July 2023 – whatmamathinks

I detangled my hair with grim determination. “I will win this battle today even if I go bald in the process.” I thought, gnashing my teeth. Once the tangles were mindfully untangled, I looked up in the mirror. There was a halo of frizz around my head. I had read a meme somewhere which said something to the effect of those who have naturally curly or wavy hair, they are not doing well in this heat. They look like alpacas. That was me in front of the mirror, after 15 minutes of determined detangling. I was an alpaca. I sighed as I rubbed some argan oil to calm the frizz down.

I have written a lot about my hair and my love/hate relationship with it. I have worn it long for most of my life and also worn it very short for about 10 years. Since childhood I grew up not loving my hair. The standard set for little girls was ‘reshmi zulfein’ (silky straight hair) by media, shampoo companies, hair oil companies. My hair was the opposite. Thick, unruly (read wavy), frizzy. I tried hard to tame it. For years, I diligently straightened it to get the silky, straight sheen till I didn’t. One day, I was late for work. I washed my hair but didn’t have the time to dry it or straighten it. People at work stopped me to ask what I had done, it looked so lovely. It had naturally curled itself. That was the day I felt liberated. No more drying, no more straightening. I was going natural.

I still put a comb through my hair though. Lately, we are experiencing intense humidity in our area. And the frizz has been out of control, to say the least. One day, I did not comb my hair after washing it. I put some leave in conditioner, some argan oil and put my fingers through my hair. And I got compliments. “Your hair looks lovely.” What?? The more I let go, the better I look? 🙂

I write all of the above in jest, of course. I do take care of it, brush it before bed time. The point I am trying to make is, at the end of the day, I have reached a place where I feel comfortable with who I am.

My little cousin sent me a poem recently that truly resonated with me.

Blooming Bare

And after the tears had dried,

my vision and voice became clear.

From my darkest shadow pierced the purest light.

I found myself:

Bruised, beautiful, and bare

Stripped of every comfort

but clothed in truth.

Blooming where I was once broken.

– Morgan Richard Olivier

It is age? Is it grief? Is it a combination of both? But I feel myself evolve from my earlier insecure, self doubting self. I look at myself in the mirror these days and look beautiful in my own eyes. I don’t care about how others see me. When I apply kajol to my eyes, or put on lipstick, I do them for myself. I have learned the art of saying a polite but assertive ‘no’ to things I don’t wish to do. I don’t conjure up excuses any more. I simply say I don’t want to do that and hence, no, I will not. I have become politely assertive. My feelings are not hurt as easily. I have lowered my expectations from others, including my family. I mindfully practice kindness to others and myself. I practice empathy. Everyone is fighting their own battles, I try to remember that. If I like something I always comment on it. Life is short and people will remember how you made them feel. I try to understand the changing world around me by reading books. Books help me take a closer look at my implicit biases and act on them. They have been my best friends throughout this journey. They have taught me, entertained me, made me cry and laugh out loud. They have given me words that I needed to hear and find solace in the thought that I was not alone as I lived through dark times.

I was not just broken but shattered just 2 years ago. I don’t know if I am blooming but I am putting pieces of me together. Not brushing my hair may seem like letting myself go but it is quite the opposite really. In my case, it is coming together. It is realizing my worth which is not dependent on the norms set by society. It is the knowledge that I like the person I have become, wet, uncombed hair and all. 🙂

I have been married to a picky eater for almost 25 years now. At the beginning of our relationship, Sean was more versatile in his food habits. He ate a little chicken, a meatball sub now and then, some swordfish on special occasions. He never loved non veg fare but he still ate it occasionally. We could go to a restaurant and he could order fish or a chicken dish. Then India destroyed it for me. We moved to India for 6 years and he discovered vegetarian delight – more specifically North Indian veg delights – dal, paneer makhni, garlic naan. After our stint in Delhi we came back to US with a more fussy Sean than ever before. Instead of expanding his culinary venture after being in a country with fascinating culinary culture, he retracted it. And my problems begun.

He gave up all kinds of meat including fish. For a vegetarian, he does not eat vegetables like cauliflower, mushroom, cabbage, peppers…..and the list goes on. He is very self sufficient and fends for himself at home unless I make his favorite food from the goodness of my heart. But it is always difficult to choose a restaurant to dine with him. Instead of looking for something that I would like to eat, I scan the menu for possibilities for Sean. Most restaurants have veggie entrès made of peppers or portabello mushrooms which are untouchables for him. So we move on to the next restaurant and the next. To be fair to him though, he always encourages me to go to the restaurant of my choice. “I will find something ” he says.

We went to New Orleans for a getaway without the kids a few years ago. This restaurant crisis became more acute in a city where even the red beans were cooked with sausage. I forlornly walked past one restaurant after another which boasted delicious non veg cuisine but had hardly any vegetarian choices. Finally we ended up at pizza places and a Mexican restaurant. IN NEW ORLEANS!!

Since the pandemic hit, we stopped eating out, of course. Now we have started ordering takeout. And I see something has shifted within me. I know he loves to eat at home so I don’t consider his choices of food from restaurants any more. The kids and I order kebabs, chicken wings, chicken 65 and wait for him to fix his own caprese sandwich. He prefers it this way and I do not care. He is on his own now. This realization hit me as I picked up sushi for lunch for the 3 of us with nary a thought about my husband. 😀

Lately, he has become vegan. First, he was a vegetarian who did not eat vegetables and now he is a vegan who still does not eat vegetables. I constantly tell him, “I can not cook for you anymore!” But guess what I did today, on my day off? I made vegan pesto and substituted cheese with nutritional yeast. No matter how many times I resolve to not cook food to cater to his taste, I end up looking for vegan recipes – that do not involve vegetables. Try it. It is a difficult task. These days, I make a lot of black beans, shallow fried falafels, dal, red lentil burgers, smoothies with frozen berries, spinach, oatmilk…

Why do I not leave him to make his own food? Two reasons. First, food, at the end of the day, is my love language. Second, if there is no food made he will unquestionably make peanut butter sandwiches for himself everyday. I can’t stand watching him cheerfully eating peanut butter sandwiches every single day! What is the joy of living if you don’t have variety in food? I am absolutely projecting my feelings on him but the fact stands, it bothers me to watch him left to his own culinary devices.

So I tell him “You are on your own, dude. I can’t cook for you any more.” He smiles. I let him eat peanut butter for a few days while I search for vegan recipes and then go back to cooking again.