Let There Be Light

As we approach the new year, I am sitting in a shadow of darkness.

For you see, there once was a girl I knew who could walk into a room and smile a smile so bright that it would light up the darkest corners within. A girl who would laugh with such abandon that you couldn't help but laugh with her, whether or not she let you in on the joke. A beautiful brunette who radiated an enormous amount of self-awareness and confidence within the petite package of a cute, bubbly teenage American girl.

A girl who liked Taylor Swift and hanging out with her friends. A girl who was an amazing, incredible soccer player.

A kick-ass sister.

A wonderful daughter.

And I thought she was a pretty rocking niece.

Today, just a few hours ago, we received a phone call telling us that this beautiful, lovely, amazing girl is gone.

She made a decision that I cannot bear to think of.

The finality of it seems so unfair.

My husband, John and I, along with a shattered sea of family is sitting wherever we are tonight, some far - some near from each other. All asking questions that don't have easy or immediate answers, not wanting to believe that this is true. We all feel the sharp stabbing of pain that makes it harder to breathe as we realize that the aftershock of this quake will be felt for the rest of our lives.

I know that I for one keep thinking that this is just a bad dream. Just knowing that there will not be another time, another day where we see that smile is almost too much to bear.

I don't know if her parents and step-parents will ever find the answers they will need. I don't know if life or death ever fulfills that need for us. But I know that they will always honor that sweet girl, the one with the heartbreaking smile and the heart of gold.

I know her brother and sister will mourn her but will also still hear the sound of her infectious laughter somewhere in their hearts every day of their lives.

I didn't have the chance to say it, but how I wish I could have said the following words to her as we spoke at Thanksgiving as she lovingly threw her younger cousins in the air.

You are so loved. You are precious to so many people in ways that you do not yet understand. The joy you bring to the lives of others is immeasurable and the joy you will experience in life is something that you cannot yet comprehend.

You are strong. Stronger than you think. You have people who will hold you up and catch you if you fall. You just need to let them.

You are cherished. Your smile. Your heart. Your mind. Your laugh.

Just you.

You are worth so much more than the problems you have today. Your pain is real and pain will undoubtedly be there in life. But if you don't know pain, you won't understand what true elation is on those moments that I know you have ahead of you. The ones where you soar. The ones where you catch your dreams. The ones where you leap from great heights and land with a grace you don't even see in you yet.

A grace that we all can see and know will only grow with time.

You are a blessing.

Just you.

And you're perfect.

I am still not able to make sense of what is happening right now, but for now I just want to get to the point where breathing doesn't hurt. Please pray for her parents and sister and brother, stepbrothers and sisters.

They got to see that light every day and it will be hard for their eyes and their hearts to adjust to the sudden dimness that overtook the brightness.

We love you, angel. We loved you on earth and we will love you in Heaven. Everyone who loved you will learn to be strong but don't ever stop shining that light down on them.

RIP, sweet Amanda.

Kiran

A Letter to My Daughter From Santa

I said I wouldn't do it. I vowed that this year would be different.

I really, REALLY believed I would change.

But I didn't. I am still the same person who gets sucked into the frenzy of Christmas shopping, gifting and shenanigans that I say every year that I deplore.

It's not that I don't love the joy of giving gifts at Christmas. I do. In fact, it's one of the few times I buy something special and beautiful and what I hope is very meaningful to every person on our list.

It's just that, when I think about my kids specifically, I question whether I am doing it right.

I come from a childhood where I can remember most every toy I was given. While toys and games were not plentiful, each one I had was cherished and appreciated. The clothes were revered and worn till they were threadbare or outgrown. Even then, the next time my family would go to India, we would give it to family members in the remote villages of Northeastern India, where they were worn even further.

I have memories of my Holly Hobby First Oven (My brother bought it for my fifth birthday after saving money from his paper route).

My first pair designer jeans - they were Jordache's (My sister saved up for me from her first job at Macy's). I was only 5 and really didn't know why I was so excited. (Note: On that gift, I think my sis was more excited than me. I was like a real American Girl Doll she could dress up that talked and pooped and everything. Just the Indian version.)

Apparently she wanted toys too.

My husband John grew up in a family where Christmas was everything I ever romanticized it to be. Full of presents, holiday songs, roasts and stockings and all that seemed merry. He talks about the extravagance of his holidays and how special they were growing up.

And I get that.

So every year we go back and forth on what to get the kids. On the ideas - I start small, he starts big. We end up somewhere on the other side of even his big ideas, not the middle, but GARGANTUAN.

Apparently once I start shopping and getting into the true Christmas spirit, I become unfocused and quickly forget my intentions to keep things simple.

And they end up being far from simple.

My daughter is four and my son is two. We are trying to teach them the difference between want and need. I feel like we missed the mark this year a little.

I wrote my daughter a letter to Santa that I want to give her on Christmas night. Some may call me a buzzkill. Some may say this is too much for a four year old.

But I know her. And I kind of think she will get it. And I hope that as she starts getting IT more, maybe I can remember what IT is really about.

Dear Shaila,

Well if you are getting this letter, it is because you made it on the NICE list this year. Congratulations! Your brother Nico made it too! I know that your mommy and daddy are very proud of you and so am I.

This year you got many presents. Too many to count, I even think. But I want you to know that Christmas is not just about getting gifts. It is about being grateful for what you have and showing that by being the best person you can be to others.

You will not always get so many gifts on Christmas. There will be Christmases where there are several presents to open and there will be Christmases where there are fewer gifts.

Don’t ever judge your Christmas by how many presents you get.

One day you will come to know that the best Christmases come from giving. From giving your heart, giving your love and giving your generosity to others.

There are some children in this world who will not receive presents this year. While it’s true that some ARE on the naughty list, what is even more true is that there are some places in this world that even Santa can’t even reach.

Many of these children not only need toys to bring smiles to their faces, they need food. Some don’t even have water to bathe in. Or even drink!

Will you do me a favor and say a prayer for them? I pray for them too, every night with Mrs. Claus. I know it’s not enough but I do try.

One day your mother and your father will talk to you more about what Christmas is about. While I hope you enjoy your many toys this year and that you take extra special care of them, I also hope that you think about something.

Something very, VERY important.

That is this.

Love does not come to you in presents.

Happiness comes from more than just things.

You are more than all of these gifts will ever be. No matter how expensive, extravagant, fun or pretty.

It’s easy to get distracted about what matters most in life, most of all at Christmastime.

If I can tell you one thing right now, which I believe from what I see and from my reports from my good Elf, Brimley, it is this.

The greatest thing about you is your kindness and your grace. Your amazing desire to think of the whole world as your best friend. I have seen the way that you can never answer who your best friend is, because you want to be the best friend you can be to each of your friends.

While I brought you gifts today, just know that what you possess is one of the greatest gifts you will ever have. Don’t ever lose it.

Shaila, presents will come and go. You will outgrow toys.

Never, NEVER outgrow your spirit.

I know this is a long letter. But it is very important that I got this message to you. Please continue to be the best sister you can be your brother, Nico. He loves you very much (though you are right, he doesn't always know how to show it).

You are very, very lucky to have each other.

Listen to your elders and take care of yourself. You will get another letter like this again from me, probably in a year from now. (If you are nice, that is!)

Always remember to believe. In Christmas, in Santa and most of all…

Yourself.

Love,

Santa Claus

I hope you all have an amazing holiday.

Merry Christmas!

Kiran

Sex Ed 101

When I was a kid, I had a lot of strange ideas about sex.

Like many words in my family, the topic and even muttering the actual word were considered taboo in my family. It was a concept that I knew about mainly because I saw people rubbing their bodies against each other if I was lucky enough to catch a glimpse of "Guiding Light."

My older sister and I had an arrangement. If I was quiet and let her watch "Guiding Light" then I would be able to watch as much "Scooby Doo" as I wanted.

The arrangement worked for me.

I was lucky enough to watch a lot of Indian movies with my family when I was growing up. Full of colorful singing, highly choreographed dance routines, car chases and gratuitous violence, the movies were an amazingly entertaining way to spend most of my early childhood in a trance in front of the television.

However, these movies were not the best representation of what sex was either.

You see, in Indian movies, people don't kiss. Like, ever.

Ok, so there might be some movies now that have kissing scenes, I am out of the loop. But when I was growing up, it just didn't happen. Not to say that the sex wasn't there. It WAS. But I just had no idea when it was happening, what initiated the action or how people kept getting pregnant.

Did it happen during the dance scene where the woman was wearing a white sari in the rain?

Did it happen during the scene where the man looked deeply into the woman's eyes and placed his hand on her hand?

How come the next scene shows her panicking and her parent's throwing her out of the house for dishonoring the family?

Dude, he just touched her hand. How is that her fault? I thought. And how did that sperm get in her stomach?

Which lead me to believe that pregnancy could happen at anytime. To anybody.

Spontaneous pregnancy.

I was very cautious around men. If someone accidentally brushed against me, I would make sure to wash the body part (foot, hand, shoulder) quickly and thoroughly.

I had my whole life ahead of me. I couldn't be saddled with a kid!

While I knew this pregnancy thing could happen very quickly and without warning, I still had no idea how in the hell it actually happened. I knew that odds were higher once you were married because of increased risk of exposure - for example, hands brushing each other at the dinner table and all that.

While we didn't have the internet, I know I could have easily looked some of this stuff up in the heavy outdated volumes of Encyclopedia Britannica, so I blame myself for not knowing.

Sure, I read "Are You There God, It's Me, Margaret." But short of understanding now that I would be saddled with some stupid thing called a period for the rest of my foreseeable life - none of the penises, I mean - pieces (SORRY!) fit together.

Sometimes I would catch glimpses into what this meant. When watching an episode of "Who's the Boss" with my mother (Ma hearts Tony Danza), I was banished to my bedroom during the episode where Sam gets a hickey because it was too risque. I didn't even know what the hell a hickey was, but I knew again that it probably had to do with sex.

Over time, I realized that my assumptions were wrong. Through close observation, I started to note something critical to my understanding the epidemic proportions of pregnancy and the key to prevention.

You could not rub tummies with a man. Ever.

I had it all wrong. It wasn't the hand or the foot or the shoulder or the leg, all which could come in contact easily without risk, even in the most sperm infested environment. It wasn't like sperm was pollen - it wouldn't just float over to you while you paid for your lunch in the cafeteria.

Not even on Pizza Fridays.

A whole lot of tummy rubbing was what was causing these outbreaks of pregnancy on "Guiding Light," "Dallas," and every other show on TV. That dad from "Eight is Enough"? He liked to rub tummies so much with his wife that they had 8 kids.

What the hell?

Watching the scene from "Grease" where Rizzo and Kenickie are necking in the car? Well of course she got scared that she was pregnant. Now I understand my mother's concern about Alyssa Milano's hickey.

Necking, i.e. the touching of necks and exchanging of lipstick from one face and or neck to another oftentimes leads to good fashioned tummy rubbing.

Rizzo must have been so bloody grateful at the end of "Grease" when she wasn't prego because she obviously had been rubbing some serious tummy.

That girl got around. She knew her way around necks and belly buttons.

I lived the first 12 years of my life in the dark on the mechanics of the actual act. Sitting in Sex Ed in the 6th grade next to one of my best friends, I skipped a few chapters ahead to see a picture of male and female genitalia with arrows indicating possible entry points.

"What the fuck?" I said, looking at my friend Danielle. Yes, even though I did not know what sex was, I cursed like a sailor when I was 12. Another day, another post.

My eyes were wide open. I was horrified.

"What?" she asked. I could tell she was amused by my reaction, because I was obviously joking.

"Danielle, why would he put THAT, well THERE? This book makes no sense. " I was floored.

"How do you think it happens?" she asked.

I explained to her what it was really about. How tummy rubbing was the cause of so much unexpected pregnancy in the world. Like most friends would do, she nodded understandingly and patted my hand.

No fluids were exchanged.

No, of course she had to bust out laughing and announce it to the whole room. "Oh my God! Kiran thinks sex (that word, ugghhh, that WORD!) is rubbing stomachs."

"Is she stupid?"
"What the fuck's wrong with you?"
"Why the hell would anyone want to just rub stomachs? How did you think the sperm went in?"

"It just goes through the skin," I explained, not willing to let go. "Sometimes the belly button."

They all looked at me in silence before busting out laughing again. I am pretty sure my teacher was laughing the loudest.

So - SEX - yes, that WORD - and what it meant from a purely physical, mechanical perspective, was fully explained to me in my 6th grade Sex Education class at Jonas Salk Middle School when I was 12 years old.

I would like to say that finally having this knowledge gave me what I needed to navigate my way through relationships with men, but I think I was so traumatized by the pictures in that textbook that I was too hesitant to let go of my tummy theory for a while.

I had my first "real" kiss when I was 17. I almost bit the guy's tongue off, I really had no clue what the hell I was supposed to do. My teeth were like a blockade and nobody was going to get past them. I tried, I really did. I am only person I know who had so much trouble with the act of French kissing.

It took a long time before anybody got to rub tummies with me.

When Nico and Shaila do get to the point where they ask me, I wonder how readily I will walk them through the truth. I think just to mess with them, I should work the tummy theory into their education in some way.

After all, its how they were made.