wore the clothes you gave me, I hope you know I was wearing the salwar suit you gave when I came to meet you, the day you left.
I can't explain the connect between you and I. It's hard to explain. You weren't just my ex-mother-in-law (I was rarely able to call you that). You and I, our lives mirrored each other at so many levels. Was that it? Was that what connected us? What made us understand each other so deeply?
I don't know. All I know is that I feel your loss, at a visceral level. Life will go on. And sadly you were not a part of my world, in a daily way. So it's easy to think I've healed. But when I think of you, there is still an aching hole,
Am I glorifying you, our relationship, just because you're gone? No. You were a flawed person, by no means perfect, as am I. And you had in the past made my life hell, time and again. But that paled in comparison to what you gave me in the last few years. I never shared it before, because I didn't know how to. I didn't think anyone would understand. I don't know if they will now. But I had to write this, because I can't say it to you anymore.
Sorry for all the years we lost, the pain, the misunderstandings. And thank you, for being a part of our lives. You will always be with us.
I will always remember you. And I will talk of you often to my son. To let him know that his grandmother loved him immensely, unconditionally.

Still searching for me...

Every morning I wake up and struggle to define who I am. Am I the sad divorcee in a melee of perfect couples? Am I the girl on the verge of living her life on her own terms? Am I the person who chickened out and made the easier choices? Or am I the woman who's carving her own path, one little step at a time?

You'd think I'd know by now. I'm 33. You'd think I'd have it sorted out by now, but I don't. There are days when I can't even answer the basic question of whether I want to live at all or not.

And that's where I have been this last week. Wondering if I wanted to live at all. If it wouldn't just be easier to pack my bags and call it a day. To melt away slowly into the dark silences and not have to face another day. It's been a while since I was here. And it scared the hell out of me. After all, what kind of a mother is willing to leave her child behind in that most absolute, most scarring way?

A mother who isn't perfect. A woman who isn't always feeling strong. A girl who doesn't feel all that brave when the bright sun shines in her eyes every morning. I thrived on being told how strong I was. On how beautifully I had sailed through my divorce. What a brilliant job I was doing of raising my son. And as each compliment healed a wound, it also inflicted another one. I had to live up to that image of the strong, perfect mother. Whether I felt it or not. So much pressure built around it that I tried my best to brush aside all the little dark spots, all the lapses into sadness. I had to be little miss sunshine after all and ride away on my pink bicycle with my son sitting on the carrier and happy little puppies chasing us. I had to be the golden sample, the one who got it right.

That's a lot of pressure to put on anyone. To put it on yourself borders on madness.

Since one of the mandates I set for myself when I started this blog has been to be 100% honest, I'll say at the outset that I have considered packing my bags and taking the road out of life before. But it was different. In my younger days it was an inability to handle life. When I finally realized I would have to leave my marriage it was the feeling that I would not be able to face another day with my sense of self shattering into a thousand pieces.

This time it was a wake up call. Letting me know it's ok. It's ok to not be a perfect mom. It's ok to hate your kid for a while. It's ok to hate that your life is so different from what you'd wanted. It's ok that sometimes you're such a stark raving lunatic that your son looks scared shitless when he sees you. It's ok to cry as if every breath is draining out of your body. It's ok to curl up and feel a depth of sadness that you never knew existed. And it's ok to stay there for days, as many days as you need. It's ok to hear Everybody Hurts on loop. You don't have to be strong. You don't have to have your shit together. You don't have to be there for everyone. You just need to show up for you. And the rest is ok.

When all the drama was stripped away, all my body and mind were saying was TAKE A BREAK. Sit down. Breathe. Just leave everything else behind for a while. And a week later, slowly, I am crawling out from under the covers. Have I figured it all out? Do I have all the answers? No. But I know this, the search never ends. Every day I will redefine who I am. Each day I will be someone new, and that's also OK.

My son's grandfather

It was barely a year after my sister's wedding that her father in-law called me aside at a family gathering and sat me down. 'Humne tumhari poems padhi', I read your poems he said. After a brief moment of confusion about what he was referring to I felt a hot, red blush spread over my face. I hadn't given him any poems. I'd given my sister a bunch of poems which I'd hoped to publish as a book. Words and phrases came back in flashes to my 21 year old brain. These poems weren't meant for him. Among other scribbling I remembered there was one about two lovers tangled together. Could the earth please just split and swallow me whole right now I thought? I was ready for him to deliver a scathing speech on the rubbish youngsters write.

'Tum bahut acha likhti ho', you write very well he said. You have a talent. It's your duty to keep writing. I was stunned. Definitely not what I had expected from a 77 year old white-haired man who swore by Swami Vivekanand!

Over the years as I came to know my son's Baba, he became one of my biggest cheerleaders where writing was concerned. Every single time we met, he asked me if I was writing. During the years of my divorce, when I met him less and had virtually stopped writing, he insisted that I must write every day. He told me to read as much as I can, and I in turn tried to introduce him to my favored genre of books. He may not have agreed with them but he always read what I gave him and then had lively debates with me, providing counterpoints to my views. Everyone would stand around saying 'tumhari class le li Pitaji ne', but those were the moments I enjoyed most in my brother in-laws house.

As my son started visiting there more often he became his grandfather, his Baba. He laughed when my son made a birthday card with a blob of paint calling it kauve ki potty. He saw his willfulness before I did. He empathized with what I was going through.

I couldn't meet him half as much as I wanted to. And now that he's gone, I keep seeing him sitting there telling me 'likha karo'. His laugh was infectious. It's what I miss most. It's what my son misses most too. My son used to say 'bhagwan ji mujhse baat karte hain'. Now he says that his Baba talks to him from the sky, tells him he's ok up there, flying and free.

Many people talk of how well-read my son's Baba was. How learned and evolved. I don't doubt it. Yet what I always saw was a man with an incredible spirit, a love for life, a refusal to let anything bring him down. Someone with an innate sense of right and wrong, of fairness. A person who could empathize with everyone. A man who didn't judge anyone. It was interesting that he was one of the few people with whom I could be myself and feel that he saw me, for who I really was.

I wanted to write to him when our chances to meet reduced. I wish I had started sooner. I only got one letter across to him before he left and there was no time for a reply. I know that with time his memory will fade, no matter how hard I try to hold on. I figure the best thing I can do to honour him, to honour what he meant to me and my son is to write. To write everyday, to live my life honestly, to be the best person I can be. If I can be 1/10th the person he was, that will be my tribute to him. I am grateful that I had the chance to know someone like him. I am blessed that he was my son's grandfather, his Baba. 

The Fat Girl In The Corner

Recently I've been coming across some interesting things around bodies and stereotypes. I have hardly spoken about such things because I have spent my life being the "fat" girl and always thought if I voiced my opinion people would think I'm being too sensitive. Yet I would find myself incensed by the fact that everyone in the universe thought it was okay for them to laugh at me, to crack a joke, to tell me for my "own good" how important it was for me to lose weight. Friends, colleagues, strangers, lovers.

When did I start thinking of myself as fat and ugly I wonder? I know I didn't think it as a kid. Was it in 8th grade when the guy I had a massive crush on rejected me saying I was too fat for him? Was it when my sister's well meaning friend told me while helping me dress up for my birthday that I was so pretty I could be a model if only I lost weight? Or when the ex said I wasn't good enough cos heads didn't turn when I entered a room? Was I fat because I ate too much or did I eat too much because people had told me I'm fat so many times that I had started to believe it at a deep gut level?

I know only that most of my social life was an agonizing debacle of trying to find outfits that hid my fat and made me look good. Of going from pillar to post putting every face pack and night cream I could on my face to get rid of the angry red blotches of acne. Smiling at every fat joke. Some times even cracking some before someone else could hoping that would be less humiliating. Telling every man in my life that I was ashamed of my body, trying to hide it. I remember feeling grateful if they chose to be accepting. Grateful if a man was interested in me. I spent a lifetime undermining everything I have to offer in a relationship and settling for any man who was willing to accept my ugliness.

Movies, television, advertisements, books, all of them only speak of the fat, the ugly, the acne ridden as bumbling idiots or tragic heroes. There are the geeks who turned into beauties or just fumbled upon a good looking partner. There is never a person with a different face/body type who is the main protagonist with no excuses. I saw a movie recently in which an actress tells the hero that she can torment him and take revenge now for what he did to her twelve years ago because "tab main moti aur bechaari thi, ab main sexy aur powerful hoon". Those are the messages sent out to us every second of every day. We don't even realize it. I've had friends talk about their ideal woman and size was always a consideration. When did we as a society get so obsessed with how a person looks? To the point that its become one of the highest causes of depression and eating disorders. Where we have multi-million dollar industries to help us change how we look in every conceivable way.

Every day I see an article helping me define my body shape, pear, apple etc etc. Or one telling me how to get a bikini body. Or what kind of pants I should wear to minimize the debilitating effects of my shortness and wide waistline. And then I saw a line that said How to get a bikini body - Take your body, put a bikini on it. A switch flicked in my head. I was done with the bullshit.

I went on a holiday and I tried my best to wear what I WANTED to wear. Not what I should or what looked better. It was terrifying and liberating. It is time that people get over who's fat, short, dark, ugly. Really. I'm sure you have something better to worry about.

Here's Saif Ali Khan telling us his fascinating take on "ugly" actors. Saif, I'm ready to see a film about real people, however fat or ugly they are!


So, your wife told you that looking beautiful in Bollywood is more important than acting.
That’s a joke. She can afford to say that because she is beautiful and a good actor. Actually, I do think that it is equally important if not more. Because everyone is so fit, It is a visual medium. And I don’t think anyone wants to see a film about an ugly guy who is giving a great performance. We are not so mature as an industry yet. We are still trying to make beautiful films about beautiful people, unless it’s a niche film.

The voters who couldn't vote

I wanted to vote today. I started out at 9:30 am, found my election booth and stood in line. For the next hour I was shunted from one person to the other who told me my name is not on the list. I'd gotten a new card made last year at my new residential address. Yet my name was not on the list. I was asked if I had gone online and checked if my name was on the list. I hadn't, and that I admit was my mistake. I had voted several times before and didn't think my name could have gone off the list. But it had.

"Jahan pehle rehte the wahan ke booth par naam hoga aapka, transfer nahin hua hoga". So off I went to the booth I had always voted at. Found my mum, dad and sister. But my name was nowhere to be found. I had filled up my form, submitted it, picked up my election card. My name had been removed from the previous address but not been put on the list for my current address. I was not on the voters list.

I came back to my current poll booth and asked what can be done. How can we address this issue so that I may be allowed to vote? It had been 3.5 hours of running around and I was really frustrated. I really wanted to vote. I was given numbers of the SDM, sector officer and a bunch of other people. I called them. None of them could help me. No one had the discretionary powers to issue a letter allowing me to vote. One person asked me to come to him after 15th December.

By now I was at my wits end. In the last few hours I had seen innumerable cases of peoples names not being on the voter's list. Someone people had valid election cards and were standing there but their records had mysteriously been deleted, without any intimation or action undertaken by them. One old man had been voting for the last 40 years but was told his name was not on the list this time. He had stayed in the same house and voted in the same place. There was no reason his name wasn't on the list.

The only explanation repeatedly given to me was that someone must have come to your house to confirm you address. I said they hadn't. I was told I must have been out of the house. Is that valid reason to strike my name off a voters list? Even Flipkart and courier delivery guys call and come or come back again. Shouldn't I have been given a call, or had someone return or even leave a note telling me how to take it forward? I should have gone online and checked, but what about the scores of people in our country who don't have access to the internet? Don't they deserve to be on a voters list?

I saw so many people being turned away today, rich, poor, old, young, all out to exercise their right to vote. All people with valid election cards in their hands. Shouldn't there be some authority that can consider these cases and allow them to vote?

How do names mysteriously go off the list or get deleted? I got my card a year ago, why doesn't that ensure my place on the list? There were reporters from a prominent daily newspaper at the polling station who came to ask me what happened. Apparently it's happening across the city they said. They'd seen the same situation at all the booths they had visited. If I saw over a hundred such cases happen in front of me over a few hours at two polling stations I can't imagine the total number across the city.

There are so many campaigns urging us to vote. Yet here were hundreds of voters being turned away due to errors in the functioning of the electoral offices. Is that then a fair election? Is it not possible to make this system easier?

I spent a total of 5 hours doing this. Not everyone would. I really wanted to vote.

Nighttime ruminations

I've been tossing and turning for the last three hours trying to sleep. The harder I try the more elusive it is. In the meantime I've indulged in a little pity party. Maybe it's the fact that I spent all of yesterday making love to my toilet ( if you can call a stomach infection that). Maybe it's the copious amounts of white bread and butter I've consumed as an aftermath of the toilet love affair, which my body is not at all used to anymore. Or maybe it's the fact that I'm severely pms-ing ( honestly I think women should be given a five day holiday from life every month! And for any one who doesn't 'get' it, please try a crazy-ass hormone injection and you'll know). Either ways I have in the last three hours dug up every single insecurity and convinced myself its true.

So yes I :
1. Suck in bed
2. Don't know how to write
3. Am a horrible, negligent mother
4. Will never find love
And of course
5. None of my friends actually "like" me. They just put up with me

I figured instead of wasting more time I should just write it all down and make a counter list of things that may keep me from going over the edge.

1. I hauled my ass out of a shitty marriage
2. Good, bad or ugly I am taking care of my son and he's a kick-ass kid so I must be doing something right
3. People are paying me to write so it can't be that bad
4. I travelled to NYC, Vietnam and Thailand. I did it on my own money. I didn't let my fears and evil thoughts hold me back. I had an awesome time doing it.
5. That's it. In this moment it's all I can think of.

Right now, just for tonight, life sucks. Tomorrow I will try to redefine it, to find a way around it. But tonight I will hope that this blog purges me enough to get some shut eye.

Infidelity is a bitch!

It's taken me a while to understand why my divorce was not easy or why it took me longer to 'get over' it than people expected it to. Well one, because they have no idea what I went through. And two because there is little that lacerates the mind, body and soul like the breaking of trust.

When two people come together with the express purpose of being committed exclusively to each other, infidelity strikes hard and deep. It makes the person cheated upon doubt everything about themselves. Their bodies, their personalities, their entire beings. The first thing that happens is you wonder what you did wrong. But you didn't. You did nothing wrong. You did not go out of your relationship willingly looking for another partner. No matter how fat you are, no matter if your sex life sucked, no matter if you're the smartest pea in the pod or the ugliest thing that walked. You did nothing wrong. You are responsible for your relationship, not your partner's choice to cheat on you.

Being cheated upon breaks you like little else can. It makes you doubt every moment of your relationship, not only with the person who did it but for other's that come in the future. It is not the death of my marriage that got me as much as my loss of faith and trust in men. To be hurt in that way takes a lot out of you. It doesn't help that people expect you to get over it or to be flippant about it. Or that they say it's not a big deal, or that it made it easier for you to leave the man. It is a big deal. And it doesn't make it any easier to walk out on your relationship. It makes you sit on the toilet floor and cry for hours. That's the truth and the sooner you accept it the better.

Yet I have met in the last year, men, who have helped my process of healing to begin. Men who have demonstrated extreme kindness and thoughtfulness. Men who have walked away from temptation. Men who have acknowledged the deep pain infidelity can inflict.

It's a long way off yet but I can see the beginnings of the scab on my wound. I'm still too scared to be in a relationship but I feel like I may be able to trust again. To give freely. To not look over my shoulder at every turn of a relationship. I have learned to raise my standard and have found men who meet the new standard. The scars years of infidelity left on me may never heal completely, yet I hope they won't overshadow my view on love and relationships either.

On what "would have been" my 6th wedding anniversary

The 1st of November kind of creeped up on me this time. The day was going just as planned when suddenly, mid-afternoon, I remembered it was the 1st. The mood steadily went downhill from there. Every few hours I would glance at the clock and think of what I was doing at that time of day six years ago.

While I indulged in my pity fest, going through in excruciating detail my actions and thoughts from that day, my mind started drifting to my other anniversaries. Year 2008, 1st of November my ex-MIL came to our place. And stayed. Not a fun beginning to our married life. The second anniversary was a good one. We went to La Ronde in Montreal and pretended to overlook the deep irreparable fissures that had already permeated our marriage. Roll over to the third, with baby in tow, we fought and stayed home. The fourth was marked by a perfunctory dinner. The tasteless food was an apt reflection of the state of our relationship by then. Most people including my family forgot to wish us. It was our last anniversary.

Last year would have been our fifth anniversary. We'd filed for divorce and were in two separate states. It brought an onslaught of misery and guilt for me. I chose to get drunk and not tell anyone.

This year, it dawned on me that the pain and grief had reduced. On my "would have been" 6th wedding anniversary, I was a single mother to a 3 year old munchkin who means the world to me, I was working, I was spending the day at the parlour purely for myself and not for a man who would barely notice me and I was preparing for my first international holiday on my own steam. Life really wasn't that bad at all. It sure beat getting dressed for a meal with a man who wouldn't bother to bathe or shave. It was a far sight better than the heavy silences and bitter arguments that marked most of our marriage. Or the obligatory sex that neither of us enjoyed anymore.

It made me realize that I may not be married anymore. I may not have an anniversary to celebrate. But I have so much more. I celebrate my son, who is my universe. I celebrate myself and who I have become. I celebrate my life, for it is mine, to love, to make my own decisions, to follow them through and to head off with my friends for the adventure of a lifetime.

Hopefully over the years the pain will vanish altogether. Sometime in the future, the 1st of November may hold no significance at all for me anymore. But till then, whenever the day rolls by, I will remind myself of all the things I gained from letting my marriage go. I will mark this day, from now it is my anniversary with myself. With my freedom. With happiness.

C'mon people, show some appreciation!

If we had woken up to the news that 5000 people died due to cyclone Phailin the blame game would have begun. Fb, Twitter, blogs and newspapers would be flooded by criticism. Of the government machinery, politicians, armed forces, everyone. But we didn't wake up to that news. For once it seems the government outdid itself. They rose up to the occasion and took steps to ensure minimum loss of life. I feel like standing up and giving them a huge round of applause. Yet there is a deafening silence. Where are all those people who are so quick to put snide, bitchy updates on FB when things go wrong? All the charities and NGO's that stand for a cause? Why aren't they flooding online spaces with appreciation, gratitude, happiness for a job well done?

While I sit, I realize this lack of gratitude and appreciation permeates down to every level of interaction. Between friends, in families, at work. We are so speedy with our snarky comments. It takes but a moment for us to start gossiping and judging people for their failures and faults. But rarely does a person hear a word of appreciation for a thoughtful deed. There is no gratitude for the unselfish acts people do for us everyday.

No one tells a parent, a sister, a friend that they handled a situation well in their lives. That they're doing a good job of raising their child or keeping their home or building their career. But god forbid if that child misbehaves or you find a cockroach in that house or that person gets fired. Will they get an earful then!

Sometimes that's really all we need. An acknowledgment of our life, our struggle, our effort. Some one to tell us we are doing a good job. Whether it's a person, an organisation or a government. We all need to hear praise to have the will to carry on. To do our best every day. To be better than we are today.

So c'mon people. Let's show some appreciation. For the government that helped save so many lives, for our parents and siblings, for our colleagues and co-workers, for everyone who touches our lives in so many unique ways. You know right? What goes around, comes around.

What I missed out on

Growing up in a joint family was an interesting experience. Where as we had tons of fun with so many people around there was also plenty of screaming and shouting. As the years passed by the fun went down and the volume went up. My sisters and I reacted very differently to this situation.

Both my sisters were rebellious teenagers, bad-mouthing religion, fighting with the parents, dissing marriage and insisting that they will live-in if the need be. I was the quiet, mousy one. The disintegration of all family ties in the extended family made my sisters very anti-family. In me however it fueled the fire of wanting to build strong familial ties. All my life I can remember actively seeking that. Yet these are not things that we can control.

When I got married I thought I'd hit jackpot. I would finally have what I always wanted. A loving mother in law. A father in law I'd be able to talk to. But most of all a brother in law. My mom had two brother in laws. They at one point shared a great relationship. All the K3G's of the world had messed with my head. I wanted the Bhabi-Devar friendship I had seen so much of. Boy, was I in for a disappointment. It seemed almost cruel that my sisters who'd never wanted any of this got nicer in-laws by far. So did most of my friends. I know they all have their issues, but at least they can pick up the phone and have a civil conversation or hang out once in a while.

Even now when I see cousins hanging out, doing trips together, a stab of jealousy rips through me. I don't have the cousins. I don't have the in-laws. I don't have the husband.

In an interesting twist of events the ex started visiting my son again and for the first time in years things weren't angry and tense. That brought home, like nothing else had, what I was missing. Being a single parent you get used to doing everything on your own. You forget that if you had a partner it would have been different. Things may have been easier. And yet, I missed out on that too.

So yes, in moments like these, I feel sad. About all the relationships that I wanted. All the relationships that I missed out on. When I see a couple with their child or cousins having a blast. When I see someone hug their mother in law. I wish I had that. But I don't. That is my reality and I will have to make peace with it.

Write my name in the sky OR The kind of man I want

I grew up on an endless supply of Mills and Boon and Nora Roberts. A world of perfect people with perfect bodies and near perfect lives. They met to create perfect passion which led to perfect love. I fell for it hook, line and sinker.

Then reality struck. I didn't have a perfect body. Did that immediately disqualify me as the heroine of my own life and love story? The emotionally challenged, commitment phobic men I fell for didn't blossom and bloom in the sunlight of my unconditional, limitless love. Buggers, why wasn't he taking the shape of the hero in the saga? Hadn't I been his shoulder to cry on, the only person in the world who understood him and unlocked the doors to his happiness?

Way back in 2006 my best friend got married. I was swept away by the romance and fairy tale that her courtship and marriage were. I had a battered and bruised heart myself. I'd been pining for a man who had walked out of my life and left me wondering how I'd messed up again. Little did I know the colossal mess-up was yet to come. I had just met the ex. There was an air of excitement and adventure about him. I was flattered that a good looking man like him was at all interested in me. So there I was drunk at my friend's cocktail party, flirting with this man on the phone. Bubbly with the euphoria around me and a fair bit of alcohol I said I would date him if he wrote my name in the sky. A grand romantic gesture. I was worth it right? Even now I remember the instant discomfort in his voice. Maybe that should have been the first warning bell for me.

But I chose to ignore it, as I had several before and several after. My choice of men has been pathetic to say the least. I have chosen men who have had little love, respect or commitment to me. I don't hold it against them because with time I have realized that they had less love, respect and commitment to themselves. I deliberately (though I didn't know it then) chose men who couldn't be there for themselves. I thought I'd be the one who fixed them, made them all better so that we could have our happy ever after. It didn't strike me that only we can fix ourselves, no one else.

So today, I choose to want another sort of man. I have had time to think, to reflect, to understand. I no longer want someone tall, dark and handsome. I don't want someone who drinks, smokes or drugs himself into oblivion. I don't need someone 'cool'.

I want someone who knows himself. I want a man who is willing to stand up for what he believes in. Who loves his family and his friends. Whose family and friends love him. A man who doesn't take himself or life too seriously. Someone who is committed to himself, to finding himself, to growing, to learning. I want a man who can enjoy the small things in life as much as the big. A man who can cry as hard as he can laugh.

Romance no longer means the same things to me as it once did. Yet I want a man who will give me romance and tenderness. A man who will care for me. Who will accept and cherish who I am.

The kind of man I want will write my name in the sky, without ever having to.

On loss, grief and staying with it

"I am grateful and sad—grateful to no longer be in pain, sad about the loss of a dream. After two years of living alone I am no longer devastated, in anguish, or crippled with grief and, for this, I am deeply grateful. Now, when I think about the marriage—its beginnings and its ending—I’m just sad.

Something in me—some desire to meet an imagined expectation—wants to end this story on a note that reassures us all of new dreams incubating and freedom found. But, something stronger and deeper urges me not to reach for what is next, to simply sit with the gratitude and the sadness as they arise."

I read this passage a few days back and it's stayed with me. Because it fits. It describes, exactly, how I have felt for a while. I have spent the last 2 years being 'fine'. For lack of a better response, my automated answer to people's questions on my well-being would be 'I'm fine'. Some days it would be I'm good. I was too scared to admit that I was far from that. That would have been weak. I couldn't afford to be weak.

Systematically I rebuilt my life, one that made me strong. I was delighted when friends said I'd bounced back so well, dealt with it so well. I hadn't. I just didn't give myself time to know that. I busied myself with building a career and raising my son. It was so much easier than looking within. So much easier than seeing the cuts and bruises inside. 

Today, for the first time in 2 years, I have no where to go, nothing to do, no one I need to take care of. I will not do what should be done. I will do what I want to do. I won't read the books I think I should, or see the movies I ought to see. I won't run from myself, from what I want.  

I'm sitting in an empty apartment listening to songs that held special meaning for me and the ex. Songs I haven't had the courage to listen to for a long time. Songs he sung to me when we were starting our life together, building our home together. Tears stream down my face. For the first time I am looking at my grief, my loss. For the first time I am choosing to sit with it, as it arises. 

Self-loathing and other such things

This post goes un-publicized because it is a rant. For me, by me. I swirl around in a whirlpool of self-loathing. This isn't unfamiliar territory for me. I have lived here time and again over the years. The last week this has been my home.

It's one of those days where I don't have the will to get up and do anything. I want to stay curled up in my bed and drown out the sounds of the world. I cannot commit to anything other than indulging myself. This indulgence never has the desired effect though. I have indulged my love of food and alcohol, only to be sickened by the fat oozing out of my pores and the hangover beating steadily in my head.

Everything seems like a monumental effort. Just to tell myself that I will get through this, that I won't be sucked into this whirlpool forever is an effort. I hate myself. My writing, my body, my very being. And by extension I hate everyone and every thing else. I cringe at the words I have put down in previous blog posts, I squeeze my eyes shut as I stand on the weighing machine. I walk around, feeling empty. Vacant. Alone.

I don't want to be healthy and reach out to my friends. Right now I believe I have none. They don't care about me. I am not important to them. They have way cooler people in their lives. They are light years ahead of me in creativity. The whole world knows them, loves what they write, sees their blogs, follows them on twitter and facebook. I am nobody. My blogs stay unread, my book unwritten. I have nothing new or of value to write, to say. I have nothing.

The most I can do, the mammoth task which I have summoned up the energy for, is to write this. To puncture my bubble of negativity just a tiny bit and hope that eventually it will drain itself out. Till then all I want to do is stay prisoner in my world of silence. Stay away from everything that threatens me.

To all the a*&h*%$s!

Growing up in a middle class family I was always taught to be quiet. To do my duty. Neki kar dariya mein daal, I was told. Follow the Bhagvad Gita. Walk away from conflict, resolve an argument by being the silent, smart one. Maybe it was because I was a girl. Maybe it was because my parents wrapped themselves in a blanket of fear.

I was walking in and out of the room yesterday as my son sat and watched The Croods. There's a scene where the father says, "Fear keeps us alive." It just struck me that most of my life has been dominated by fear. Mine and my parents.

I have been afraid to experience and express anger. It would tarnish my image and reputation as the sensible, responsible girl. I pretend to forgive and forget, as my parents always said I should, and then am surprised by the seething anger under the surface. A friend of mine once said to me that she was surprised by the remarkable lack of anger I felt towards my ex. I felt so proud for being so evolved.

The truth: There's anger. Plenty of it. So here's to all the assholes I should have had the balls to be angry at!

To the jackass who told me I was too fat for him in the 7th grade. Honestly take a good look at yourself. And I saw you recently on FB, you still ain't no stunner!

The ex. I was way too good for you. Really. I know I had my share of  blame for what happened but you had no business doing what you did. I am happy to have you out of my life. Thank you for pushing me to a corner so I finally grew a pair and walked out to live the kind of life I deserve. You are the worst and the best thing to have happened to me. You make me angry, but the anger has been a blessing because it has released me, finally, from being the 'good one'. Just be very careful now of how you tread near me cos I ain't holding back anymore.

To the "sort of" boyfriend/sex buddy. I am so glad you were too cowardly to stand up to your mother and tell her to get the hell out of your relationships. Cos honestly you scratched the itch and there was little more. Staying with you would only have diverted me from building the kind of life I wanted. Plus I needed that last push to understand that I don't need jackasses in my life and can be happy just by myself!

To the above's mother. Oh you're a classic piece and if you weren't who you are I would love to tell you just what you and your beloved husband can shove up your backside. For one raise better sons. Two don't take advantage of someone just cos they're being quiet. And three, grow a fucking brain and some sensitivity. Women like you should really just go drown themselves for the way you push patriarchy ahead and treat other women like shit. Shame on you! Really! For being a sick, sick human being.

And to the above's brother. We were friends once. But you chose to listen to the lying shnit and declare yourself judge. Well, up yours, life ain't that simple and you have no business judging me.

All of you, in the last year, pushed me to a point where it seemed life would never get better again. And then it did. I took all the anger, the rage and used it to prove to you, and to myself that I am better than what you think of me. Better than what I allowed you to make me think of myself. It fueled me to lose weight, to work, to earn and to be the best goddamned mother my son could have hoped for. I wish I could say this to your face, or tag you in this post. But I won't. Maybe cos I'm still a little scared. Maybe because I know now that I can express my anger but I needn't dirty my hands with you anymore. Maybe because you're just not worth it for me.

When the black clouds lift...

I've been in a funk for the past week. Too much alcohol, too little sleep and way too much stress. About my life, the lack of a partner, my weight, my child...the entire gamut of things.

And then the clouds started to lift. The black veils over my eyes started to part. A friend of mine told me, god bless her soul, to listen to the ugly voices deep inside. To get down to the level where the real fear is. It's amazing how when you go there despite the foul odor of your thoughts, the years of entrenched self-loathing, the beliefs that are always holding you back, it is still a liberating experience. Each time I revisit this place I feel like I've peeled away another layer, I'm a little bit braver, A little bit closer to loving myself enough to acknowledge who I really am and not just the image I have constructed.

In certain ways I am a perfectionist. I'm very hard on myself. Either I'm the best or I'm an epic failure. I've achieved everything I wanted to or I'm totally worthless. This trip of mine down "the shit in my head" lane taught me something. I can let go, breathe easy. I can do what I can in the moment without going bat shit crazy about my future or what I had wanted from it. I can trust. In myself, in the universe, in my struggle. Not my own notions of what my life 'should have' been nor anyone else's of what it should be matter.

I wanted to be a filmmaker. So desperately. And I have friends there, connections, making it big. I've hidden behind my son as the reason for not making the move. But I need to re-examine it. I need to not resent him for it, because if I really want I can make it happen. I can leave him with my parents or take him with me. I can make it happen. If I choose not to it's my choice and I need to see my reasons for it.

I want to travel the world. Or so I thought. Honestly I don't think I'm cut out to be a constantly on-the-move kinda gal. It's exciting and glamorous. It would make for a great story. "Post divorce single mother rediscovers herself and hits the road." But that's not who I am. I value enduring friendships with people I can meet regularly, I like having a home. I like routine and familiarity. Sure I love to travel. But I can't live on the road. What I can do is make sure I travel a couple of times a year and as my son grows I'm excited about the idea of doing trips with him.

I want a man. Oh God Yes!!! It's been so long! All my friends are hooked up or married. I go out to a bar and everyone has someone to be with. I sit and wonder who to visit my favourite restaurant with, who to take to the movies. I am alone. A lot. I love my son but honestly, he's 3! I want adult company. I want a man, who'll hold me, who I can rely on, who'll kiss me senseless and then make love to me all night long. But the truth is I'm not ready. As desperately as I want this I am not ready to allow another man in to my life yet and nowhere near my heart. So maybe instead of moaning about not finding someone or only attracting creepy men I need to learn to love myself. Truly and deeply. To value and respect myself. To know what I want, from myself, my life and my man. Maybe then the universe will conspire to let the right person into my life.

I want to be the perfect parent. Supermom. So awesome that my son never misses not having a father. So cool that he never has to go to a shrink with 'mommy issues'. A mother who nurtures the perfect child. He should be smart, sensitive, respectful, multilingual, genius, child prodigy, sports legend! Sheesh! The amount of pressure I've put on myself as a mother! And when it starts to crack I panic. I love my son. Deeply. All I really want is for him to be happy. He will tell me at some point in his life that I suck and he hates me cos I screwed his life up. It's natural. It's the ways of the world. Hopefully he'll outgrow that soon enough and will have an awesome life and we'll have a relationship that's healthy and close. But I can't bend over backwards trying to be perfect. I can't take on the guilt of him not having a father. I can't and shouldn't over compensate.

So as the funk started to evaporate I realized that I must renew my vows to myself. I must recommit to my goals for the present. I have to write, everyday. I have to work towards being healthy. And I have to know that my struggle and fight are real, but not impossible. I will not sink because I am not alone. I have friends and family who will haul me up. Each time the fear threatens to drown me, each time that hideous voice gets all snarky I have to look it in the face, resolve it and move on. And each time I will be closer to loving myself in the way I deserve.

Exhaustion

I write this post with tears streaming down my face. Is it the alcohol? The exhaustion? The hopelessness? Or a mix of it all?

I am exhausted. At every level. I love my child, let there be no doubt about that. I love him more than I have ever loved another. But I am tired. Of being a single mother, of being a single woman. And of understanding that being a mother may not allow me to find a companion.

I went for an unexpected girl's night out after work today. It was great. Till people started hitting on me. No, truth be told, that was great too. Till it turned creepy.

But was that what really got me? Was it the conversation with my friends post the party? Was it the fact that the only non-creepy, nice guy I have been attracted to in a long time is off-limits?

Or was it just the fact that the life I sometimes envision is impossible? It is a mind-numbing, bone-weary job being a single parent sometimes. There is no space to be you, to plan the life you wanted. I wanted to travel, to see movies, to read. But I can't. My day begins with getting my son ready for school and ends with putting him to sleep. In the middle I work, I carry his bicycle downstairs, I play tennis, I try constantly to keep him creatively and productively engaged.

Still I forget to get his homework done, his toy still needs to be returned, I have to send stuff into school, I promised I'd take him swimming...the list of stuff undone is long. I am always falling behind. With him, with work, with myself.

So many balls up in the air and the nagging feeling that I am dropping them all. Sometimes I just want to run away. With a man. Cos honestly it's about time I had one!

Being Alive

In a long, long time I haven't felt the way I do today. I don't know if I've ever felt this way. Every pore in my body is open, taking in huge gulps of fresh air. All my senses are heightened. Though each muscle and fiber in my body screams with pain at the slightest movement I can't remember the last time I felt so good. Felt so deeply, intensely alive!

Yesterday, for the first time, I was part of a Bollywood/Indie feature film shoot. Spot boy, AD, photographer, sound guy and production manager, I donned many hats in one day. I don't know if I'll be credited with either in the final cut but honestly, I don't care. As I said in my earlier blog Movies and Me I have been obsessed with the movies from childhood and my dream finally came true.

It doesn't matter that the shoot was in a house in Delhi. It doesn't matter that almost the entire crew is relatively new at what they do. I don't care that there weren't big stars (though honestly Anshuman Jha and Piaa Bajpai aren't exactly unknown either). None of it matters. My dream came true. That is the only thought going round and round in my head and I haven't stopped grinning. I was on my feet for 22 hours and yet I feel nothing but pure, unadulterated joy. Bliss.

It's been a good year. I got published for the first time , I worked for bigwigs like the Rajiv Gandhi Foundation and I was a part of X - The Film. I couldn't ask for more. I am so thankful. To the powers that be. To my friends (you know who you are) for all the support and the coffees and the drinks and the cigarettes and the love you sent my way. You often believed in me more than I did myself. To my awesome son who has inspired me to get off my ass and live my life. To my boss, I don't think he knows what he has done. There is no way he'll realize the magnitude of my gratitude. He gifted me my dream. There is no greater gift you can give a person than to fulfill their dream.

But most of all, for a change, I want to thank myself. For trusting in the universe, in myself, in life. For allowing myself to grieve, to be fearful, to be insecure. For being able to face that and put it away so that I can let good into my life. Good people, good work. For giving myself a chance to restart, to not abandon my dreams just because they'd gathered dust and cobwebs. For forgiving myself, for loving myself, for knowing when to let go and when to hold on. For giving myself permission to belong and be loved. For believing that I am smart and capable even when I felt I was no good. I have earned this. I deserve this and more in my life forever. I believe that now. Thank you.