Becoming a mother and staying as one.

I must have been 15 when I first went to the orphanage run by Udhavum Karangal (Helping Hands) along with a bunch of girls from Cauvery Guides Group. I went for a few months. I remember two kids very well. Selvi - curly, brown hair with tawny ends, and squarish face. She always held my left hand and clung to it tightly. My right hand belonged to Ramu whose legs were wasted by polio. His parents had abandoned him at Kanchipuram bus station after telling him that they were taking him to the city for medical treatment. Ramu was good at art and I taught him to draw cartoons. Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck and stuff. He had never seen a cartoon in his life. I stopped going there when I had board exams to prepare for. But, their faces remain etched in my heart. They were the ones who inspired me to be a mother and to adopt.

For many years, even before Angelina Jolie went on to make her beautiful, multi-racial family, I had wanted to adopt a child from each continent and have a rainbow family of my own. I remember long chat sessions with my dear friend Rana El-Khatib discussing child names. She suggested one name that I cannot ever forget. Hadeer. She said it was the sound of the sea waves lashing on to the shore. That sounded perfect given my eternal love for beaches, most of all, Elliots Beach in Besant Nagar. I had names for 7 kids of mine. This was back in 2001.

I came back to India to become a surrogate mother to an awesome nephew and adorable niece. Anerudh lived with me for some time. FB memories reminds me that 7 years ago, today, I posted this about what Ane told me.

"I am going to tell all my friends in school today about all the great things in my new home and how nice you are," said Anerudh. Should I take it as "One step for good start and a giant leap for potential success in parenting?"

Whether I was going to get married or not, I wanted to adopt when the time was right. But then, I fell in love, got married with a person who knew I wanted to adopt but then, things don't always work to plan, do they? Adopting, rather accepting another person as your own requires a lot of love, compassion and strength. Many things and people have to come together. Not everyone is geared for attendant concerns and issues. After much deliberation and time, I decided that I had to become a mother. If not adoption, my own at least. I was 40 by then.

It was an agonising decision. My age, my health condition, the risk of having a child with disabilities, not that I wanted a perfect child but the worry about how the child would do in the long run without me around - everything weighed in on my head. I got pregnant but for 5 months till my amniocentosis (which itself carries the risk of miscarriage) could be complete, I just put my head down. On the day I picked up the test results, I cried misinterpreting the results before I took it to the doctor. My friend Ruchika and Sakthi had to calm me down before I reached the Doc's place. No, the child was fine. I wouldn't have to lose the child.

The next few months were a blur with me puking my way through the finish line. Even after the boy was born, till he responded to our voice, turned and looked, crawled, walked and said his first words, there was this nagging fear that my child may pay a price for my love for children and to becoming a mother. As I keep reminding myself every day, I won the lottery in having a child with no health or mental issues.

I endured 8 months of post partum depression with a nearly perfect child. I wept for no reason, avoided even eye contact with people, wanted to die, leap off my balcony or run into a lorry or bus. But, every time, dark feelings overtook me, I reminded myself that I brought my child into this world and it was my responsibility to be there for him. I can't run away. I had to stay put. I had to fight back. I had to battle the demons in my own head. Somehow, I did.

Today, I saw this video https://www.facebook.com/georgehtakei/videos/1425476870852995/ and wept. How lucky I have been so far. The things I take for granted. And, how hard it is for many around me. Every day that I lose my temper, become overwhelmed with being a mother, be impatient and show it on my child, I remind myself of all the mothers with special children. When I worked as a volunteer at the Cancer Institute, I have seen mothers walk in with infants too young to even understand the deadly disease ravaging their bodies. A concoction of emotions - fear, hope, sorrow and desperation shadowed their faces. Every one of those mothers, them with battles of their own that I wouldn't be able to understand, not being able to enjoy all that I still do but marching on with love, patience and sheer determination for their children. I have no bloody reason to complain. Life is good. I just have to keep trying harder and harder and never give up. Ever.