Childspeak on Mother's Day

Mothers Matter- by Abhiraj Singh (Age10)

Mother's Day is an international event celebrating our Mothers and all that they do for us. Throughout the World many people today gift their Mothers cards, flowers, gifts and even hugs! I am sanguine that many people must be planning to surprise their Mothers today.

The purpose of Mothers Day is to remind people of the greatness and compassion of Mothers. Our Mothers give us unconditional love and predominantly Life. Without these blessings where would we be? Sometimes we forget about all that our Mothers give us, however on Mothers Day, millions of hardworking, kind and amazing Mothers are recognized for their wonderful deeds in life. Today, on 15th of March we will show our gratitude towards our Mothers. We could express our gratefulness by even simply helping our Mums!

Depressingly, despite the fact that people know what their Mothers have done for them, they cruelly send their Mothers to homes for the elderly where they maybe mistreated. After several years of happy Mom-time, some heartless people send their Mothers as if she was a package being posted, unnoticed and uncared for. One of the many reasons people send their Mothers off to an elderly home is because they unjustly assume that keeping an old Mother with them is a waste of time, food and money. Although they sound comfy and caring, homes for the elderly in reality can be a sad place to live.
Primarily elders such as our Moms love us unconditionally and do not under any circumstances want to leave and live away from us.
Secondly Carers who work for a salary, may handle our frail Mothers roughly and hurt them.
Finally forcing our Mother to live somewhere uncomfortable and unfamiliar and in a place where anything could happen, is just irresponsible and vicious. Plain vicious!

Even though some people are unkind towards their Mothers, there are many children who amuse and please their Mothers with tricks and jokes and lots of love.
Sadly for those without a Mother, Mothers Day is a painful day, a reminder of their big loss. This is why we, in our not very long life, should take every opportunity to count our blessing that come in a Mother's disguise.

Personally, and like most children I think my Mum is awesome, perfect and great. She is a great role model. She made a big decision about staying at home to look after me and it has benefitted me. It helps me in my studies, plus it meant I could spend lots of time learning from her and playing and having fun with her. My Mum is the smartest, bravest and the most beautiful person ever. I know she will always love me and I will always love her.

 In the end for all Mothers, a Shloka from an ancient Stotra:

 Kuputro Jayet, kwachidapi KuMata na bhavati

A Son can be bad,  but a bad Mother, can never be.

For My Ma - By Megha Basu (Age 11)

 

From my heart, I want to say,

For me, you are brighter than the day,

The World would've been so very bare,

Thank you Ma for being there.

 

You are the one who gave me Life,

Bearing all the pain, hard to describe

I came to you in the month of November,

Your smell is the first thing I remember.

 

Ma, my tears give you pain,

When I smile, you smile again,

If I am troubled, you can't sleep,

Sitting beside me you silently weep.

 

You have been my pillar of strength,

Telling me to fight and rise again,

Honesty is what you have taught me,

That is how I always will be.

 

Your praises fill me up with joy,

Your trust in me I will never destroy,

I cannot imagine a life without you,

Hold my hand while I pass through.

 

Your lap is my place to hide,

When I am scared or cast aside,

The World would have been so very bare,

Thank You Ma for being there.

 

 

Mummy Oh Mummy!!  - Acrostic Poem by Anjika Singh (Age 8)

 M y Mummy cares.

O h Mummy! what would I do without you?

T he only thing that cheers me up is you.

H appiness is being with you.

E verlasting love is what ties us.

R espect you, I always will.



Letter to My Mummy - By Ira Angre ( Age Almost 9)

My Dearest Mummy,

You are the light of my Life, which shines brighter when you speak. For me you are the World. I love you so much. I love you more than ice-cream. I love you more than anything in the World. I love your cooking. It make me eat more. You shout for my good, so that I can go on the correct path instead of taking the wrong turn. You are also very strict for our good. You brought us up and gave birth to us which we appreciate. You always are concerned for me. You don't want to see me in a bad mood, always a happy smile.

Happy Mother's Day!!!!

I Love you.

Iru

 

 

The Grey Eyes beyond the Grey Door

I have walked these alleys for years. Cool and shady, a welcome reprieve in the summer. Have quickened the pace in winters when they turn windy and freezing. 

Have skipped and hopped to the grey door as a young girl.

Strutted and sashayed to the same door, as a woman.

The steps that took me there, were always eager and happy. They knew they belonged to where they were headed.

In the Old City, is the alley and towards the right side stands a Corridor, at end of which is the Grey door.

The Grey door both in my memories and in real, creaked on its hinges, and shut with a loud bang, announcing every arrival and departure.

The Mohalla, felt like my Territory, even though I did not live there. I visited. But the Mohalla was mine because what lay behind the Grey Door was mine. And what made it mine was the old Board hanging above it with its bold letters in white, which were repainted regularly. The Letters read: 

                Shri Rattan Chand Sharma (Retd Tehsildar), 

                74 Mohalla Afghana

                Pacca danga

                Jammu Tawi

This address used to be our permanent address for all official and legal purposes. We shifted houses regularly, sometimes across states and once even across Continents. This Address used to be the one ‘permanent’ in my young life. 

The Person behind this Address was in my List of Most Handsome Men Ever, somewhere along with my Father and Lord Shiva.

Retd Tehsildar ji, the man of the House, fair complexioned, with a thick head of hair and grey compelling eyes, commanded attention. Strong, just and extremely kind, he was known to have never raised his voice at anyone. His calmness always comforted me and his wisdom made me secure.

I grew up hearing stories of Retd. Tehsildar ji’s goodness and the respect he had earned because of it. Even the little I heard of his personal journey read like a book I would enjoy reading and learning from. His Mother, whom he loved dearly, was famed for her beauty. The stories that were passed down, told of how if she styled her hair one day, she was not allowed to apply kohl to her eyes. The day she applied kohl, she was not allowed to wear bright and beautiful clothes. Her dazzling beauty was too much to handle for her Matriarch who feared someone would cast an evil eye.

From Partition, to Indo-Pak Wars playing out, right at Teshsildar ji’s backyard, the stories left me agog. The Wartime incidents of sensitive Border Towns were shocking. His beloved dog was poisoned by the ‘enemy’ during those troubled days and he never brought another dog home. 

A State which has been a playground for personal egos and political ambitions and where Minorities have been relentlessly persecuted and History hushed and changed, I saw a Man deeply religious and secular in practice till the end. Thanks to him I have never seen a conflict between the two, religion and secularism, either in theory or practice. The Clarity that strengthened later, started with him.

He was always humble and polite. Be it when he was with his Guru Maharaj/ Spiritual Teacher, seeking knowledge or when he enquired after the orphaned/fatherless children he helped educate.

Even in his death he wanted to give more and left instructions for his sons to give away the money which would otherwise be used for Adh-Barkhi and Barkhi (post-death Rituals) to those who really needed it. He taught us to give and to give with Faith and freely.

On many an evening, during my summer break, after dinner I would climb the many stairs, to the little room on the third floor where he would retire to meditate. He would always kindly let me in with a little laugh and share his blanket and tell me and any other grandchild who had dared to sneak in with me, stories of Rishis and Saints, goodness and giving, courage and action. We would be mesmerized by the sparkle in his beautiful eyes and by the deep baritone which was always reassuring. And nothing has come close to the title he conferred upon me of ‘Sant/Saintly bachha’. I am yet to prove him right but hold onto that memory dearly.

He along with my Father raised the bar very high for all my potential suitors. The handsome grey eyed man pampered his wife, all their married life. No one can claim to have heard him raising his voice against his dear wife. And even in the last few years when he was losing his memory due to dementia, her illness and discomfort would cause him the most pain. He would pace restlessly till he was assured of her well being. He was the perfect gentleman and theirs was the most charming love story.

The owner of the Grey Door and what lay beyond, was the patriarch of a Family of seven children and many nephews and nieces. The brood only got bigger with marriages and births. The fact that his Daughters are as strong and fiercely independent as his sons is an ode to his upbringing. The knot that keeps this large family together has been painstakingly tied by him. And how much he valued this familial love was clear in his last note to his family, asking them to continue to live well and with love for each other.

Mine were the first pitter-patter of feet in his life after his own children.

I always secretly thought I held a special spot in his life, which would remain unthreatened. I was in for a shock in Nov 2011. I remember flying from London to Jammu for my Cousin’s wedding. The first evening there, I went upto him to greet him. His strange response was bewildering.  Did I dare say that there was no spark of recognition? This was before others in the family had recognized the dementia he suffered from in his last years. I was confused and hurt but his presence was more important than my unrequited love. I truly loved him and could chin up and bear any slight coming from him. In fact I spent a lot of time mulling over my behavior and what could have lead to the cold reaction. His diagnosis brought pain and yet some relief that it was not me but age and ill health that took away my share of love. I stubbornly decided to give him even more love.

The bond was special because the Retd Tehsildaar ji, had a dual role in my life. He was not only my Grandfather but quirkily enough could also claim to be my Father. My Parents after eight long years of marriage and five still born baby boys ran pillar to post to change their childless fate. When the Doctors failed and the Gods refused to be bribed, they were desperate enough to resort to someone’s idea of selling the Fetus in the womb to my Grandparents. The logic behind this incomprehensible idea was that my Grandparents karmic credit would shield me from my parent’s destiny. So I was sold off for a neat sum of Rs 11 to my Grandparents, even as I floated around blissfully in my Mother’s womb. Confident of my Grandparents good Karma my Parents spent that money eating Dosa and dreaming of a future with me in it. 

But during the Navratris in 2014, my 92 year old Grandfather had a bad fall. The blood clot in his brain would become the reason for a myriad thing. There was the coming together of the family. They stood more united than ever before. Months of sleepless nights for the family members taking care of him. The way they rose to the occasion, and saw the opportunity to serve and nurse their invalid Patriarch as their good karma is a credit to him. I heard of Sisters with young babies travelling to the hometown and breaking down upon seeing him. I heard of great grandchildren comforting my Grandmother in their baby lingo.

I heard of regular trips to hometown by brother and cousins during Diwali become primarily about Nanaji. I later saw boys in the Family become Men.

And I heard all from afar. And I prayed. When they told me he needed to go and he should get ‘mukti’ I shivered. 

In 2011 he hurt me when he failed to recognize me. Would he leave me heartbroken and guilty by leaving before I saw him? I was torn between wanting release for him and wanting deliverance for me. 

In the end, like always,he proved bigger. I left for India on 5th Dec. Was at his bedside on the 6th. I stroked his forhead and begged forgiveness for my own selfishness. I had a conversation with him in my head and I knew he heard me, although he lay unresponsive. I told him I had kept a count and noted that everybody had come and seen him. All his children were with him and all the Grandchildren had been with him. I was the last one to see him. I told him, that I knew he was waiting for me. And here I was, his eldest Grandchild. I told him he may go now. I promised we would try and uphold the things dear to him and assured him that he need not worry about his wife of 67 years.  He had taught us well. I know  so many from the Family must have had similar conversations with him but this was mine. And I am thankful to him and God that I could have it.

 I said the same things to him on the 15th, the last day I spent with him before I left to see my InLaws.

 In the early hours of 21st, he left, to start another journey.  

The grey door still stands but the grey eyes are gone. But I have seen some of what and how, they saw. I also see some of their wisdom and kindness passed on. 

The Tree is gone but the roots remain, holding the Earth together. 

That Time of The Year

That time of the year.
The Heart becomes more alive than usual.
It swells and shrinks.
It beats faster and hurts harder.
It is always on the edge.
Ready to burst with joy or break with ache.

The Nation.
The Heart shouts Home.
The sounds, smells, and all that noise.
The Heart recognizes, sometimes vexed and sometimes joyous.
The Language.
Like a Lover whispering in the ear.
The Heart is smug.
The anticipation building.
The Heart embraces, like a secret love.

The only time an unsure flyer, will look out of the window.
The Heart is brave.
The Himalayas receding in the horizon, and Tawi springing to life in all its serpentine glory.
The Hearts beats, but you stop breathing.
Every Christmas, Santa flies over the majestic Ganga, leaving gifts for the children.
Heart says Life is Magical.

That Morning, waking up to the Parents pottering about.
The Heart hears and is a young girl once again.
The abandon of the child, when with the Parents.
The Heart is lazy and free.

When handsome young brothers bow down to touch your feet.
The Heart rises with pride.
The hugs from the Womenfolk in the family.
The Heart forgets the chill and grey.
The Unconditional Love.
The Heart grows arrogant.

Children blossoming in the sunlight of absolute adulation.
The Heart is warm.
The gossiping and whispering late into the night with the Sisters.
The Heart is lighter and laughs.
The adoring Nieces and Nephews.
The Heart is young and sings.

The Village Temple, by the River but without Dadi, shedding tears, as she would watch us leave till she could see us no more.
The Heart remembers.
Every year the Parents look older, frail and more vulnerable.
The Heart is afraid.
The ailing Grandfather.
The Heart breaks.

A few weeks.
The Heart feels everything.
Intensely.
It feels both strong and weak.
And then the Heart embraces Hope, as it leaves.
Till it returns.

The Underbelly Part 2

As a couple of months went by the horror and tragedy of the impact and the consequences of sexual slavery became clearer to me. The assumptions and beliefs I previously held about the women in prostitution altered dramatically.
Lets tackle the obvious questions anyone would have who is not familiar with the issue of sex trafficking.
How many are really forced/tricked into this form of slavery?
To my best knowledge almost all of them are in some way or the other duped or coerced into prostitution. In the 2.5 years of my field work I did not come across a single woman who willingly chose this line of 'work'. If I could do justice in describing the degrading and appalling conditions they live in all doubts would be erased. Well the ones whom you can say get into prostitution willingly are usually the daughters of the women in prostitution(I will call them WIP). But they join this 'profession' not because of its prospects but because of a total lack of alternatives.
I remember an 8 yr. old girl, a daughter of a WIP, telling me that she wanted to be a Gharwali (the madam or the brothel keeper) when she grows up. This was because she knew no better. She had no role models to look up to. She knew no other life. In her eyes the most powerful person was the gharwali who had financial freedom and who had means to control the lives of women like her own mother. There are other forms of prostitution like call girl rackets and beer bar girls but that is a different category. These forms of prostitution are also extremely exploitative.
Is it really all that difficult to come out of this situation?
Well first lets examine how most of these girls ended up in the red light area.
1. N was a happy 10 yrs. old living in some remote impoverished village in Nepal.She has 5 more siblings. One probably suffering from TB. If they are lucky they eat twice a day. She used to go to a village school, but had to stop because of a paucity of funds. Days of going without food and the worsening condition of her brother who is afflicted with TB, forces her parents to sell her to a lady who promises to get her employment as a worker in a carpet factory in Kathmandu or as a domestic help in Mumbai. She travels by foot, bus and finally train to Mumbai. And is sold into a brothel for Rs 10000.
2. B is a 17 yr old from a village in Andhra Pradesh. Her father, a cotton farmer committed suicide because of increasing debt and falling revenues. There are 5 mouths to feed. So our brave young B decides to go to Mumbai to some acquaintance who could get her a job. She is illiterate and is travelling outside her village for the first time. She meets a friendly woman in the train just before arriving in Mumbai who looks at the address and tells her she lives in the same neighborhood and offers to take her there. She is brought to Kamathipura and sold.
3. D fell in love and decided to elope with her lover. The lover promises her marriage. She runs away to Mumbai with him, dreaming about marriage and domestic bliss. She is brought to Kamathipura and is sold and she never sees her lover again.
4. P gets into prostitution because her mother is a prostitute. She knows no other life. She was born in the brothels. We call this inter-generational prostitution.
5. M remembers going to the village fair somewhere in Jharkhand with her family. The next thing she knows she is drugged, thrown into a sack, and then dumped onto the back of a truck. She is brought to Mumbai. She is sold and since she is only 8 yrs old, she fetches a really good price.
6.There was a particular peculiar arrangement that I saw in Grant Road. That of Bangladeshi WIP. They were living in the brothels with their families , husbands included. I found out that these women would service clients in the night, while their husband played cards in one of the many eating places nearby. During the daytime the women would sleep and the husbands would cook and look after the children. The would stay in Mumbai for 6 to 8 months, make enough money to go back to their villages. They would be back in Mumbai with their wives, and sisters,once they ran out of all their savings. Well I know the woman had no say in this arrangement and this was not a result of mutual consent.
7.L was a devdasi in a village in Karnataka. When the priests of the temple tire of her, she is sold to a Mumbai brothel. This consort of the Gods is no luckier than the others.
Could they not run away from the brothels?
When she arrives at the brothel she refuses to obey the gharwali. She is locked up in a small room.Starved, beaten, tortured. This continues for days. If she refuses to give in, she is finally drugged and repeatedly raped. She is raped by more than 5 men in one night. Virginity is much in demand. After months of this torture she gives in and is moved to a room in the brothel. She cannot read or write.She does not understand the language. She is not allowed to leave the brothel. Gharwali has goons to watch over her. Crushed chillies being rubbed onto her private parts is one of the many threats she hears day and night.As a girl told me she spent her first year begging every man she was forced to sleep with to help her escape. One of her regular customers was a policeman.
By the second year the girl is battered, and diseased. Her spirit is irreversibly crushed and she is ashamed and afraid to go back to her village for now she is 'dirty'. Some part of her still hopes to go back one day and resolves to do whatever it will take. Which is paying back the money the gharwali paid to buy her. This is not easy to do. She gets only Rs. 50 per customer. She also has to pay for her lodging, food, clothes and medicines. Add to this the interest on the principal amount, freedom is one distant dream. I never heard of any happy endings.
Some brave and lucky ones did manage to escape thanks to the occasional police raids. But the happiness is short lived. Once her family back in the village realizes where she has been she is beaten, disowned and thrown out. She returns to the only thing she knows.
Her destiny was never hers to make.

If I Cannot Find, I live to be Found

Today is the day. Today I get up, and wake my son. I make sure he is dressed and fed. Today is the day when I hug him tight and kiss his beautiful face, not once, not twice but over and over again. Today is the day when, as I say good bye I feel my heart break. The pain so fierce I think I might die. And I am surprised that I did not... did not die. When I see him walk away, I want to scream and shout, feral in my pain and fear. I want to hold him back. Tell him to stop and stay. But today is the day, I will not. I will bid him farewell and watch him till I can't see him anymore. Yes today is the day when I will live knowing I might never set my eyes upon him.  I will not know where and how he is. I have wondered if not knowing is worse than death and yet I cannot see life snuffed out of the child I brought into this world. I have to choose and I must protect. So today I will watch my heart walk out of my body. My soul will never be the same again.

 
But, I will live in the hope that my heart will find its way back to where it belongs.

 

I am angry and I am very afraid. I leave my Mother, my house, and everything I know.  I leave fear behind but the unknown and more fear await me. How do I walk away from the woman who taught me to walk, maybe to never return? Uncle speaks of a wonderful world beyond those Blue Mountains. But the voice inside me shouts that, that is a lie. For there can be no place on earth, more beautiful than my village. I want to pick fruit and climb trees in the apple orchard...one last time. I want to run to the Madarsa and clasp the gnarled hands of the friendly Imam....one last time. A game of football with Khalid in the fields behind the graveyard...one last time. Pull my sister Shazia's pigtails…one last time. Why did I miss school and spend time plotting and planning my next mischief, with my friends, under the almond tree? If I had not, maybe then I could stay. I should have fetched water for Mother and helped Shazia collect firewood. Maybe then, they would let me stay. I have prayed and promised Allah that I will be a good boy. But Allah is really mad at me, for today, I will have to leave. They tell me I must leave to save my life. My roots severed, I do not know how I will fly.

 
But, I will live in the hope that if I cannot find, I will be found.

 



Inspired by the Human Stories of courage,tragedy, survival and hope, I see and hear at my work at International Family Tracing, British Red Cross. http://www.redcross.org.uk/What-we-do/Finding-missing-family/International-family-tracing

 

 

 

A and A Celebrating Janamashtami

Janamashtami, the festival which celebrates the birth of Lord Krishna is truly a special day. His life, his message is for all humanity. Shree Krishna was dear to young and old alike.
My own A and A are big fans of Shri Krishna, reading and re-reading stories of his life. They started their day, this Janamashtami by thinking about Shree Krishna's life and his message.
Here is their take on Shree Krishna's life and message :

Today it is Janamashtami. It is a birthday of a special avatar and his name is Krishna. His birthday is mostly celebrated on August. He is a very special avatar to us.
One scary part of his life is, that there was an evil snake called Kalia. Whenever someone came to drink water from Yamuna River everyone got poisoned and died.
His Uncle Kansa was so mean and greedy that Krishna had to kill him.
Another incident was stealing Makhan(butter). Krishna did not steal Makhan, for no reason. It was for a very good reason. He did it because everyone was giving the butter to Kansa and not to the children.
Another incident of his life was that he had a friend called Sudama. Krishna saw so much love in Sudama,  that he gave his own palace to him.
 
If we love God, he will give us everything.
Happy Janamashtami to All of You.

By Little A ( 6 yrs)



                                                
Today it is a special day. It is Janamashtami. Janamashtami is the day Krishna was born. Krishna was a great person and he did great things in life to teach us how to live our lives.
Krishna was an Avatar and his message to us is mainly : That if we are united, together we can destroy evil and make a change in the world.

Here is an example of an incident in his life: Pootna was a demon, Kansa had sent to kill Krishna. Pootna disguised herself into a village woman. Krishna was very young and cute at that time. Pootna reached Krishna's house. Somehow she got a chance to be alone with Krishna, but Krishna sensed danger. She already had her breast smeared with poison. However Pootna was no comparison for Krishna. Young Krishna suckled at her breast and Pootna died. This teaches us that whatever form danger comes in, be alert and face it.

When Krishna was a boy , he was very mischievous. He used to steal Makhna/ Butter from the Gopis houses. Although he had a reason. The reason was that everyday the Gopis had to sell the Makhan in Mathura. So Krishna's friends barely got any butter, curd or milk to eat and drink. So Krishna taught everyone that children need to play  and eat well too.

There is another event that took place in Krishna's life. . Kansa was an evil man. Krishna was his biggest enemy. Kansa was also Krishna's Mama. So did Krishna not fight? No! he was brave and vanquished his Uncle. This teaches us even if someone close to us is spreading evil in the society, we still have to fight them. 

Another event which teaches us a lot involves Arjun. Arjun before the Battle of Kurukshetra. Both Arjun and Duryodhan were at Krishna's Palace. Krishna said Duryodhan and Arjun had a choice. They could choose between him and a million soldiers. Arjun immediately answered ," I don't want a million soldiers, I just want you". Duryodhan thought a million soldiers was better and later lost.
This teaches you to have Faith in God. If God is on your side, you will win.

Lastly, Arjun was on the battlefield and the battle was about to start. But Arjun's hands were trembling. The thought of fighting his Uncles and cousins scared him. Then Krishna sang the 'Bhagvad Geeta' and all his fears went. He bravely fought and Krishna remained his great friend.

There is also one more thing to remember: Life is like a Game, you win some and lose some, but you should never give up.

Happy Janamashtami!


By Big A ( Turning 9 next month )

Celebrating Goodness in the Face of Evil

Incidents like today and those others, which do not credit any media coverage, test my faith and resolve. My dear friend, a strong, intelligent and independent woman told me, that this is one of the reasons, why she is averse to celebrating our Country's Independence. You my friend, say that the city and the Nation have no heart. We have been long dead.

I agree with you, not because I am a woman who knows what it is to have her personal space violated. Who as a young girl has strategized how to ward off advances of men like 'Shakti Kapoor' the personification of the Bad Man in a 9yr Old's mind, who had seen enough Bollywood movies and seen enough of life, as it was around her.

There is no debating your anger. It is rightly placed. You have rightly said that we have anarchy in the name of State. I am angry too. I am furious and frustrated. And as a Mother and a Mother of a precious girl child, I have never known fear or worry, the way I know it now.

I agree with everything you say, my friend. But one.
I refuse to, NOT, celebrate men and women who gave their blood and sweat for this Land. They developed a beautiful Civilization and an amazing Culture. Agasti, Vishwamitra, Vashishtha, Gargi, Vallabhacharya, Chanakya, Adi Shankracharya etc. are names that have a body of work behind them which gives me goose bumps. They inspire me and give me direction.
And later on the men and women who fought the war of Freedom, so that this Country could be free to further strengthen this Culture and take the message of love for humanity and all Creation, far and wide. I WILL celebrate them.

This is the Land of Great Men and Women and Sages and Avatars. And though my resolve is being tested and I fear it will take a further beating, I will try not to not bow down. I will not let cultural and moral bankruptcy and pure evil obliterate the majestic work of many.

Its takes hundreds of years to develop a Civilization and shape a Culture. And it can fall apart in just a few years. We have been falling apart for many, many years now. We are riding the wave of breakdown, anarchy and chaos of every kind.

Today is not the day when I will ruminate on why's and how's. I am not even going to think on solutions. Because the solution is clear in my mind but its not instant or legal or administrative.
I am not looking to blame anyone today, because there are too many actors in this play.

But undoubtedly, this Battle between the Good and Evil, Right and Wrong is age old. There have been Narakasurs and Ravanas, who did what they did, because they wanted to and because they could. Till they were stopped.
The Evil is stronger in this Yuga undoubtedly. But as a great Man and my greatest inspiration said, it is my chance  to prove my mettle. Because I am going to be tested the most today, as a believer in the Good and Right. I will choose the Right side and do my bit in this Battle. I have chosen and want to walk the Path of Karmayog. I am going to try, to not speak the language of inaction, failure and pessimism. I will try to transform my anger to Right Action. I will try, and try harder.

Hence dear friend,  I will celebrate goodness and greatness in the face of this greatest evil. Because some maybe dead but you and I are not. We must continue to live and act.

An Open Letter to Jenaab Omar Abdullah

Honorable CM Sahib, Jenaab Omar Abdullah ji ,

We are so glad that you finally dragged yourself away from tweeting. Understandably it must also be very difficult to stop ruminating over Kohli's decision to not let Parvez Rasool play the just concluded ODI series against Zimbabwe. But we are glad you moved on.

We the people of the Jammu Region,  the minority, are elated that you are finally attempting to take stock of the 'situation' in Kishtwar. And are praying that Cricket, Tweeting or any such thing will not distract you from your job. Sir in my correspondence I will refer to the people of the Jammu Region which includes 10 Districts (Jammu, Kathua, Samba, Udhampur, Kishtwar, Doda, Rajouri, Poonch, Ramban and Reasi) as Jammuites to be fair and inclusive of all the Ethnic Identities...Dogras, Kishtwaris, Bhaderwahis, Kashmiri Pandits, Poonchis etc.

The people of the region as you might know, were already upset about the LOC ceasefire violations by our neighbor. The icing on the cake was the divided, and embarrassing reaction and  the crude insensitive remarks about the incident by your political fraternity. The Kishtwar incident just further pushes us into the corner.

Your colleague Mr. Azad claimed in an interview to DD, that Kishtwar is one of the most peaceful districts in the state. True it is the land of Saffron and Sufis. But though the Saffron is still there, the Sufis have long gone. If I may remind Respectd Azadji, the Sufis have been replaced by home and 'across the border' grown terrorists and foreign mercenaries. As reported by many minorities from the region the city is always tensed, ahead of Eid. This known fact, definitely demanded more preparedness by the local administration.

You have gone on record saying “…As to how the situation developed, whether there were any administrative lapses, and if there were any lapses, who were responsible, and swift action will follow. Does this mean you assure us of the sacking of the Local MLA and State Minister of Home Sajjad Kitchloo for his very disturbing and conniving role in the carnage in Kishtwar.

The Local administration and the Police who stood by and allegedly aided the miscreants as the minority were being persecuted, must be booked. Sir, friends and relatives from Kishtwar are saying that the Police let enough time pass, before acting, hence allowing massive property damage. This definitely demands a high level investigation. The early reports stated, the injured being shifted to hospitals in other Districts as the local hospital refused to admit them. This news makes us very sad Jenaab.

I read somewhere that you asked who are these people who are protesting. Well Jenaab with some consternation and honesty we admit, that it is mostly us Jammuites who were and are protesting against the violence in Kistwar. But then someone had to.
The National media was busy reporting the trade verdict  of 'Chennai Express'. Most of us love SRK Jenaab, but we love our bretherens from the Jammu Region too. So we chose to stand by them in their moment of crisis. We protest because we are scared and angry and want justice.

Sir, a 74 year old, who returned to the land of his ancestors, after a lifetime of hard work outside the state, is being advised to buy property in Delhi or Chandigarh, because the minorities fear that in 6-7 years Jammu Region would turn into Kashmir. Far-fetched? But its common knowledge Sir, we still await the rightful return of the Kashmiri Pandits.
We must share this with you, that the rumors going around amongst the minorities, suggest that this is just the beginning of the second act of Ethnic Cleansing.  Many of us disagree, for though we are a minority, we are pretty stoic and are going no where. But it is also true that the fast changing demography of the State is because of forced migration. Migration arising due to such incidents and an atmosphere of fear and persecution.

Jenaab our people are angry. We pay our taxes, cast our vote and vow our allegiance to the State and the Nation. We proudly fly the Indian Flag, yet we have no voice and are almost invisible. We have been for a long time treated as that poor cousin, the unwanted house guest, who is humiliated and starved into fleeing the home

Sir you said some political parties take advantage and polarize such situations. You have hit the bulls eye Sir.  This is what, always happens. It becomes a free for all. A 'Chance pe Dance Kar Le'...for all. We would humbly suggest, that you kindly make a note of that and next time in such an event make sure that there is a prompt, effective, and  fair  intervention by the State Government. Declaring Curfew at 12 pm and imposing it at 8pm, was not a very smart decision even by a long stretch.
We condemn the stray incidents of communal violence that followed, and feel that they were completely avoidable if the state Machinery had behaved differently.

Jenaab you have sprung into action by clamping curfew in 8 out 10 Districts of Jammu Region, preventing media from reporting, and have cut off mobile internet. You have not allowed the opposition from visiting Kishtwar. You said the local Administration in such situations make decisions to allow media, political leaders and others in the troubled areas. As well wishers, we must tell you that this is seemingly undemocratic. We suspect, you have your good reasons but this also does not seem fair, Sir.
In the Valley, whenever Geelani Uncle gets mad and wants support, his good friend Arundhati Roy flies past the Jammu Region and stands by him. An otherwise intelligent lady Ms. Roy, sadly, does not like us people of the Jammu Region. We have a sneaking suspicion Sir, that her friend Geelani Uncle has lead her to believe we do not exist.

You stopped  Mr. Arun Jaitley, Mr Soz and Mehbooba Didi from visiting Kistwar. Why did you do that? It does not help your cause, for you should have nothing to hide.We are so desperate for attention, we Jammuites, since nobody wants to talk to us, we would have happily allowed anyone for a cup of Desi Chai and a word of empathy.

We have some other very important piece of news for you. Amongst the Jammuites,  Narendra Modi, is gaining popularity, as fast as the Indian Rupee is losing its value. He it seems had heard of the Kishtwar incindent and remembered to speak for us even as he prepared to address his very important and big rally in Hyderabad. Sadly Sir, nobody else did.

Jenaab Omar Sahib, the young people from Jammu Region are afraid to talk about the incident on social networking sites now, because they fear a backlash and even arrest. If they could, they would tell the Nation, that the loss of life and damage to property is much more than being shown on National Media.

We are a simple and gentle people, us Jammuites. You have suspended the Machail Mata Yatra, the Buddha Amaranth Yatra and the Amarnath Yatra, which are very important for us, but we will live. In fact we are doing all, to make things easy for the Yatris/Pilgrims who are stuck in different base Camps.
But we hope in return, that we do not have to remind you, to do the needful. We expect appropriate compensation to the victims, a probe into the incident and holding responsible both miscreants and Civil Authorities including, your Minister of State Sajjad Kitchloo, for the dastardly acts.

Jenaab Omar Abdullah, the Jammu Region, is rooted in a culture of love, tolerance, and co-existence. Since we are peace loving, you do not have to remind us to maintain peace. But we also have a strong Martial Tradition and can stand up for our Rights. So do not test our patience and most certainly do not take us for granted.


Yours Truly,
Concerned Minority - The People of the Jammu Region.

P.S: The Word Minority is demeaning and not our favourite way to describe ourselves, but it does seem to have an attention grabbing quality and hence its factual but liberal use.

An Open Letter to Jenaab Omar Abdullah

Honorable CM Sahib, Jenaab Omar Abdullah ji ,

We are so glad that you finally dragged yourself away from tweeting. Understandably it must also be very difficult to stop ruminating over Kohli's decision to not let Parvez Rasool play the just concluded ODI series against Zimbabwe. But we are glad you moved on.

We the people of the Jammu Region,  the minority, are elated that you are finally attempting to take stock of the 'situation' in Kishtwar. And are praying that Cricket, Tweeting or any such thing will not distract you from your job. Sir in my correspondence I will refer to the people of the Jammu Region which includes 10 Districts (Jammu, Kathua, Samba, Udhampur, Kishtwar, Doda, Rajouri, Poonch, Ramban and Reasi) as Jammuites to be fair and inclusive of all the Ethnic Identities...Dogras, Kishtwaris, Bhaderwahis, Kashmiri Pandits, Poonchis etc.

The people of the region as you might know, were already upset about the LOC ceasefire violations by our neighbor. The icing on the cake was the divided, and embarrassing reaction and  the crude insensitive remarks about the incident by your political fraternity. The Kishtwar incident just further pushes us into the corner.

Your colleague Mr. Azad claimed in an interview to DD, that Kishtwar is one of the most peaceful districts in the state. True it is the land of Saffron and Sufis. But though the Saffron is still there, the Sufis have long gone. If I may remind Respectd Azadji, the Sufis have been replaced by home and 'across the border' grown terrorists and foreign mercenaries. As reported by many minorities from the region the city is always tensed, ahead of Eid. This known fact, definitely demanded more preparedness by the local administration.

You have gone on record saying “…As to how the situation developed, whether there were any administrative lapses, and if there were any lapses, who were responsible, and swift action will follow. Does this mean you assure us of the sacking of the Local MLA and State Minister of Home Sajjad Kitchloo for his very disturbing and conniving role in the carnage in Kishtwar.

The Local administration and the Police who stood by and allegedly aided the miscreants as the minority were being persecuted, must be booked. Sir, friends and relatives from Kishtwar are saying that the Police let enough time pass, before acting, hence allowing massive property damage. This definitely demands a high level investigation. The early reports stated, the injured being shifted to hospitals in other Districts as the local hospital refused to admit them. This news makes us very sad Jenaab.

I read somewhere that you asked who are these people who are protesting. Well Jenaab with some consternation and honesty we admit, that it is mostly us Jammuites who were and are protesting against the violence in Kistwar. But then someone had to.
The National media was busy reporting the trade verdict  of 'Chennai Express'. Most of us love SRK Jenaab, but we love our bretherens from the Jammu Region too. So we chose to stand by them in their moment of crisis. We protest because we are scared and angry and want justice.

Sir, a 74 year old, who returned to the land of his ancestors, after a lifetime of hard work outside the state, is being advised to buy property in Delhi or Chandigarh, because the minorities fear that in 6-7 years Jammu Region would turn into Kashmir. Far-fetched? But its common knowledge Sir, we still await the rightful return of the Kashmiri Pandits.
We must share this with you, that the rumors going around amongst the minorities, suggest that this is just the beginning of the second act of Ethnic Cleansing.  Many of us disagree, for though we are a minority, we are pretty stoic and are going no where. But it is also true that the fast changing demography of the State is because of forced migration. Migration arising due to such incidents and an atmosphere of fear and persecution.

Jenaab our people are angry. We pay our taxes, cast our vote and vow our allegiance to the State and the Nation. We proudly fly the Indian Flag, yet we have no voice and are almost invisible. We have been for a long time treated as that poor cousin, the unwanted house guest, who is humiliated and starved into fleeing the home

Sir you said some political parties take advantage and polarize such situations. You have hit the bulls eye Sir.  This is what, always happens. We would humbly suggest, that you kindly make a note of that and next time in such an event make sure that there is a prompt, effective, and  fair  intervention by the State Government. Declaring Curfew at 12 pm and imposing it at 8pm, was not a very smart decision even by a long stretch.
We condemn the stray incidents of communal violence that followed, and feel that they were completely avoidable if the state Machinery had behaved differently.

Jenaab you have sprung into action by clamping curfew in 8 out 10 Districts of Jammu Region, preventing media from reporting, and have cut off mobile internet. You have not allowed the opposition from visiting Kishtwar. You said the local Administration in such situations make decisions to allow media, political leaders and others in the troubled areas. As well wishers, we must tell you that this is seemingly undemocratic. We suspect, you have your good reasons but this also does not seem fair, Sir.
In the Valley, whenever Geelani Uncle gets mad and wants support, his good friend Arundhati Roy flies past the Jammu Region and stands by him. An otherwise intelligent lady Ms. Roy, sadly, does not like us people of the Jammu Region. We have a sneaking suspicion Sir, that her friend Geelani Uncle has lead her to believe we do not exist.

You stopped  Mr. Arun Jaitley, Mr Soz and Mehbooba Didi from visiting Kistwar. Why did you do that? It does not help your cause, for you should have nothing to hide.We are so desperate for attention, we Jammuites, since nobody wants to talk to us, we would have happily allowed anyone for a cup of Desi Chai and a word of empathy.

We have some other very important piece of news for you. Amongst the Jammuites,  Narendra Modi, is gaining popularity, as fast as the Indian Rupee is losing its value. He it seems had heard of the Kishtwar incindent and remembered to speak for us even as he prepared to address his very important and big rally in Hyderabad. Sadly Sir, nobody else did.

Jenaab Omar Sahib, the young people from Jammu Region are afraid to talk about the incident on social networking sites now, because they fear a backlash and even arrest. If they could, they would tell the Nation, that the loss of life and damage to property is much more than being shown on National Media.

We are a simple and gentle people, us Jammuites. You have suspended the Machail Mata Yatra, the Buddha Amaranth Yatra and the Amarnath Yatra, which are very important for us, but we will live. In fact we are doing all, to make things easy for the Yatris/Pilgrims who are stuck in different base Camps.
But we hope in return, that we do not have to remind you, to do the needful. We expect appropriate compensation to the victims, a probe into the incident and holding responsible both miscreants and Civil Authorities including, your Minister of State Sajjad Kitchloo, for the dastardly acts.

Jenaab Omar Abdullah, the Jammu Region, is rooted in a culture of love, tolerance, and co-existence. Since we are peace loving, you do not have to remind us to maintain peace. But we also have a strong Martial Tradition and can stand up for our Rights. So do not test our patience and most certainly do not take us for granted.


Yours Truly,
Concerned Minority - The People of the Jammu Region.

P.S: The Word Minority is demeaning and not our favourite way to describe ourselves, but it does seem to have an attention grabbing quality and hence its factual but liberal use.

All in the Line of Duty

My almost 9 year old: " I don't think A (lil sis) can watch the Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Maybe I can, if I skip that 'bit' ".

Me like an animal who catches the first whiff of danger : " Why what is that 'bit' "?

After a lot of stuttering and stammering  and searching for appropriate words,the almost 9 year old: " In that movie everybody has become very, very old and so they kiss or something"

Me with alarm bells ringing in my head but maintaining composure " How old is very , very old"?

The almost 9 year old: " 14-15"

Me in a panic now: "  'They' do it at 14-15 maybe, but we Indians don't.
Indians do 'all that' at 30".

The almost 9 year old and yet gullible : " Okay..yes".

Me who doesn't know when to let it go shouting after the departing boy: " And Indians do 'all that' after they finish studying, find a good job and marry...."

The almost 9 year old and already disinterested : "I know, I know at 30".

Satyam Vada/ Speak the Truth, has taken a beating today....all in the line of duty. Sigh.

Citizenship : Looking Inwards

As I walked to the park for my morning run today I crossed the Civic Centre parking area. They had a sign which said "Citizenship Parking".  It meant that many who have applied for British Citizenship will be taking their Oath and pledging their allegiance to their new Country and her Queen. Hence the need for extra parking space today. I saw many Indians walking in, dressed in their best. And all I felt was deep sadness, a sense of loss and failure.

I have always been Patriotic. I almost did not marry the love of my life because he was planning to move to the US. I was one of the biggest reasons why he chose to stay with an Indian Company at a time when it was a piece of cake for anyone in IT to move to the US. Happily enough as destiny would have it, we have travelled far and wide with that Indian Company and on our Indian Passports.

A few years back, a younger, more hot headed me could not understand why people chose to give up their Indian Passports. It made me angry and resentful. I wanted to shout (ridiculously enough) Bharat Mata ki Jai and Vande Matram in their faces. I wore my Indian Citizenship as a bright red cape around my shoulders, if not a halo on my head. In my mind those who chose to give up their Indian Citizenship, were abandoning their Country of birth. I saw it as an easy way out. Cowardice. Escapism. Lack of Integrity.

Life and time have enabled me to see their point of view too. And that was the start of sadness and a sense of failure.

I have seen a small town, high school graduate, a widow with a one year old child,  move to the US and live a life of dignity and relative comfort. Her daughter, going to the same school as other more affluent children and exposed to almost similar opportunities. I shudder to think how different it could have been for them in India.

I know a Mother whose child has special needs. And yet here, the child has access to the best services and most importantly equal opportunities. Why will she go back to a Country where meeting the most basic needs of her child like access to schools, public places will be a huge challenge for her?

Another friend works hard to meet ends meet. She is a single parent with a job which does not pay much. Yet her child attends the same school as my children. The differences in our incomes has not prevented her child from getting quality education. Going back would mean sending the child to a Government run school. The state of our government run, subsidized schools leaves much to be desired.
Different people, different reasons. I try to and understand their reasons. Sometimes its about money and opportunities, and more often its about lifestyle and easy access to basic services. Albeit some reasons of 'practicality' and 'convenience', I will never understand. Since to me, my passport is more than a document.

The anger has gone, leaving behind a sense of shame and failure. I feel, I failed all these people who do not want to live in my country anymore.
Me and my Nation have also failed those, who live in my country, but still hang onto their Foreign Passports like a security blanket. My Nation has failed to win their trust.
I wonder how we reached a point, where we congratulate others on acquiring a new Citizenship status and actually celebrate it.
I secretly hope for the day when my children who are naturalized American Citizens, having been born there, as adults will choose Indian Passports over their American ones for a love of the country.

Food, water, security, health,education and equal opportunity is what every man wants. I do not blame all those who give up their Indian passports. If man is in a fight or flight mode he can never develop. And every man has a right to live and in a place of his choice.

Having said this I will not lessen the work and sacrifices of all those who have done so much for India. Those friends, relatives and acquaintances who work in different sectors, working hard to make a difference. They had a choice and they chose to do this. I live in awe of them.
I cannot undermine individual responsibility for the state of my Nation. One of my nightmares is being driven to a situation, where I am forced to seek refuge or citizenship in a country other than my country of birth. I see enough people at work who have been driven out of their lands, uprooted, lost and yearning to return. I am grateful for the the choice and the freedom to live in my homeland. And even more grateful to  the people who make this a possibility.

I hold onto my Indian Passport proudly. I am still not in a place where I take it lightly. My identity and my passport has given me much. I am proud of it. My Nation is my Mother...chaotic but mine.
My Passport has given me strength to face racist barbs head on. I will not cower because I begged you to take me in. I belong to India and I am here only for a reason. It gives me these words. A Voice. A Stand.

Durlabham Bahrate Janama...its a rare privilege to be born in India. I truly believe that. I am grateful for being born in my country and into my Philosophy. But I wait and work towards a day when the Indian Passport will be cherished and sought after.
So I maybe happy for people and my many friends because they are getting what they wanted, but I do not have the heart to congratulate them on this day.

Do we really need to Justify?

Its getting repetitive and it is nowhere near ending.
And we do this to each other again and again and again.
Lifestyle choices need not be justified until and unless they affect the larger good of a large number of people.
If the personal is not overflowing into the public, let it rest.
If my decision has an impact on me, my family, my community and society at large it is for me to think, introspect and act.
In the process of justifying my choices do I judge others unfairly? 
Are my reasons in any way a reflection of a desire to assuage my own guilt and confusion?
To feel safe in others acknowledgement?
Today we tend to feel better about ourselves by thinking less of the others...be it people, lifestyles or choices.

The above could apply to anything and so many things but today it is in reference to this article in Huffington Post titled " Dear daughter, here's why I work".http://www.huffingtonpost.com/parentingcom/dear-daughter-heres-why-i_b_3069576.html?ncid=edlinkusaolp00000003  I was appalled to read the letter which supposedly addresses an eight year old child. The child asks her Mother if she loves her work more than her and her brother. This is a question which most working moms have heard in their lifetimes.
It will not be wrong to say that this questions is not uncommon for the stay-at-home moms too.

Behind this question I perceive an innocent attention and love hungry child seeking reiteration and declaration of love from the one person she values the most...Mother. It definitely did not warrant a reply and I quote here "The question breaks my heart, and as you are almost 8, I'm pretty sure it was designed to. Don't worry; I don't hold it against you. Daughters are meant to know and agitate their mother's vulnerable spots --it's part of the special intimacy we share. I did the same thing to my mom, giving her the business for going back to work part-time when I was a even older than you, after she'd spent years at home raising me, my brother and sister. I'll be sure to bring our conversation up over and over again when you're an adult and facing the same kinds of comments from your own daughter, like my mom does to me. (P.S. Mom, really sorry--again!)".

Is it really an eight year old child being addressed here?  The Author just called her daughter manipulative, inferring that the question was designed to break the Mother's heart,  all the while being guilty of the very same thing...manipulation.
 She tells her not to worry, that this will not be held against her. Was there a chance of this Mother holding a grudge against her child for having asked this question ?
And what could be behind the laced threat of I will surely bring this conversation up again and again when you are in a similar situation. Is she being vindictive?
And how can she predict what her daughter's life will be like or has she already made the choices for her daughter?
Will the Mother admit falling flat on her face when and if the daughter chooses to stay at home to do an equally important and rewarding 'job' of taking care of her children?
Will the Mother be sour if the daughter is blissfully happy with her choices?

 I will refrain from discussing at length as to how the definition of normalcy and surreal are different for different people.
 Leaving a three month old child behind, to get back to work might be surreal for the author. 
And agreeably, going back to work could mean going back to normalcy for many.
But for many others, leaving behind a vulnerable, dependent three month old baby to go back to work maybe extremely irregular and unnatural.
Understandably for some its not even a choice but 'majboori'(lack of choice) financial or otherwise.

The Author goes on to compare her love for her job to her daughter's love for art. Which was alright till she asks her daughter"What if I told you it was your art ... or me? Sure, you'd choose me (I hope) if you had to, but wouldn't that feel like an unfair choice to make?"
This bit is confusing for even me ,an adult. Its sends mixed signals. A bit of misplaced blackmail and then grovelling for love. The Author expresses her hope that her child chooses her over what she loves to do...art.
Is this not a Mother clearly hoping to hear that she would be more important in her child's life, above all other things.  
She specifically refers to her child's artwork/passion.Why is it necessary for me to turn my passion and creativity into a full time paying job? It may actually kill my joy in it.
Is the eight year old child not expressing the same hope when she asks if she and her sibling are loved more than their Mother's job?
Don't we as human beings inherently harbour a desire to be loved and cherished unconditionally?

 "And if you do, I hope your love of creating doesn't get sacrificed for the people you love, whether you make money from it or not. I hope you choose a partner that wants that for you too."
When did sacrifice as a quality become dishonorable?
Maybe my reference points are different or I sleepwalked through a time when I became more important than we, us, family, and community.
The Author hopes that a love for work or creating is not sacrificed for the people you love.
Tell that to the women who leave behind flourishing careers to attend to their children because they feel instinctively, that it is the right thing to do.
Tell that to a husband who takes voluntary retirement to attend to a sick ailing wife.
Tell that to a son who returns home, leaving behind better career prospects to be closer to his aging parents.
I know all of the above. People who do not think twice in giving up something they love for someone they love.

"I work because I love it.
I work because scratching the itch to create makes me happy, and that happiness bleeds over into every other area, including how patient and engaged and creative a mother I am."
 The above reasons are reasons which I can finally relate to.
This is exactly why I started working part time.
It gave me an opportunity to scratch that itch and yet do it on my time and my terms.
If something makes me a better , happier Mother why not?
Be it a stay at home Mom or a Working Mother...Motherhood is super challenging and super rewarding for both.

"I work because this nice house and those gymnastics lessons and those sneakers you need to have are all made possible by two incomes."
I wish you had not given this embarrassingly skewed logic after you were so honest and endearing in your reasons of doing it simply because you love it and the fact that it makes you a better person, a better Mother at the end of the day.
You just told an eight year old that she would be less happier or a lesser person if she did not have that pair of sneakers. She was much better owning them.
Are a nice house and fancy gymnastic lessons so important to one's well being I wonder?
Is success and happiness limited to a well paying career and material acquisitions?
It seems to me that in absence of any other reference point, success or purpose in life has become synonymous with running after objective happiness.

 "...you'd never ask your father why he works. His love is a given that long hours at work do nothing to diminish."
The above statement is not true. My children ask their Father for his time and attention. His long hours at work have lead to a feeling of alienation and have not been the best moments in our family life. His time and attention are equally important.

The Author makes me feel that in order to earn my children's respect and pride I need to be  financially employed. If it refers to being able to indulge in my creative passions I stand corrected. But for that I need not be employed necessarily.
If I think that a job is what it would take for me to feel more pride in my Mother than I already have, I would seriously question my values.
Having said that I have tremendous respect for those many women who had to work to keep the home fires burning.

"I work because even at your young age you've absorbed the subtle message that women's work is less important and valuable -- and that the moms who really love their kids don't do it."
On the contrary my children think Mommy is a Super Mom without a cape. She can do what daddy does but daddy cannot do what she does at home.
They have an understanding that however fun Daddy is,  it is Mommy who is naturally gifted to be a nurturer.
It is only Mommy who has red flags being raised mentally, if they did not have spinach or Brussels sprouts in their diet at least twice a week. 
Daddy loves them but he does not have special powers which allows Mommy to know exactly what they are thinking or doing even when she is not there.
Even when I had not started working part-time, I had told them that Mommy chose not to work because she felt that, that was the right thing for her to do.
They are confident in their knowledge that all Mommies everywhere irrespective of what they do and don't,  love their children above everything else.

Let us not justify our reasons for doing what we do. If we are clear, secure and happy in our understanding  and our choices, there should be no reason to talk about it.
I  too am confident that all Mommies everywhere irrespective of what they do and don't, love their children above everything else.