When I unleashed the inner black beauty...

When I unleashed the inner black beauty..

The story of Rashmi Singh (Name changed)

Based in India

Written by Mallika Bhatia

I am the youngest and the fifth amongst my siblings; four sisters and a brother and yet I was always the happiest when I was alone. People always confused me, Neighbours, friends and even my family members made fun of the way I looked, I was too dark for them and hence not beautiful. They often said 'badi hogi toh theek ho jayegi” (She might start looking better/acceptable when she grows up). My sisters were fair skinned and conventionally beautiful. People, including my own father, a well respected, high ranking police officer, would discriminate against me based on my complexion. I remember my father's behaviour towards me always had underlying anger or he simply ignored me. When he paid attention, he would comment on my features and say "at least she has beautiful eyes.”  My mother tried to make it easier for me. She would sympathetically tell me “Always remember that beauty lies in simplicity and you are my Black Beauty.”

Education was always given a lot of value in our house. So much so that everything else, including extracurricular activities were considered a distraction. We had to focus on studies and on getting high scores, everything else was simply not allowed.

Somehow my parents spoke to me almost only about the errors of my siblings. I was always told about their mistakes and warned against repeating them. Their pattern of communication actually pushed me further into the shell that I already lived in. I never asked for anything, never shared my feelings with anyone and started believing that I had to earn things only with hard-work. Unfortunately the lack of emotional support was also a given. I was still an ambitious child with a clear head. I enjoyed school, as I could be who I was amongst my friends. My school was my world.

One fine day though, that was snatched away from me. When I was in the eighth grade I was told by my parents that I couldn't go back to my school. No explanations given, no reasons shared, I was just supposed to be at home. I didn't go to school for a whole month, missing my studies and friends while searching for reasons for this punishment. My mother later told me that there were some issues in the family and there were threats to kidnap me, hence they couldn't risk sending me to school. I did not understand why I was being targeted yet Maa refused to give me any explanations. I did not have the courage to ask them about my friends, my studies and everything that I had left behind. I couldn't tell them that I wanted to meet my friends again or that my world was snatched from me.

Picture by Aziz Acharki on Unsplash

Sometime later I was shifted to a school in another smaller town where nothing made sense. Neither did my mental capabilities match to where I was now, nor the social rules. I was too shocked with everything around me. My life had completely changed without my involvement or consent. I wasn't even aware of what had caused the uprooting. All I knew was that someone else was responsible but I was suffering. I felt abandoned and unloved.

My mother, my only partial support in our family had not moved to this new town with me. It was just me, one older sister and my brother. I missed Maa terribly and kept asking myself what my fault was in all this, why did I have to suffer? I wanted my mom and I needed answers. I wanted to know why was I abandoned. I got none of that. I was just told by my extremely strict father that I had to fulfil my responsibility towards the family and do what was good for everyone. Hence I had to adjust in this new setup.

At 13, none of this made sense to me. Why was I abandoned and was still expected to fulfil my roles? What had I done to deserve no love or attention? Did I not deserve any answers? What good of the family were they talking about? Everything about my life had changed overnight. I did not know this town, I did not know the people nor the rules. I felt as if I did not fit-in in the scheme of things of my family so I was just tossed away. I realised that I wasn't loved or valued hence it was OK for everyone to abandon me.

Back then I could have never imagined that this incident would define how I would live my life for a few decades to come. School finished and college began in another town. I lived in a hostel and could slowly breathe again. I could look for my tribe, make friends and find out who I had become. With college came a new sort of excitement in life, I fell in love with a batchmate who cared for me so deeply that he wanted to protect me from the world. Only that the 19 year old me did not realise that defining what I could or could not wear, whom I could talk to and how I could conduct myself wasn't truly protection. I was looking to be loved finally so I did everything he wanted me to, believing that this was what love was all about.

He was overprotective and said that it wasn't me but the world that he didn't trust. I believed him, ignoring all my instincts, which clearly told me not be get into the trap that I had already experienced with my overprotective father and brother. I still did everything he told me to, everything that would make me 'lovable' in his eyes. I made sure everything he said was done the way he liked it. I was there for him all the time, the way he wanted me. Though whenever I really needed him,  he went absconding. Later he would come back and blame me for forcing him to go away. I loved him too deeply and truly felt that I had driven him away. He was also,forced to abandon me because of who I was, just like my family.

Towards the end of my graduation my parents asked me if this  boyfriend of mine would marry me. He said he would and then, yet again he vanished. None of his numbers worked, no friend had his contact details. For months I didn't know where he was, he did not even come back to give the final graduation exams. Yet again someone I loved so deeply abandoned me without an explanation. Maybe I did deserve that.

I finished my graduation and wanted to be independent for once.    I was soon told by my father that women in our household don't work. If I decided to work, then I was never welcome at home again. It was an easy decision for me to make. Even though I deeply craved their love and approval, I knew that I had to pave my own path.

I found a job and started sharing a flat with a few friends from my graduation days. My work slowly helped me get back some of my self-esteem. I had started seeing some value in who I was and what I deserved in life but the journey had just about began when my boyfriend came back yet again. He obviously attacked me emotionally rather than apologising for vanishing. He said that I had put him in a tight spot by asking him to marry me and he had no choice but to run away. I went back to him, after all I believed that he loved me enough to come back for me.

By now he knew that he could make me do anything. The otherwise emotionally abusive relationship now moved to the next level of being physically abusive as well. Somedays I would go to work black and blue. His habit of vanishing had not gone. He would be untraceable for weeks at a time. Slowly the abuse wasn't just behind doors, he would come to my work place and create a scene. He wanted me to leave my job and not interact with other men. He would tell me about the other women he slept with while he was away. He said had to sleep with others to see if it felt wrong to him. According to him coming back to me after every sexual encounter showed how much he loved me. This went on for about two more years before which I decided that enough was enough.

Photo by Sydney Sims on Unsplash

I changed jobs, changed my address and moved on. I was in a new place but my patterns were following me.  In the next few years I had a series of relationships with men who seemed very decent and calm initially but would abuse me every which way once I was committed to them. Often I would get hit by them which would be followed by them apologizing profusely and adding that they were insecure and didn't want to lose me hence they couldn't control themselves. This mental abuse was something that had started feeling normal to me, like something I had to endure to be loved. Yet there were days when it seemed truly scary and I knew I had to do something about it.

A big city seemed to be the solution in my head. I started looking for work opportunities in other cities and soon moved to a metropolitan. IN this bigger city, I had great professional exposure and truly wanted to improve my overall life. I decided to study while working. I did an MBA. I kept moving up the career ladder yet unfortunately my luck with men hadn't changed. I continued to be in relationships where I had no respect. I would support my men emotionally and financially. I would try to be 'good' and in return I always was left, abused and told that I deserved nothing. I was in my 30s by now and realised that something had to change.

I decided to seek the help of a psychotherapist. That changed my life, she urged me to understand my patterns and change them. The process of therapy truly helped me explore a new side of my life. I started seeing my role in all that was happening around me. Now I knew that I was the common factor in all the relationships. I was making sure that my internal beliefs about being unloved were simply being manifested through all the relationships I had. I had let the men do to me what I believed my family had done to me in my childhood. I was allowing it to happen I had to had to stop  it. I had to stop expecting everyone around me to change. I had to change internally, the onus was completely mine. I started recognising the strength within me that I always had but never saw as everyone made me feel small throughout my life.

I started giving myself credit for always being independent, right from the start of my career. This gave me strength, I had never liked a male dominant environment that unfortunately all the girls in my family had faced. How much we craved for things and activities but were curbed, hence I had decided not to wait for anyone's approval, another decision I was proud of.  Even as a child I had made up my mind to be independent, no matter what. I knew I had to always move forward and no job was too small. I knew it was OK to ask for work when there was none openly available. I kept seeking work and kept growing with it. These were some of the best decisions in my life and acknowledging them really helped my self-esteem.

Photo by Harli Marten on Unsplash

I started seeing myself in a brand new light. It was not easy yet I knew this was my chance to turn my life around. I decided no more relationships for me. I had always looked for someone to complete me. It was time that I started to figure out how to feel complete within myself.

I slowly started filling the deep void that existed within me, focussing on learning to love my own self. I explored hobbies which were forbidden in my growing up years. I started doing things for myself, things I had expected the men to do for me. I began to forgive myself for my past, for not standing up for myself enough. I could never say 'no' earlier, which is something I had to learn to change. I stopped punishing myself for being abandoned and realised that in all these years, I too had abandoned myself. Since my childhood I had stopped myself at so many levels. I had avoided doing so many things because I did not want to be a bad example, like my older siblings. There was an ignored and neglected child in me which I had to heal.

Slowly but steadily I kept working on my beliefs and was learning to be happy and content in my life. It had taken years but I was finally happy being me. I was falling in love with who I was everyday. There were struggles and difficult days as well but I had decided to focus on only moving forward. I was now more confident than ever and had figured out that if the center of control lies within us, everything else will fall in its place. My profession was going well. I was exploring as much as I could in all the other aspects too. I enrolled in a variety of courses, decided to get a photo shoot for myself and celebrate how I looked, and even explored the option of starting a parallel profession using my talents. In one such course, I happened to gel with the trainer, who was years younger than me. My rule of no relationships was still intact, which truly helped me explore a deep friendship with him without any romantic expectations. I would talk to him about any and everything.

Photo by Steve Halama on Unsplash

From just the two of us, we slowly grew into a gang of friends and it felt like I finally had a family. Two years down the line, he confessed his love for me. I told him not to ruin the beautiful equation we had. I was scared of losing everything that I had worked so hard on creating. He understood where I was coming from and remained like a rock in my life for the next few years as well. He was respectful of me and accepted me as I was. I had never hidden anything from him because I never felt a need to hide my truth from anyone anymore. He would often tell me that I deserved much more than I had in my relationships, I agreed.

Even though I had started feeling for him too, I wanted to test him before I changed my rules for anyone. I do realise that this is not the way but I was still a work in progress. Getting into a relationship again was giving me the jitters, maybe I wanted to find a reason to not start this relationship at all. I had had no experience of a functional relationship before this.

He was all that a partner should be but I was not sure that I wanted a partner anymore. He had seen who I really was. I had never sugar-coated things, I showed him my anger as and when I felt it. I did not hide my insecurities and he never used them against me. I had slowly let my fear of rejection go and had learnt to say NO. Over the years I had started respecting my journey and what it had made me and finally met a man who respected me for that. It wasn't long before I finally fell deeply in love with him and changed the rule. This time not because a man wanted me to but because I wanted to.

We have been married for six years now. We are each other's best friends and my family members respect him too. My father is no more but when he was alive, he had more conversations with him than he ever had with me, he is clearly a family favorite even though he is a black beauty too. I very proudly give myself the credit for finding such a gem. After all, all my life, I had manifested relationships that fulfilled my patterns and fit my insecurities. Only when I changed internally, did my reality outside change. Today too, I do realise that I am still a work in progress as every human being is, however I realise that we need to recognise our strengths even when we aren't perfect. We need to respect ourselves and transition to the newer versions of us to eventually unleash most of our capabilities.

As I share my story today I want to tell every one of you reading this, value yourself and only then with others value you. Find out your own role in your patterns, explore how are you responsible for them and change them. There is never anyone else to blame, we are the centre of our universes and always create a world and relationships that reflect our internal state. If people aren't treating you right then ask yourself if you are treating yourself right. Learn to say NO and keep spreading hope.



* If you found this story inspiring then don't forget to share, comment, like and subscribe to The Hope Tribe. You can be the instrument of Hope for someone by spreading these inspirational tales. Thanks for reading, Mallika Bhatia, Founder- The Hope Tribe

My husband doesn't love me. What choices do I have left?

My husband doesn't love me, what choices do I have left?

The story of Mansi Deshmukh (Name changed)
Based in New Delhi

Written by Mansi Deshmukh

Edited by Mallika Bhatia

Finally, it is my time to be happy! In the past I was sad, angry, hopeless and worried. Then I decided it had to change.The despair wasn't worth it any more.

Well, I was not even close to being happy a few months back. I got married in 2010 with a dream of a 'happily ever after' kind of life. I had always believed that marriages are made in heaven and full of romance. Within a few months of being married I learnt that it is not so. Me and my husband could not connect emotionally at all. We had different priorities and different expectations out of our relationship. He wanted to continue living his independent life where as I wanted us to do things together. He wanted to be browsing on his phone when I wanted to watch a movie with him. He hated going out and I loved to. I would initiate plans and he would keep cancelling them. Emotionally as well, we did not match. We had major differences at all levels. We were just two very different people living together in the same flat.

Coming from the expectation of having a companion in my partner, I wanted to try harder. I wanted to make it work and what better way than communicating everything, I had thought. I spoke to him several times about how lonely I felt in our marriage and he simply kept telling me that I overthink things. My emotional needs were labelled high expectations and I was just too demanding for wanting any of his time and attention.

He was busy in his life and I kept trying to make my place in it. At home I kept myself busy with everyday chores; cooking, keeping his parents/relatives happy, shopping for him, giving him all my attention and ignoring my own happiness and my side of the family in the process. Yet, never once did he acknowledge my efforts. I really wanted to have children of my own but I knew that bringing a child in these circumstances wasn't a good idea. I wanted to try something else to maybe light a spark so I decided to move abroad for work to see if the distance rings any bells in his heart. I had taken the assignment with his consent.

Photo by Maria Teneva on Unsplash

Sadly, my being away for a year did not have any effect on our relationship at all. I had come back after a year, still hoping that with time things could get better. As soon as I got back, I conceived our first child. It was all still confusing for me; we had issues amongst ourselves and even with his family who had extremely high expectations from me and now there was going to be a baby in the picture. I was happy about the baby but also very scared. I couldn't stop my fears or being angry, sad and negative. Our relationship was as bad as ever. I always valued love and family more than anything else. Yet I was deprived of both. Inspite having all these stressful feelings to deal with, it was the first time that I was not feeling lonely. I had my baby who was with me all the time, a companion for life I had thought.

In the 4th month of my pregnancy, 26th Sep. 2015, a Saturday morning I started getting labor pains. We went to hospital and were told that baby had not survived. I delivered my first baby boy that day. I became mother but had no child to hold. I couldn't see my first born because my husband, without consulting me, asked the hospital staff to take care of the body. I couldn't even say goodbye to my child. With so much shock, grief and anger I spent countless nights crying to myself. There was obviously no support of any kind from my husband or his family. I only had the support of my mother and a friend of mine.

It was easy to blame myself and I strongly felt that may be I didn't love my child enough so he left me. Maybe there was a lesson for me here but I didn't know what yet.

I tried to go back to my routine life; Office, home, husband, family and now also constantly missing my baby. I got pregnant again in April 2016. This time I conceived in desperation. After loosing my first baby, I just wanted to be mother as soon as possible. As if I was trying to prove something to myself, his family or even the society. This time too, in the 5th month of my pregnancy I got to know there were growth issues with the baby. I was put on daily injection to improve the blood flow to the baby. But I guess we were late with finding out the issues and within another month, I lost my second son too. His heartbeat had stopped. I was composed this time. I was strong yet I wanted answers. I wanted to know WHY this was happening with me again. Yet again I had no emotional support from my husband, and his family. But this time I got to say bye to my son. I saw him, thanked him for being a part of me, felt sorry for not able to bring him to life and kissed him goodbye.

Now I felt more strongly than ever that God wanted me to learn something before blessing me with a baby. This time as well, just after few days I was back to the same routine life, emotional drama of my in-laws and a busy husband. I decided to take a challenging project and kept myself busy. The only emotional support I had was my side of the family and my friends.

It was during this time, after all these years that I finally I realised my husband truly didn't love me. Marriage was a obligation for him that he had to fulfil. It took too many years for me to see this but finally I did. I guess I was too blind with my expectation of a companion earlier to see his side, I was so busy loving him that I refused to believed that I would not be loved back. All this while, I had consoled myself by telling myself that he was not as mature as I was, or maybe because he is man so lacked a way of expressing his feelings. I told myself he was busy and stressed about his start up or he was forgetful and what not. But what I was scared to accept earlier, was very clear to me now. He did his best to make it clear that we were in a marriage where there was no love but I had refused to see it.

This new reality was killing me. It must sound silly that after losing 2 babies, dedicating 10 years to this relationship, ignoring my career, leaving assignments and losing my self confidence, I was still longing for my husband's love. As painful as it was, yet it was clear that a person can be this ignorant about his partners needs only if he is has no feelings for her. It took me a few weeks to accept this bitter truth but once I did, I stopped complaining.

I realised that both our family set up was as such that we could not think of a divorce and yet I did not want my life to go wasted. I started making changes in the way I was. I stopped tagging myself around him when he was home, stopped being over-attentive to his needs, instead I started doing things which give me happiness. He was least bothered by this change in me. I am not sure he even noticed it.

It was April 2018, when for the first time and without any fear I stood up for myself in front of him and his family. I started saying NO to the things which challenged my peace of mind. I was changing what I had done in the past 10 years. It was shock for him and his family. Now is when he changed his attitude. He wanted us to go back to the functional relationship that worked for him and his parents. He wanted me to be the same submissive girl that I was for all these years. He tried his best to pacify me so that I went back to my 'normal' self. He tried be the soft guy, the tough guy, the ignorant guy and other tactics until I broke down for the crying guy. I decided that maybe I could give him a chance but I would stick to my ground, with my new rules. This was when I conceived my 3rd baby. Soon after, things were back to usual from his side.

This time I had resolved to give birth to this baby. I did research and found new doctors who specialised in difficult cases. I had decided to take the reins of my life back in my hands. I went to the doctors with all my past history and was put on blood thinners from day one of my pregnancy. I had to take injections everyday, which was very scary for me because I was petrified of injections. Yet this time I was prepared to do it on my own. It was subcutaneous injection; to be either given in stomach or thigh. I am so proud that I did it everyday without any fear.

I stepped up and said NO to anything that did not work for me or my baby. I took care of myself, my profession and my baby. I chose to shut down negativity and create positivity around me. For the first time I was actually busy thinking about how to bring joy into my life. I started thinking of things that will make me happy. I went to movies alone, I shopped on my own, painted, went out with friends and made my independent plans. I even invited my mother to stay with me for few days. I would dress up for office everyday showing off my little bump. I worked hard at not get affected by the sulking and indifferent faces that my husband made. My pregnancy was smooth this time. I was due in just a month when my doctor found out that the blood flow to the baby was getting compromised again. She asked me to get admitted to monitor my condition. The next morning she suggested a C-section to deliver the baby. She made us understand that it would be easier for the baby to cope when he was outside. The environment inside the womb was now hostile with the limited blood flow. She knew best and I trusted her completely.

I remember my son crying as soon as he was born. The doctor's first words to me were “your baby is vigorous, just like his mother”. Since he was premature, they rushed him to NICU for respiratory support and care. In the evening my husband told me that he met our baby and he looked fine. Next morning I went to see him in the NICU. At first I was devastated to see him with all needles and tubes. He was so tiny to have so many things poked into him. I couldn't stand there for more than a few minutes before breaking down. By the afternoon I was asked to express milk and send it for my baby.

Next day when the doctor in the NICU saw me all teary and scared, he told me 'You are the mother, your touch will heal him and soon he will be all fine'. These words gave me strength and hope. For the next 20 days I went to the NICU everyday to express milk and give him KMC (kangaroo mother connect, in which the baby rests on mother's bare chest). Slowly I started changing his diapers and giving him massages. Each activity was a milestone in itself. His responses were my best reward. I made sure there was enough milk expressed for each of his meals at night.

He got better each day and by the twentieth day, we were allowed to take him home. Finally I had my baby in my arms, my child who refused to come into my life till I started making myself my first priority. I now knew what my lesson was, the one I had refused to learn earlier. It isn't about someone else loving me, it is about me loving myself.  I had to learn to make myself a priority, I had to stop looking for approval from others around me. I had learn to stand up for myself and almost seize the respect that my husband and my in-laws had refused to give me.

It has been a beautiful journey so far. My son is  almost six months old now and time seems to be flying with him. I want to capture each moment and enjoy every second with my child. I have not felt this happy and content in past 10 years.

While growing up my mother always told me that if I study well, I may get a good husband. Well I studied decently and it did not result in a good husband at all. Yet it helped me grow as a person, it empowered me to have my own dreams, It gave me the confidence to realise that my happiness shouldn't be dependent on someone else actions, I should be able to make choices on my own. In the past 10 years I always thought about raising a baby girl. I wanted to show the society how to raise strong, humble and independent girl. Someone who is not bogged down by societal pressures. Now that I have a son, I am equally happy as I hopefully be able to raise a boy who may grow up to respect his partner for who she is. No doubt our society is progressing and not discriminating against their daughters, but we need to also concentrate on our sons and make sure they don't grow up to feel entitled. I am still in the process of unlearning things which the society taught me while growing up. This slow transformation is helping me towards my happiness, regardless of my surroundings. I hope my story helps you too. I hope it helps you find a direction, an inspiration or just a push into loving and respecting yourself.


* If you found this story inspiring then don't forget to share, comment, like and subscribe to The Hope Tribe.You can be the instrument of Hope for someone by spreading these inspirational tales. Thanks for reading, Mallika Bhatia, Founder- The Hope Tribe

Is motherhood restricted to having a child?

Is motherhood restricted to having a child? 

The story of Mallika Bhatia

Spanning over New Delhi and Munich

Written by Mallika Bhatia

Back in 2012, motherhood had already changed me much before I  became a mother. I had leaking breasts, sleepless nights, contractions, labor pains, stretch marks, everything that could qualify me as a new mother but no baby to show for it. I had delivered her, of course, but instead of her 21 week old body being handed to my warm arms, she was put in an ice box and sent for biopsy.

My baby had died in my womb in the fifth month of pregnancy. The cause was never made clear. No doctor wanted to claim responsibility, no one wanted to take the onus and call out the cause. We were told in hushed voices that it could be because of an invasive test that was administered too late in my pregnancy. According to the reports of the very test that took our child from us, she was a perfectly healthy fetus, hence no cause of death could be determined except for maybe shock of the test. We could blame the machines, we could blame the people involved or ourselves but all the blame in the world could not bring back our child. She was gone; without me ever having seen her, without me ever having touched her, without me taking-in her baby smell and inspite of she growing inside of me, she was taken away. I never got to know her yet she changed me completely.

She taught me to love someone deeply without having met them. She taught me to be angry without fear. She helped me learn the importance of my relationship with my partner. Her going away made me see clearly that we, as humans always operate out of our weaknesses. A few of my so-called friends did not reach out to me because they did not know what to say. Family members and relatives did not try hard enough to support me emotionally because they believed I was strong myself. People who were supposed to console me, got awkward around me. It made me question the meaning of each and every relationship I had. My own mother was far away visiting my sister in another continent when I became a mother.

A mother!! Yes, I was still a mother even though at that point, I had never wanted a baby of my own again. It was too painful to want one. I was a mother even though I had believed that giving birth was the most physically painful experience there ever can be. Labor felt as if the devil himself was sitting at the center of my being and pushing aside each of my parts, shoving every bone and trying his best to tear up the lower part of my body. The lack of a child had not taken motherhood away, in fact it gave me a painful version of the experience. I was still a mother, though an unfulfilled one.

I still sang to my child in heaven and I wrote for her and thought of her all the time. Not crying at the brink of a hat was not an option that existed. Our missed abortion, which is what the doctors call it, made me miss a huge part of my life. Even though I am a psychotherapist, it was my husband who was acting like one for me.  He had lost a child too but he focussed on the sobbing, howling creature in front of him that needed love instead of tending to his wounds.

My physical recovery was much faster than the mental one. I was discharged from the hospital the same day that I had delivered my baby girl. My gynecologist had very conveniently forgotten to mention that I was going to start lactating soon, just like she forgot to shift me to the labor room and I had delivered right on the bed that I had in my room. She had forgotten that I was supposed to deliver in her presence and not when she was busy in the O.P.D. and still be charged a hefty amount for her assistance in my delivery. I had never experienced so much pain in my breasts like I did the next day when I woke up. They had never felt like rocks in the past. The doctor simply said, oh I must have forgotten to prescribe the medicine against it. My body was reacting to the delivery and producing milk for the baby who could never drink it. My breasts were full, heavy and hard.

Emotionally I felt lost, purposeless, unsupported. I could not trust anyone around me, neither could I go back to work. My profession involves helping others cope with their issues. How was I supposed to help someone else cope when I was going through so much myself? I needed something to push me, something to motivate me, something to make me feel otherwise. I needed a change of scene and I needed to be far away from where I was, literally.

Strange that I say that because both me and my husband were against moving out of our country. We were happy with our lives before this incident. We had our work, our friends, our family and our social support in India. India was the only life we had known and the only life we had loved until then.

We moved to Germany within five months of losing our baby. It was a difficult decision to make, a very difficult one! We were moving out of our comfort zones to a country where no one spoke the language we understood. In Munich, which is where we live, people either spoke German or Bavarian, there was no third language back then. We literally did not know anyone here. We did not know how this country worked and there was no way to find it out unless we learnt the local language.

In the hind side, the newness and challenges were the best things that happened to us. It meant a fresh new start, it meant no baggages, it meant new challenges and new learning every single day. Even though I had been with my husband for many years, now was the time where we had many of our adventurous firsts and hopeful seconds. We went to our first Oktoberfest together; got drunk, acted crazy, played pranks and loved each other a little more. We learnt our first foreign language together, we visited many countries for the first time and after a year and half of healing ourselves, we decided to have our second child together.

Even though the decision was full of hope and trust, I dealt with anxiety every single day. I cried very often and prayed very hard. The conversations that I had with my husband were my comfort; he would say, "no matter what happens, we are together and healthy and that is what matters. At other times he would tell me to trust. Trust in the universe, trust in our luck, trust in our destiny, trust that we learnt our lessons the first time, trust that things can't go wrong twice. I also had two friends who were my constant support. I would talk to them very often, share my fears and truly gain strength from them. These three people saw me through my anxiety in an otherwise healthy and perfect pregnancy.

I was glowing and growing. Me and my husband travelled and explored more places before our second child finally arrived. We bought little things for her together and prepared for our lives to be changed forever. When she was finally born, she had ten perfectly manicured fingers, ten little toes, the chubbiest cheeks we had ever seen and that divine baby smell that drove us crazy with love. She was perfect then and now at four years of age, she just keeps getting better. We are growing together as a family. She teaches us much more than we teach her. She gives us much more than we ever can. She speaks three languages fluently, four if you consider her language of love. She is a wise little nut who knows exactly which buttons to press in order to get what she wants. We are raising her not as an inferior for being a child, nor as a superior for being our rainbow baby but exactly as an equal. We let her make mistakes, we let her fall, we let her experience pain because we know it is through the pain that we grew into who we are today. We let her believe in magic and let her hope that unicorns become real creatures, because it is hope that always sees us though.

* If you found this story inspiring then don't forget to share, comment, like and subscribe to The Hope Tribe.You can be the instrument of Hope for someone by spreading these inspirational tales. Thanks for reading, Mallika Bhatia, Founder- The Hope Tribe

I loved him so much that I begged him to go...

I loved him so much that I begged him to go...

The Story of Charu Aggarwal

Based in New Delhi, India

Written by Mallika Bhatia

Rahul and I got married in 2009 after patiently waiting a long time to convince my parents. It took a while- and understandably so- given that Rahul lives with a condition that affects his movements and muscle control, something my parents couldn't see beyond in the beginning.

It was Rahul’s efforts and character that finally won them over. For the next few years we were in bliss and we decided to expand our happiness by creating a new life together. 

I got pregnant in 2013. 

My pregnancy was textbook perfect. I was hale and hearty, full of energy, no morning sickness, no nausea, nothing. Just a happy kicking baby inside me. All the tests and ultrasounds were perfect and we, along with our extended families were really looking forward to the new phase of our lives.

Nine months later, my labor pains started just a day before the due date. After 24 hours, we had a healthy looking, pink baby in our arms. It was a boy, weighing 3.8 kilograms, a healthy birth weight by all standards. 

We named him Rushil- the charming one. 

Celebrations began soon after his birth. It was almost midnight so my mother decided to relieve Rahul and stay at the hospital. It had been a long day for him too. He had been in the labor room throughout. As most babies do, Rushil had the colostrum, the first feed of mother’s milk, and slept blissfully for the next few hours.

We had to wake him up to feed him again. He fed a little and vomited something green a couple of times. The nurse told us that it was just acid reflux, something very normal for newborns. She took him to the NICU (Neonatal ICU) to clean his stomach and for general observation until he was comfortable. 

A couple of hours later, he was brought to me. They had cleaned his stomach and he seemed absolutely calm. I breastfed him, only to see him vomit something green once more. The doctor and the nurses told me again that it was all normal and took him back to the NICU. We were also advised to stay in the hospital for one more day for observation. 

Our little Rushil soon after he was born 

Soon I was called to the NICU to feed him and to offer him skin-to-skin contact. Rushil had already started exploring his new surroundings. Rahul kept peeping into the NICU, missing being a part of these moments. 

All seemed normal until, on one such trip to the NICU, Rahul sensed something amiss. It was late evening and the NICU in-charge had been called back during her off duty hours. She calmly told us to wait in the room, and assured us that she would come to us with updates as soon as she could.

A very anxious half an hour later, she walked into our room and informed us that there was indeed something wrong with our baby. They couldn’t be sure what exactly it was yet, but knew that he was losing blood. By then he had become very pale. They suspected a bleed in the brain. 

She assured us that she was doing all she could to find the best solution for Rushil. She had already consulted her seniors and experts at other hospitals.

'“Maybe it could be something as simple as surgically finding the source of blood leak and fixing it,” she said gently. She requested for our trust and patience. 

We nodded.

At around 10.30 p.m. that night, his tiny frame was taken for an ultrasound, followed by a CT scan. All the reports came out normal. Yet, watching our tiny baby being pricked every few hours was excruciating. The doctors had to keep a check on various parameters including his haemoglobin levels. 

It kept dropping. 

The neo-natal paediatrician told us to rest while she tested Rushil for possible causes. Throughout the night we felt her reassuring and supportive presence. 

By dawn, Rushil’s stomach had begun to distent. He shrieked in pain if anyone so much as tried to touch his stomach. 

Our doctor had already requested the pediatric surgeon to come and examine him. The surgeon was reluctant at first and dismissed the concern, saying all that was needed was for the baby to pass urine and meconium. 

But after our doctor’s insistence, he came. 

This is us.

 

The surgeon had one look at Rushil and said he would have to perform an exploratory surgery as soon as possible to find out the root cause. We informed both of our parents who rushed to the hospital to be by our side. 

Our son was just 3 days old when he had his first surgery- tiny, pale and fragile. Needless to say, we were both nervous wrecks. 

Our prayers were focused on a quick diagnosis and treatment for our child. We longed to take him home, to spend sleepless nights with him, not waiting for him. 



A few hours of tears and tension later, the surgeon walked out of the operation theatre with a small bowl containing a sausage like thing in his hand. We had the verdict: Rushil had a rare and severe congenital deformity called Apple peel deformity. 

Usually there is a web of blood vessels supplying blood to the intestines, in our case, our son had only one such vessel. Even though his small intestine was fully formed, the only blood vessel supplying to it had become twisted resulting in hampered blood supply to the intestine. His blood had started flowing inside his intestine turning it gangrenous. More than 70% of his small intestine was removed in the surgery. The only positive news was that his colon, which helps the body absorb liquids was intact. 

The surgeon wasn’t sure if Rushil could digest my milk on his own or would need pre-digested formula once he recovered from the surgery. What he was sure about was that Rushil would require special pre-digested food throughout his life. His body was not capable of digesting anything on its own.


That evening was when the reality really hit us- we would never have a ‘normal child’. Feeding tubes would spend more time with him than I ever could. He would visit hospitals more than a school. Complications would be more common than comfort. 

We broke down, even as our neonatologist kept giving us hope. She was busy doing research, contacting specialists in other parts of the world, trying to find the best possible solution for us. 

“Let’s wait and see how he recovers from the surgery,” she said. She was looking into every option including a transplant. She also convinced the surgeon with her findings that no formula can replace the goodness of mother’s milk when it comes to healing after surgery. 


Even though I had been discharged from the hospital, we only went home at night. Every minute that we were allowed in the NICU with Rushil was spent with him. The rest of the day was either waiting or attending appointments with various doctors. I was allowed to give him breast milk only after a week, when his stitches had healed and the surgeon thought it was safe. 

He took the feed hungrily but, unfortunately, his stomach bloated almost instantly after drinking. The surgeon rushed him into the operating theatre and made an incision in his tiny stomach. The same green bile started oozing out. 

Once again, a series of inconclusive tests followed. The surgeon suspected that his internal stitches had given way. He wanted to open Rushil up again. 

We were wary of it. He was just 16 days old. 

So much had happened, all too fast to process. A second surgery seemed scary. We had briefly celebrated his birth just a week and a half ago, and here we were, a few days later, not knowing what to do with him.

During this time, we had taken a second, third, and fourth opinion. The common opinion was for us to prepare ourselves to be caretakers of a child in a near-vegetative state, with pipes going in and out of his body for as long as he lived. 

Or to prepare for the worst. 

The choice was ours. 

The questions haunted us. What were we looking at in the long run? Did a baby deserve to go through physical agony, and multiple surgeries when the doctors were unsure of the outcome? 

We deeply loved our son. We wanted him. 

But at what cost?

What was the right call to make?

Clarity came when one of the doctors said that his only aim was to keep Rushil alive. Whether he would eat all his life or not was secondary to him. 

In that moment, our choice became clear.

We would not take such a selfish decision. 

We did not want our child to turn into a vegetable. Our love for him was greater than parental ego that demands we do anything to keep a child alive. 

We did not want him to suffer just for our need for him. 

We could not focus on keeping him alive, if he did not have a life worth living. 

By then, we knew that he would not grow normally. He would need constant medical intervention all his life, and yet he would never lead a healthy life.

Our decision was made.

When we went to our surgeon, he was rather nervous. We told him, in our calmest possible voice, that our prime objective was to relieve Rushil of his pain. If the second surgery he suggested, would help in that, then we were ready for it. 

We also conveyed that we trusted his judgement. And wanted him to know that if he faced a difficult choice during surgery, then we would not question the choice he made. 

We conveyed our faith to him. And also our painful decision.

We wanted a pain-free Rushil. 

The second surgery revealed that not only his stitches but most of the small intestine was destroyed. His stomach had become an open pit. 

Nothing was left, neither his intestine nor any hope. The doctor stitched back whatever little was left. 

We were told to focus on palliative care. There was no way of saving him.

Our focus became making our child’s death as pain-free as possible.



Watching him with all those tubes and wires was both hard and necessary. It made acceptance of our fate a bit easier for us. He was fed intravenously to provide whatever little nourishment his body could absorb.

The nurses would constantly be with him. The doctor made more rounds than necessary. By now we had formed a personal relationship with the hospital staff. He had so many mothers taking care of him. Sometimes, we would all cry together. They would take turns holding him in our absence. 

For someone so tiny, he had impacted a lot of us. 

As Rushil’s condition deteriorated, we started noticing it affecting not only us but also the staff. This had been a forty-day long journey for all of us by now. 

Forty days that taught us much more than we wanted to learn in our entire lifetime.



Rahul and me decided to take our baby home. We wanted him where he belonged, even if for a few hours. No one could predict when he would eventually go but everyone agreed that he deserved to be home. 

Our wish of taking our newborn home was finally being fulfilled. 

The doctor warned us about the difficulties we would face at home. Both, emotionally and physically. Things would be erratic, unpredictable and draining, for all of us. The lack of machinery and additional hands supporting us would probably take a big toll.

We told her we were ready. 

She then prepared us by explaining what to expect: Rushil would literally starve to death. This meant that he would cry a lot, both due to hunger and pain. His throat would be dry at all times. 

Then one by one, his organs would start failing, in what order could not be ascertained and then finally he would be relieved of all pain .

The next few days were the longest and the shortest days of our lives. 

We had to make the most of the time we had. Dressing him in cute outfits, long conversations, and looking into his eyes full of love- all made the painful times worth it.

Sometimes, even through his hunger and dehydration, he would smile at us and respond in his own sweet little baby ways. I had not known helplessness in this way till I had to hold his wailing, starving body. 

There was nothing else we could do.

We hoped that our love was some sort of a balm for him. 

He would eventually get tired and sleep, only to be fed a few sips every 20 minutes, just to keep his throat from drying. 20 minutes is the time you would finish watching a TED talk, or clear your work space or think about what to cook for dinner. 

We were exhausted.

The milk would go in through the mouth and come straight out from the bottom, like pouring something through a pipe. This routine continued for the next few days. 24x7. I did not have as much milk supply for the 20-minute cycle so we topped it up with formula. 

His liver was first to give way. He developed jaundice.

Even though his yellow eyes still conveyed pure love, ours started betraying him. We now looked at him not only with love but also with a combination of despair, pleading, and resignation. 

Slowly we started admitting to him that we were both helpless and tired. And maybe even ready to let him go. His suffering was far greater than our exhaustion but it did not have to be elongated anymore.

We would kiss him while howling, and place his tiny frame on our chest, close to our hearts. His body lacked the energy to move even an arm on its own now, and yet he would look at us with the purest love we had ever known. He gave us the sweetest smiles, like he wanted us to know the highest form of love without saying a word. 

Gradually his schedule started getting more unpredictable. Either he would not sleep or he would not wake up, sometimes even for 12 hours. The doctor told us that this meant his end was near. We were still singing to him, dressing him up and enjoying the little time we had together as a trio, but now we were checking if he was still breathing every now and then.



Then, on a Sunday afternoon, we noticed his breathing was more laboured than usual. A phone call to the doctor revealed that this meant his lungs were beginning to fail. Most probably, they had a fluid build-up. She proposed sending an instrument that could help him breathe easier at home. 

While we waited for the machine to arrive, Rahul decided to hold him while I took a quick shower. I saw only Rahul’s back, and his shoulders slightly moving, on the balcony as I rubbed my hair dry. I walked towards him and heard a sobbing father begging his son to go. He said he had nothing more to offer. I rushed to them and embraced them both.

Our little family was so perfect right now, and yet so imperfect. We all deeply loved each other, yet we were all in our own version of pain. We tried to support each other, yet we were alone in what we felt. We wanted our son, but we kept begging him to go. 

Life had been unfair.

I took Rushil in my arms, wanting to feel his little body as close to me as possible. His little frame that was created inside of me, the dreams that we had mentally shared, the storybooks that I wanted to read to him… all felt like betrayals.

Almost like he could telepathically hear my thoughts, he opened his eyes and looked at me. As if he could not bear my pain anymore, he took three laboured breaths and then stopped breathing completely.

Our son was gone. 

He had left us and this world that had nothing to offer him. We held on to his lifeless body till panic finally set in. We then rushed to the hospital, half in hope and half knowing that we wanted the hospital staff to get a chance to say their goodbyes to him. 

Our charming one had charmed his way into so many hearts. There were so many wet eyes in the hospital that day. 

In his short life, Rushil had not only made us parents, he had also helped us experience various forms and magnitudes of love. He had made us go through our worst fears and helped us realise that life still goes on. 

He made us grateful in ways we would never outgrow. 



Both Rahul and me had a lot to deal with. We were sad, angry, helpless and, also relieved. There was so much we had lost that it seemed natural to even lose ourselves. It took us more than a year to get used to the emotional pain, I wouldn’t say get over it, because how can a parent ever get over their child! 

We had to relearn how to live, this time with a constant emotional pain. We grieved, we cried, and we healed. We were sure that we only wanted to focus on ourselves. A lot of people around us wanted us to behave like our child was never born, they got uncomfortable when we talked about Rushil. ‘Have another one’ was the most repeated, and the most insensitive advice we got from multiple sources. 

We had support, yet in many ways we were all alone. 



After about one and a half years we both decided to go back to the same doctors and talk about having a second child. Those doctors had been so supportive and transparent that we could only trust them now. 

Soon, we were pregnant with our second one. This pregnancy was completely opposite of my first; I was anxious and sick all the time. I had acidity, vomiting, nausea...the works. We were doing several extra detailed tests and our pregnancy was being monitored by a genetic expert this time. Every day of the pregnancy I had to remind myself that we couldn’t be unlucky twice. 

I had medical science backing me up because even though the condition Rushil had was genetic, it rarely did happen with the same set of parents twice.



Two years and some months later, Rahul and me were in the same hospital with almost the same staff, going through labor. Aseem was born the next day. He looked so much like his elder brother. 

He is 3 years old now and is the naughtiest child we have ever come across. Our home is fuller, louder and life is taking shape. In him, we have found laughter, lightness, and joy again. He seems to be here to receive everything that Rushil gave us- our love, attention and blessings. 

Every day we thank our Rusha for coming back to us. 

And every day we move forward- with love, and with gratitude.

Aseem, Rahul and Charu in 2018

We decided to share our story because we wanted the world to know that there is pain, but there is always hope. It just depends on what we focus on. We want to thank the medical staff who took care of us and made us trust humanity. We want to thank all our family and friends for being a part of our journey in their own ways and helping us heal. We want to thank you for reading and humbly hope that our story will help you or your loved one in some way. Like they said, a single thread of hope is still stronger than an entire rope of doubts.

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This story was first published in 2018. Aseem is now 11. He has grown into a sensitive and charming boy. He continues to be ‘slightly’ naughty. 

Rushil is also present in our lives every day- in the pictures on our walls, in celebrations through the year, and in a special place in our hearts. 

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* If you found this story inspiring then don't forget to share, comment, like and subscribe to The Hope Tribe.You can be the instrument of Hope for someone by spreading these inspirational tales. Thanks for reading, Mallika Bhatia, Founder The Hope Tribe