41 – But I’m His Mother, Not Her!

Before we continue, I wanted to pause here and say a couple of things:

I am loath to write negative things about people. This series is not written with the intention of complaining about anyone or bringing them down. I write my truth so that, one day, if my children read this, they will know how much they were and are loved, and in the hope that my story and learnings can be of help to others in some way.

It is with this in mind that I write these next chapters, and I ask you, as the reader, to be just as kind in the comments to those I write about as you are to me. They are real people who may one day read this. The children I write about are real, innocent children, whom I birthed, who may read these chapters about the people who brought them up, whom they love dearly.

When my guru Om Swami ji wrote His memoir, If Truth Be Told, He had to write about some difficult interactions with His guru and how He was treated while serving at His guru’s ashram. Swami ji was completely objective in the way He wrote those chapters. He simply stated the facts and never spoke, or has ever spoken, disrespectfully of his guru. In fact, Swami ji regularly expresses His gratitude for His guru’s role in helping Him to achieve what He wanted, to discover His own truth. Swami ji told us that at times, He still visualises His guru’s feet and kisses them with reverence. This is how much love He has in His heart, no matter what his guru said or did in the past.

Swami ji sets the highest ideal for us, and it is my duty as his disciple to follow suit as best I can. Those of you who know me and have heard me speak about my children know that I harbour no ill will at all in my heart for Maanav, Maya and the rest of the family. I truly believe what happened had to happen for a reason.

Obviously, I didn’t always feel this way. So, when I write, I write from two perspectives: me then, and me now.

When I write in the present tense, I write how I felt at the time. Please be reassured I am completely at peace now and I send Maanav and the family only love and gratitude.

June 2001

I never thought I’d be one of those mums who cry watching their children perform in school. I used to think it was so silly when I watched movies or TV shows with parents weeping with pride as if their toddler had just won an Oscar.

But here I am now, streaming eyes, a snotty nose, the works, watching my Jai perform in nursery school for the very first time. I’m grinning and waving at him. He spots me in the audience and smiles back. He’s wearing the hat we decorated and painted together on the weekend at Nani’s house. His grin is just as wide as mine, and his eyes are twinkling. God, this kid is soooo cute; who made him? Oh yeah, right, I did 🙂

Ooh, ooh, wait, Jai’s solo part is coming up. He has a couple of lines about the sunshine and his happy hat, and of course, he delivers them perfectly! This child has the voice of an angel, I tell ya. Yes, yes, I know, all mums think that about their children, but Jai and Veer are so adorable! They are the best! Oops, the waterworks again.

The performance is over, and we’re told refreshments are being served outside. I nip to the loo to fix myself and quickly blow my nose. Stepping out into the grounds of my son’s prestigious school, my eyes scan the small crowd for Jai. Parents, children and teachers are mingling on the lawn. I see some of the kids running around, letting off some post-show steam. Maanav must be here somewhere, too.

Oh, there he is with Jai, talking to a teacher. But there are three of them. Who is that with them? Maanav’s sister? She’s elegantly dressed and has her hand on Jai’s head, lovingly stroking it while she nods at the teachers and chats with them. She’s thanking them for doing a great job with Jai. Hang on a minute; that’s not Maanav’s sister. That’s Maya.

I first heard about Maya in mid-February, around six weeks after Maanav and I separated. Valentine’s Day that week was rough for me, as it was our wedding anniversary. I spent the day eating, drinking, crying and trying to forget my mess.

When I went to the house the following Saturday to collect Jai and Veer, I realised Maanav had not spent Valentine’s Day alone as I had. Jai showed me some chocolate hearts. He said they were a gift for him from an aunty (in our culture, we call not only our blood relatives Aunty and Uncle but anyone of our parents’ generation too; their friends and acquaintances, even strangers of the same age and older, are respectfully referred to as aunties and uncles).

I asked Jai which aunty he was talking about. I asked if it was one of Maanav’s sisters’ friends, as they were always popping over and bringing little treats for the kids. Jai said no; he said it was a new aunty. This aunty was Dad’s friend. Her name was Maya.

His Dad’s new friend? Maya?

I couldn’t believe my ears.

How has Maanav managed to meet someone new and supposedly fallen in love so deeply that he introduces her to his children within six weeks of his wife leaving him?

Alright, alright, I was surprised, but I didn’t want to be with him, did I? And I wanted him to be happy. He deserved to be happy. Everyone deserves to be happy.

…

But maybe now it makes sense why he started distancing me from my babies. Because of her? 

On New Year’s Eve, Maanav was out all night at a party. I’m glad he wasn’t grieving our marriage or moping at home.

It also meant I could see the kids that night. My in-laws let me spend the evening at the house. I put Veer to sleep in his cot, then snuggled up with Jai in his little bed. We chatted, and I read books to him until he dozed off, cuddled up to me. After midnight, I gently slipped out of the bed, kissed him goodnight and a Happy New Year and drove back to High Wycombe. When Maanav found out I had spent the evening with Jai at home, I got into trouble. Jai must have woken up in the morning feeling sad that I wasn’t there. He was crying for me. So, Maanav sent a message to me via his father that I wasn’t allowed to do that again.   

It was not long afterwards that I was told I couldn’t ring the kids to say goodnight either. It was something I had done without fail every evening before that. But one night when I called, after I had spoken to them, Maanav told me I couldn’t call them anymore. He said it wasn’t necessary. I didn’t argue with him. I think I went into shock. I remember standing outside Earl’s Court Station after the last phone call to my children. The phone almost fell from my grasp as my arm went limp and dropped to my side. I looked up at the sky, trying to make sense of what just happened. 

A couple of months after Valentine’s Day, I still hadn’t met Maya, but I would hear bits about her from time to time from Jai. She seemed like a good person and was sweet to Jai and Veer. When Maanav’s grandmother, Ba, passed away, I attended the evening prayers for her at the community centre. That was where I first met Maya.

Ba and I had been very close, and I felt loss at her death. She and the children had given me my happiest memories in that house, but I couldn’t bring myself to go into the house to pay my respects to her body when they brought her in. I tried, but it was too emotional for me. I also hadn’t seen the entire family and extended family since I left, and I felt this wasn’t the time. I wanted to let them grieve without being a cause of distraction.

I drove past the house, and I saw the black hearse outside. I parked farther down the road because there were so many cars around the house and people going in and out. I didn’t want anyone to see me. I sat in the car crying. My heart went out to Jai and Veer; I hoped they were okay. I didn’t know whether they would be sad or even understand what had happened to Ba. I took consolation in the knowledge that they had family with them. I said a prayer for them and Ba and left before the funeral procession departed the house. Nobody knew I had been outside.

By the evening prayers a couple of days later, I had composed myself. As I walked in, I saw a huge framed collage of photos at the hall’s entrance. There were tons of photos of Ba with the family. There were photos of the family at home, at functions, at dinners, and I recognised our trip to the London Eye. But someone was missing from all the photos. Yes, me. I was missing. I had been cut out of every photo.

After the prayer and devotional song programme was over, somebody pointed out Maya to me. I went over to introduce myself.

The first thing I did was introduce myself, then I hugged Maya and thanked her for being so good to the kids. She seemed surprised and tensed up when I hugged her.

We barely got to speak because Maanav showed up right after and whisked her away. That had been my only interaction with Maya until the school. 

…

Why is she standing there like that, talking to the teachers as if she’s his mother? They’ve only been dating for a few months. Why is she behaving as if I don’t exist? This is the first time we’re meeting all the teachers like this. They have no idea who I am. They’re going to think Maya is Jai’s mother.

I feel sick. There is a huge knot in my stomach. It’s fine if he has a girlfriend. It’s fine if she’s close to the kids. But this. No. This doesn’t feel right.

I walk up to the group and congratulate Jai for his performance. I ask him to go play with his friends.

I’m direct with Maanav and Maya. I ask them what they’re playing at.

We are quiet, but the conversation quickly escalates. 

“Why are you acting like his mother right in front of me? You’re not even married!”

“We are getting married,” is Maya’s defiant reply.

I’m in shock. This woman is apparently about to become a stepmother to my children, and nobody thought to tell me about it. I have to find out like this?

The next thing I know, Maya has shoved me, both hands, square in my shoulders. I’m wearing high wedge sandals. As she shoves me, my ankle gives way, and I lose my balance.  

The teachers now catch on to the commotion. They usher me to the exit gate. 

Why me? Why do I have to leave, and she gets to stay? Granted, I look like a hip-hop dancer in my yellow string vest and white combat trousers, and Maanav and Maya are dressed like they’re about to have lunch with the prime minister, but why should that matter? I’m his mother, not her! 

I’m looking for Jai. I can’t see him.

Maanav and Maya are standing at the gates with the teachers and other parents; they’re all looking at me with disgust.

One of the teachers is still shouting at me to leave.

“But I’m his mother, not her,” I whimper as I exit the gate. 

Nobody hears me.