It is not easy to be mother of someone else's child.......

I became mom to a new baby about a couple of days ago!

Hold your breath! I did not give birth to him. He has travelled quite a distance to reach Dubai, all the way from Hungary.

A seven month old Labrador came home with my Big man from the Pet Shop located in his office building, completely unannounced. The daughter and father were ecstatic, the son was clueless whether to be happy or otherwise and I was aghast!

I never thought that the family was incomplete without a dog! The sight of dog’s ‘Poop and Pee’ all around the park adjacent to my house actually makes me nauseate and I curse the dog owners for not cleaning after their dogs. That the dog would relieve himself anywhere or everywhere in the garden or inside the house, was beyond my acceptance limit and hence, an unpardonable act to me.

 The initial shock subsided after few minutes of screaming and giving me no time to gather myself to greet him, the horror started to unfold bit by bit. Hashtag peed right there on the sofa (my most favorite corner where I love to sit with a cup of tea and the morning newspaper!)  I forgot to react and the daughter immediately started explaining how dogs mark their territory by peeing. (How insane is that!)   

The daughter immediately ran to the kitchen to get the roll of kitchen towel and without even a hint of disgust, she wiped the floor with tissue and cleaned with Dettol water. I was horrified to say the least.

…..but lo and behold! There was more to the horror. Before the floor even dried, Hashtag could not control his motion and the rest is not very hard to guess!

I could sense that my days and nights were going to be a complete mess with Hashtag’s arrival while the daughter and her father tried relentlessly to convince me otherwise.

His bed, chewies, food bowl, water bowl, packets of treats and readymade food, toothbrush and toothpaste, shampoo, bath tub, towel, hair brush, two leashes, a harness and a collar, were all unloaded from the car dickey and organized neatly in the store room shelves. I just don’t remember whether there was so much of arrangement when I brought home my babies from the hospital!

In the afternoon, he was set free in the garden to make him familiar with the environment and he peed everywhere in a bid to mark his territory. The husband looked at him with indulgence, the daughter giggled uncontrollably and I was sitting on a garden chair, motionless, speechless and breathless, possibly with anger!

The night descended and after an elaborate discussion between the daughter and father, Hashtag’s bed was laid in the study room and my husband decided to sleep on the sofa to make the dog feel safe and comfortable! I don’t remember if he ever stayed up and awake during nights when children were small!

Fortunately for him and unfortunately for me, the next morning he had to leave station for an assignment. At night, the daughter refused to sleep upstairs leaving her “darling” Hashtag alone and I was left with no choice but to sleep in the living room with her and her “darling”. While she fell asleep within minutes of snuggling under the blanket, Hashtag kept me up and about the entire night with his antics reminding me the days of sleepless nights when the kids were small.

……. and that too, for the dog!! Unbelievable!

In a matter of two days, the green grasses in my garden developed yellow patches (soaked with Hashtag’s urine) and he chose no particular area for his big job! I lost my paradise.

Sleepless, homeless (almost!), with each passing day, frustration was increasing with his unpredictable and erratic toilet habit! Rajeev (a renowned dog trainer) was hired to make Hashtag toilet trained. On the first session, possibly he could sense my emotion towards the animal and dropped a simple line after he was done with the lesson, “Just accept him as he is. He will never be able to understand logically why you are angry with him. But give it some time and he will not give you chance to regret that you brought him home”.

Something clicked. For the first time, I called him to me and looked into his eyes. Hesitantly, he sat in front of me with complete submission. A surge of emotion ran past me – possibly he is missing his mum and the mum, far away in Hungary, is possibly missing her baby. When he grows up in a few months, the mother will never get to know or see how handsome her boy looks. Being the foster mother, the joy and pride will be all mine!

That day, I wore a pair of gloves and cleaned his poop in a plastic bag; took him upstairs and laid his bed by the side of my bed, touched his head softly to say “good night” and switched off the light. He let go off a deep breath, stretched his limbs, looked at me once and fell asleep like a baby knowing in his mind that I have finally accepted him.

Today, when I closed the door behind me while leaving for office, I could decipher the look in his eyes. He certainly wanted to say, “When will you come home, Mom?”  

Being mother is a tough task and being mother of someone else’s child is doubly tough. Howsoever tough it might be, how can I not love someone as cute and handsome like my Hashtag with deep brown eyes and a button nose!!!

 (I was allowed the honor to name him)

 

 

 

Agony and ecstasy of a mother of a pre-teen girl

Even though there is no gender bias, I always wanted my first child to be a girl. On a cold January afternoon, when she had to be taken out with a C-Section prematurely for medical reasons, even the attending Pediatrician had doubted her survival. At the same time, he emphasized that mother’s care was the only medicine for her and I took up motherhood full-time.

The frail baby with pink lips, head-full of curly hair and long eyelashes, held my finger tightly in the embrace of her tiny weak fingers when I first held her and possibly, that is, so far, the most precious moment of my life!    

From that moment onwards, she has given me countless moments for me to feel ecstatic as her mother!

She is known be mature, responsible and caring amongst friends and teachers in school and amongst friends and relatives. I feel blessed!

At home, she is my ‘first-point-of-contact’ during moments of distress. When memory fails me as to where I have kept a very important document that her father handed over to me for safe keeping or the tuning key for my son’s drum set , she comes to my rescue,” Mom, check in the topmost drawer on your left in your wardrobe”. Sense of relief breezes past me when I find things exactly where she says and I hug her with a happy grin! My forgetfulness has become legendary in the family after innumerable incidents of losing things or not being able to remember where I have kept them. She is officially responsible now for safekeeping of things and I live a life free of stress!! I feel blessed!

As she loves to cook, she has been going to a culinary school to hone her skills. Some days, when I just do not feel like entering into the kitchen, she happily wears her Chef-cap, flips through the pages of her recipe book, does a stock-taking for ingredients in the refrigerator and the rest is……

…….sheer BLISS!!!  I feel blessed!!     

The list is long when I feel myself blessed to have her in my life and I thought mothering her would simply be full of ecstasy and devoid of agony!!

I didn’t have reasons to believe otherwise until she turned 12 in January. Officially, she entered into pre-teen and will enter into “the hallowed hall of Teens” in ten more months precisely! There has been innumerable articles and reports on how to handle “teenaged children” and all documents, published or unpublished, screams that it is the most difficult phase of parenthood as well as for the children. Well, I do feel scared. Just to keep myself prepared for the occasion, these days, I read through any article related to “Good Parenting” in one breath while the storm is brewing……

While I debate with myself as to how to handle this when she starts showing up symptoms of “teenage tantrums”, I wonder whether our parents also had to go through all these! We also had passed through that very sensitive phase of life called “adolescence” with our share of infatuation, falling in love at the drop of a hat or nursing a broken heart. Have we ever noticed our parents being stressed about all such issues? Nah, at least, I don’t remember as regards my parents are concerned.

 ….but as everyone says, “Time has changed”. And hence, method of parenting also needs to be changed. While the debate goes on in my head as to how to make her understand what is wrong and what is right for her, she is busy “Whatsapping” her friends in her i-phone.

Now, after so much of knowledge accumulated by reading all those articles or hearing from parents who already have teenage children, just as I started feeling “well-equipped”, my pre-teen princess came home from school with lot of excitement and asked me, “Mom, is it OK with you if I invite two of my friends to our house on Thursday? Actually, they are, sort of, dating and want some cool place to hang out so they can understand each other better. We have this lake and the park behind our house and it’s nice. So just in case you agree……”   

I almost went blank when she dropped those words so casually - ”Dating”, “cool”, “hang out”, “understand each other better” ! She is only 12 and so are her friends!! For the first time I realized how much time has changed. At least, in my time, when I was of their age, the thought of “understanding each other” never crossed my mind!

 Mentally, I was searching through all those articles that I have read which might give me a clue as to how to handle this and there was no answer. I had to figure it out myself.

My days of agony have just started, I guess……

I don’t think there is any rule book for parenting. The best rule, for me, is to trust the “mother’s instinct”.

Enjoy the agony and ecstasy of being a mother. Happy parenting, all you mothers!

 

Life is about making choices!

Even though I was the only child of my parents, I never had to grow up as a lonely child! Being part of a very big and extended joint family, with quite a few number of cousins, uncles and aunts, always made me feel secure emotionally. I always felt that I was part of a big circle and in times of need, someone or the other would always be there to hold my hand, wipe my tears, stay by my side during my moments of sadness and would celebrate my moments of joy with me with equal elation!

  Even after so many years that I am away from all of them, pre-marriage and post-marriage, and even though I get to meet them after a long gap, I still feel equally attached with each one of them. To make a trip to my village every six months was almost a ritual for me when I was in Delhi even if that would require good amount of permutation / combination in order to match my work holidays with holidays of my children and travel schedule of my husband. If I had to miss the visit for some reason, the flood gates of my tear ducts would remain open perpetually till the next visit, fact notwithstanding, that parents would visit us every 3/4 months!

Lot of people, failed to understand why I was emotionally so high-strung as regards my visit to my village, more so when parents visited so often. How would I make them understand that other than my parents, there were so many people and so many things in that big circle of which I was a part and I missed each one of them!

.......the muddy road, the pond in front of my house full of hyacinth and mosquitoes, the memory-strewn school building where I studied under the careful eyes of my beloved teachers, the ever-inquisitive, enthusiastic but affectionate neighbors - everything was a part of that big circle. Hence going back to that place was equivalent to going to a pilgrimage for me, and it still is! Sometimes, I also wonder that possibly so much of attachment is not good for the soul. To make life a little less complicated, we should sometimes try to make the circle a little smaller.

......and even if I have tried few times to snip some part of that big circle, I failed to figure out as to who or what is unnecessary as regards my existence is concerned !  

Before even the dilemma was sorted as to who and what should stay within that big circle, I moved further away to Dubai from Delhi. Delhi was my second home. I loved the city so much from the day I landed there with a job all the way from Kolkata that I made up my mind to set up my permanent home in that ever-busy big city full of chaos, traffic jam and unknown people but full of life ! The dream finally came true when after few years of marriage, we purchased our own nest in the outskirts of Delhi that is Greater Noida!   

Once I moved to Dubai, I was hopeful that possibly distance would help me to squeeze that circle to only few people and few things which I supposed, were extremely close to my heart! On the contrary, after a few months of life in a far-away land away from all things near and dear, I felt the same ache of separation for few things and few people in Greater Noida as well. Every now and then, I feel a desperate urge to go back to that place to my kitty group friends, to my office buddies, to my neighbors who are as dear to me as my parents, to the evening prayer in the temple in the housing society and so on…..

Distance, in fact, has made the circle grow bigger!

…..and as if that was not enough addition to my dilemma, when a dear friend in Dubai lost her mother suddenly and rushed to Kolkata to bid “good bye” to her mother with tearful eyes, my eyes also welled up. The heart ached for her as well! I realized that my circle has grown even bigger with time and now it has taken few people and few things in Dubai as well within its periphery!

Realization dawned suddenly. The simple rule of geometry says as we go further from the center, the circle is bound to grow bigger until and unless we try to shift the center. But is it so easy to shift the center? Isn’t it the very essence of our existence? Shifting away from the center tantamount to denying the roots – isn’t it? We certainly can choose not to be a part of our own circle and stand and observe from the periphery. That would possibly give us the freedom of movement with less burden like a fallen leaf from a tree but it would certainly not give us the sense of security that we enjoy when we are part of a big circle! After all , how long can a fallen leaf float in the air? and it gets crushed under anyone's and everyone's feet, the moment it touches ground.....

Attachment brings lots of baggage to tug along but at the same time, ensures that someone will always be there in time of need to wipe our tears, to hold our hands, to share the sorrow and joy. I choose to stay attached and be a part of a circle and I no longer try to make the circle smaller rather I let it grow as big as it can!  

   

From my Pink Diary

 

If anyone would have ever asked me which part of my body I loved the most, I would have replied without even blinking that it was my long hair!

Yes, I had lovely hair – long, thick, black and shining as silk and I loved it the way it was. The love for those silky strands of hair grew more after June, 1999, when I met my tall, dark, handsome big man for the first time and when we were trying to strike a conversation during the lunch break of our professional meeting, his opening line to the conversation was, ‘’ Wow, you have lovely hair!”

After marriage and children, schedules for days and nights went for a major toss. Managing two little kids, a job and a house left little time indeed to take care of my crowning glory. Primarily because of that and secondarily, because the fashion bug hit me with lot of severity, I cut it short to a manageable length much to the dismay of my big man and my dad. The wavy curls adored me till I fell ill with Breast Cancer.

The first meeting with the Oncologist put my apprehension to rest when he described the side effects of chemotherapy that I would certainly lose my hair during the treatment. While the husband was more concerned about lot of other things related to the treatment and the disease, I only had one question to the doctor, “when do you think I shall get back my hair, if at all it comes back”. Even though the doctor assured me that the after-growth will be much nicer, I was literally in tears imagining myself looking ugly with a bald head. While everybody, who loves and cares for me, was praying for my life, I secretly started praying to be spared the trauma of losing my hair and go bald!

Eventually, when the inevitable happened and I had no option but to accept it, I got myself a wig – stylish and trendy which sat pretty on my “cute, bald” head (my son never let go a chance of telling me how cute my bald head looked). The first time a picture of mine was put up in Facebook by a dear friend of mine with that wig, there were quite a number of compliments to tell me that I looked beautiful with my new hair style!  The day I joined back office, my colleagues agreed unanimously that “I rocked the look”. As I was getting comfortable and used to it, my children had something different to say when I asked them about my new look,” The wig is very nice Ma but you look more real and natural without the wig. Get rid of it”.

…….I stopped wearing the wig and started wearing head-scarf as I was still not comfortable walking down the street with a hair-less head, howsoever real and natural I might look.  

In a span of few days, a decent collection of scarves was sitting neatly in my cupboard and just when I started to appreciate my new look with colorful scarves, it was already peak summer in this desert land. Walking down to and from office in sweltering heat with a scarf on was not a very comfortable thing and when I  mentioned this to my son one day just after entering home from office, he startled me with his logic why I should not cover my head with scarf :

“Ma, on your way to and from office, you meet many people but do you personally know any one of them? They might be visitors or tourists or whatever. So, when you do not know them, why do you have to worry how they feel about your look, if they feel anything at all? Those who know you, they know exactly why you don’t have hair. You look very pretty with or without hair and we all love you so much.”

He took the scarf away from my head, wiped the sweat and said,” From this moment, you are going around as you are”.

…….with tears in my eyes, I promised him that I would flaunt my “cute, bald” head without any inhibition. All of my friends and colleagues again agreed that “I rocked the punk look”.

The treatment is over and my “cute, bald” head is now covered with baby-soft layers of hair. Even though, I had intention of allowing my hair to grow long, I changed my mind the previous day and got a crew cut. Standing in front of the mirror, I took a close look at myself and quite liked my new look. Strangely, for the first time in few months, I was not missing my hair.

Possibly it was God’s own way of telling me not to get too attached to something as trivial as few strands of hair. With the same logic, I refused to subject myself to the trauma and agony of reconstruction surgery as I feel quite comfortable and complete even without a certain body part (I had to undergo a mastectomy of left breast).

To learn to detach comes with great difficulty. If there should be any attachment with something on this earth, let it be with and only with my Almighty who lifted my soul from gloom each moment during the ordeal of losing my hair and getting them back and let it be with few people who I found standing next to me each moment I wanted to hold someone’s hand to give me strength.

My wonderful family and friends, you are my only attachment on this earth and I care for nothing else.

Stay healthy and happy, all of you!

 

 

From my Pink Diary.........

I walked for the Pink Walkathon today for creating awareness for Breast Cancer with my friends by my side. While taking the walk, in my mind I was re-living those few months when the dread of the disease tried to overtake everything else in life.

As each day, I tried to keep myself strong enough to take the battle head-on, the small gestures from friends all over (a phone call just to check how I was doing, a BBM message just to tell me that I must not give much importance to the disease, messages on Facebook to tell me how courageously I had been fighting, a coffee evening with my Dubai gang of girls just to let me know how much they care for me) added to my strength and I felt blessed , each day and each moment!

As each day, I tried to get on with life notwithstanding the side-effects of chemo-therapy, my two lovely children reminded me each moment that I was the most “wonderful mom” in this world so what if I could not make “tasty” breakfast and lunch pack for school owing to my sickness or I could not attend their assembly or Parent-Teacher meeting. Just when I was too concerned with my hair-less head and I was sure from within that I looked very ugly without my crowning glory, they reminded me each day how gorgeous and cute I looked even without hair. I felt blessed each day and each moment!

As each day I tried hard so that pain and suffering must not show on my face or my voice must not quiver when I talked to them on phone, each member of my family back home (who were aware) also tried very hard to put up a brave front just to add to my strength and courage even though they were worrying sick and breaking from within. I felt as if all of them were around me all the time with their prayers and blessings just to protect me from all evils. I felt blessed each day and each moment!

As on a chemo-therapy session, a sudden and unexpected but severe allergic reaction almost dragged me to the death’s doorstep, I could only feel the tight embrace of my “big man” in my state of semi-consciousness. As he had been praying to Almighty for my life, he held me tight just to let me know that even death would not be able to snatch me from his embrace without a fierce fight. I felt blessed!

As when I was trying to find means to keep me meaningfully engaged and active so that I could keep my mind off from the thought of the dreadful disease and I made a casual call to my office, I was told to report next day. I was given enough liberty to choose my schedule suiting to my health as each of my colleague hugged me with a smile and said, “Welcome back, Minakshi”. I felt blessed!

The battle is over now and I see myself as a winner but I wonder, without the support of all these people around me, would this have been possible! I doubt! Is there anything more overwhelming than knowing how much I am loved by all of my lovely friends and family?

I feel blessed each day and each moment for this life!!

All my wonderful friends and family, stay healthy and happy – always and more importantly, love life and live life as much as you possibly can!!!

From my Pink Diary

(The past few days have been a little difficult for me with the cumulative side effects of chemotherapy being  at its peak with an add-on viral infection to battle with but then, I must not forget to explore the silver linings even within such mess….)

I have always been envious of girls who are taller than me even by a fraction of an inch as I could not reach to even a very moderate height of five feet. That made me terribly “height sensitive” since an early age. Just to overcome that sensitivity and fear that children of mine might inherit my  “height” related gene, I secretly dreamt for a very tall groom for myself (the image of Amitabh Bachhan – Jaya Bhaduri was ingrained in my mind).

After a massive search and drama (the story of my getting married to my tall husband has been told and retold on many occasions), I finally was married to a “tall, dark and handsome” person and thanked Almighty for his fairness of judgment!

Yes, the first time I saw him in a professional gathering, in a crisp white shirt, black trouser and a maroon tie, walking tall carrying a stylish leather satchel in one hand and a note pad in another, his destiny was sealed ( or rather mine!). Fortunately or unfortunately, he was chosen to be representing the 23 Chartered accountant Firms including mine. When he started the talking in impeccable English (another weakness of mine – being a village girl, I never got the chance to study in an English – medium school and always watch people respectfully from a distance who can speak English like an English man), my favorite Goddess ( Ma Durga) was flooded with fervent prayers.  My prayers were answered within a reasonable time frame and I got the chance to flaunt my “tall, dark, handsome” husband to my neighbors and villagers with a hint of visible pride!!

We settled in regular life but always made it a point to go out for a walk every evening after coming back home from our respective places of work. Even when the daughter was born, our schedule of a 40-minutes’ walk with the baby in her stroller, was not broken. We both looked fit and healthy and enjoyed the time together with so much to talk, relevant and irrelevant.

……and then suddenly, things changed. He joined a corporate house in a profile which demands extensive travelling and if we would have kept a log, he has ever since, clearly spent more time in the airport lounges around the world than he has spent at home. By that time, I became mother to a boy and life was a roller-coaster ride for both of us in our respective ways.

…..our schedule of “walking-together” was taken over by his packing, unpacking and repacking for tours and my time was divided precariously between job, children and household! My “tall dark and handsome” man started to show up the symptoms of “MNC Executives” by piling on weight on his straight and trim frame!!

All these years, even after trying very hard, we could not make even a 10-minutes stroll together (well, I firmly believe that there was lack of will from his side but could not ignore at the same time, the amount of stress and fatigue with so much of travelling).

Then the tragedy struck from a hidden corner and our world went into a spin one more time! But then, I do believe that everything happens for a reason if only we can see beyond the obvious. Just to take full advantage of the situation, I made it a point that my taking care of myself was fully contingent upon his taking care of himself and he must get me back my “tall, dark and handsome” man as soon as possible.    

An immediate visit was made to “Go Sports” to purchase track pants and tees, the walking shoes were taken out of the cupboard and dusted off and alarm was set at 5.30 am the next morning. My man has taken the challenge seriously even though, I would not be able to accompany him till end of July when my treatment would be over.

I am sure, we will enjoy very soon our “walking-together” time again by the sea shore with cool morning breeze sweeping past us and we would again be talking on so many things, relevant and irrelevant while sipping “low fat, no sugar” coffee occasionally.

All this while, I will be waiting eagerly to fall in love with the tall, dark and handsome man all over again who stole my heart away at the first instance 14 years ago.

Wish you all the best in your challenge my Big Man.

All of you, my lovely friends, you don’t need an excuse to steal some “walk-together” time with your loved one. Life does not wait for anyone – make the most of it while it is still yours. Stay healthy, stay happy and enjoy life!!!!

From my Pink Diary

Losing few kilos while being on a forced diet of fruits and lemon water is the sweetest side effect of chemotherapy….

I always hold a grudge against God that there has been unfair distribution of height to ladies in His world; otherwise why would ladies and girls like Shilpa Shetty, Anouska Sharma and Deepika Padukon have the pleasure of towering over others whereas ladies like me always have to stand in the front row while a group photograph is clicked! I always feel that I have been deprived of my right of standing tall physically in a crowd. The sensitive matter of ‘height’ became almost “over –sensitive” when my dad had to write 5’ 0” in matrimonial communications just to give an illusionary effect of being of average height like an average Bengali girl. Understandably, I am too sensitive to the magic word of “tall and slim”.

After I landed in Dubai, first few months were lazy rolls on the couch at home and endless hours of stroll in the malls. I was continuously on the search of keeping myself engaged meaningfully while enjoying my much-deserved break from life’s crazy run during the last few years. During the process of exploration, my observation gave me an insight that even though I could not do anything to increase my height at an age when the bones would not stretch length-wise but I could always reduce the ‘body mass’ to fit into the category of “slim and petit”. Just as I started wishing that there should be a health club around my residential locality, Studio Fitness opened its doors to countless enthusiasts like me. With little nudging from my husband, I entered into the world of “yoga, zumba and weight lifting” hoping each day that fitting into size 10 from size 14 would be only months away!!

Well, while I had been following the regimen religiously and few friends also commented that I looked more toned, I could not find much change myself and after relentless trials in the trial room of various stores in the malls, I could only fit into size 12 but getting into size 10 was a distant dream!!

…….after almost a year, I said “Quit”. Probably there was much more into reaching that dream of looking ‘slim and petit’.

Knowing me as not a quitter, my search on weight-loss secrets were on and I finally hit upon the conclusion that gym-run had to be in tandem with a ‘proper diet’. Another search began and almost all diet plans advised to stay away from ‘carbs’. I hit the first roadblock – being a die-hard Bengali, plateful of rice with fish curry is my biggest weakness and staying away from carbs was just IMPOSSIBLE for me!

 …..but dreams sometimes can be very persuasive! As if to give my dream the last push, Bodyworx opened just below my tower with a massive layout of machines, balance balls, kettle bells, treadmills, dance floors and what not! I could not resist the pull when I saw people thronging there and huffing and puffing on the machines and almost all of them fell in the category of “slim and fit”. I entered Bodyworx nervously one morning and was guided to a ‘personal trainer’ by the receptionist.

…… I set upon another journey towards attaining my dream of losing those stubborn kilos!

After some ‘critical calculation’, the trainer churned out that I should ideally weigh 55 kilos to go with my height and I was overweight by 9 kilos!! As regards the diet plan, when I mentioned my weakness on ‘rice’, he flashed a very pleasant smile and assured that I could eat my staple ‘rice with fish curry’ but only with slight change – “shift to brown rice from white rice”!!!

An immediate visit to the supermarket replaced the bags of India Gate Basmati Rice in my grocery cabinet with Tilda Long Grain Basmati Brown Rice with lots of protests from all members of the family. The taste of pristine white long grain India Gate Basmati rice was certainly too good to be compared with taste of brown rice of any brand and quality. After the initial protests subsided, we all made a conscious decision to shift to eating healthy and to our surprise, we all started liking the taste gradually.    

..... every month the weighing machine showed a little ‘shedding’ of those stubborn kilos and pushed me to go a little further in trying new techniques, machines and healthy diet!

Possibly seeing all these, God took pity on me and wanted the whole process of losing weight a little less effortless!

After the diagnosis, the finalization of the treatment plan and surgery, I had to say “Goodbye” to Bodyworx and to my wonderful personal trainer who was sure that I would come back after a short break and would start from where I left!! Thank you Sherwin that you showed this confidence in me as I hate to quit something which I started enjoying! I would go back, for sure…..

The chemotherapy started and suddenly without even realizing, I am on a forced diet of lots of fruits, lemon water, and soupy curry without even a hint of spice and WHITE RICE as these only suit my chemo-ridden taste buds. Every time, the nurse asks me stand on the weighing machine, the reading makes me very happy as it has been showing a steady decrease!! The last reading before the therapy session last week, the machine surprised me with a reading of “59.2” and I was elated.

……Voila! I am only 4 kilos away from the ideal weight that my trainer calculated and I am certain, that with three more sessions of therapy, the final reading is certainly going to show “55”.

The Therapy sessions and the associated side effects are not at all pleasant to bear with, but dreams do not always come true without pain and suffering, right? While approaching my dream of looking ‘slim and fit’, this much pain and suffering I will endure with a smile for sure!!!