Hai ye Sachha Srungar!
Choodi nahin hai ye mera dil.
Clicked at Dwarka, Gujarat, India.
We are not makers of history. We are made by history - Martin Luther King, Jr.
Once upon a time, this canal was filled with crocodiles that were used to protect the fortress. The inclined walls of the hill are difficult to climb.
This photo was taken at Daulatabad Fort, Sambhaji Nagar, Maharashtra, India.
How well you manage your grief and rebound yourself. Good read from HBR.
must read for non profits professionals.
I am 34 years old, grew up in a small town in Uttar Pradesh, India, and I am the proud mother of two baby boys. One is 9 years old, and the other is 6 months old. Believe me, it takes a hell of a lot of courage to be a mother. Motherhood is not a product, but a process. Don’t think that one fine day a child is simply born. No... that day, two people are born: an infant and their mother. She is born again. A child learns life, and a mother learns how to teach life, how to nourish a child. Both were new entities on earth. One is a taker, and the other is a giver. I was born thrice. The first time from my mother’s womb, and the other two times from my own womb.
I was intrigued by the thought of people saying a child is the epiphenomenon of sex. That is also true in biological terms and may be the primary reason for all of us to get married, enjoy intimacy, and produce offspring.
I lost my mother at the young age of 19, a moment when a cloud bursts only on you and leaves rubble throughout life. A motherless teenage girl is a burden in our society. "Get her married and get rid of her." She is just treated like a liability to be disposed of. My mother's departure started my exit from my own home. Everybody was waiting for me to get married and vacate my own home, which was never truly mine. In the journey of upbringing, from infancy to old age, society treated us like a liability.
Among those discriminatory behaviors, there was only one spark in my life: my mother. I would not be in a position to describe those 19 years of my life in simple words, the time when I was in the care of my mother. My mother's love for me was inexplicable, the kind of love and affection she exhibited.
Women recognize the importance or presence of a mother when they are carrying a child, during that special moment of life called pregnancy. Most of the lucky women inherit motherhood from their mothers during their pregnancy. Marriage in a male-dominated society is clueless about a woman’s feelings and sense of belonging. Marriage had left women in loneliness. Pregnancy provides them a much-needed companionship in a crowded world.
My first pregnancy at the age of 25 taught me how to become stronger and stronger. I was left alone, and those 9 months taught me a lot. The companionship of an embryo to an infant, caring and loving, nurturing the child. I did it all alone. I was upset with God; why he took my "god" far away from me and left me in this chaos. I felt all of my bones were broken while giving birth to a child. I wished my mother could have been by my side, holding my hand and soothing my pain. To this moment, I don’t know what kind of tears I shed while giving birth to my first child, a baby boy. The doctors' words soothed my excruciating labor. I was unfortunate enough to not enter into motherhood alongside my mother.
I soothed myself by saying, "Maybe God has different plans for me." A C-section leaves you on a bed for many weeks. There was nobody to empathize with me. The pain of suffering and the smile of a newborn baby with little hands were with me. What a beautiful paradox. I survived this paradox. I learned to take care of myself and my child. Time passed. Seconds became minutes, minutes became hours, hours became days, days became weeks, weeks became months, and months became years. I would also like to appreciate those helping hands of neighbors and women who stood by me with their understanding and respect for their available time.
Years passed. The day-one child became 9 years old. Life goes on. In those 9 years, a hell of a lot of changes occurred. The climate changed; people have changed. COVID has changed us a lot. I was left alone in my occasional conjugal life. A woman is just a mass of flesh and bones. There is no care for my feelings. What I feel, what I need—it doesn't matter, and it never mattered. My feelings were never appreciated. All I feel is that I am drowning in an ocean of tears. The only companionship in my life is my child, whose smile makes me happy. I am living only for him.
My somehow limited companionship with my husband resulted in my second pregnancy. I missed my period and started feeling nauseated. I waited a few more days, assuming it could be due to other ailments. A few days later, I got it confirmed; there was a dark line of confirmation on the pregnancy kit. A moment of joy appeared on my face. I was happy, and my husband was on cloud nine. Joy percolated through each and every corner of the house. I was ready to be born again with my second pregnancy. The thought of the excruciating pain was somewhere in my mind. I remembered my mother all the time. Her apparition was with me. She had given birth to me, and I was about to give birth to a second child. I was left alone, as parenthood is the sole responsibility of women. My mother always told me, "A woman has to be very strong." In life, nobody stands by her, whenever she needs somebody dearly. A point comes when everybody leaves her in the dust, including her soulmate. I decided to be very strong because I don't want to let myself down. The thought of loneliness started leaving me far behind. After all, it's another opportunity to be born again. Meditation and reading helped me a lot. "Whatever I have" helped me to narrate this. These minimum resources kept me afloat. I started eating properly as I had to nourish the living creature within me. I have one son, and I am ready to welcome another baby, a son or daughter. It hardly matters. The only thing that matters is how I nurture the child and make her or him good for society.
Days started evaporating; the only miasma left behind was waiting. Waiting for the day of labor to arrive. An unprecedented wait to deliver a living creature. My mother’s memories were helping me. And the much-awaited day arrived. I started developing labor; nobody was at home. I found the supreme strength to uplift my spirit beyond bodily limits. I reached a hospital at the other corner of the town. The auto dropped me at the labor ward of the hospital. I called my husband; he reached there in no time from his college. Upon seeing a barefooted woman in labor, doctors admitted me and administered a muscle-relaxing medicine to smoothen the passage for delivering the baby. Excruciating pain started filling my entire body. I was torn between perspiration and asphyxiation. I felt the gates of heaven were opening for me. My mother’s words about being very strong superseded the feeling of agony. At last, it was a C-section. I was operated on again to give my second child birth. This time, a nurse pronounced, "It's a baby boy." And again, I was born, too. I am determined to raise both adorable children in such a way that these two gentlemen, whatever they become in life, will never disrespect women. I will provide them with whatever I missed from my mother in my life—a mother's love.
Second pregnancy brought my mother closer to me.
Faith
Amol Nakve