Poornima Manco

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family

50 Not Out!

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My father had once told me that life is as unpredictable as cricket. Taking the metaphor further, I can happily report that I have hit my half century with élan. During days of Covid that is not a blessing to be sneezed at! I fully expected to feel some sadness at leaving my youth behind so definitively. Instead, all I feel is a sharp sense of relief. At no point in my life have I ever felt so sure of myself, so comfortable in my skin, and so content with my lot.

Alongside, I’ve learnt quite a few lessons too. This is hard won wisdom, and in detailing it here, my intent isn’t to bore you, but to remind myself how far I’ve come from that gauche, awkward young girl setting foot into her twenties. Of course, there is no end to learning and in the years to come, I hope to amass many more life lessons. However, where I stand today, these are my little nuggets of sagacity. Do with them what you will.

  1. Forgive. My goodness me! If only I’d known how liberating this was. Conventional wisdom always dictated to forgive and forget. I’ve been terrible at both. But as I approached my 50th birthday, all those petty grudges and long-held resentments seemed to fall away. I really didn’t want to carry any of it into my fifth decade. So, my mantra has become forgive, but don’t forget. If someone has wronged me repeatedly, then I’d be a fool to let them do it again. But I will forgive because I do not want to carry the burden of my anger into the future. If I’ve wronged someone, I hope they can find it in their heart to forgive me too.
  2. Ask, don’t assume. Another one of my failings has been to jump to conclusions, often erroneous ones. With only half the information at hand, one can often make totally wrong assumptions. Isn’t it better to just ask, politely? Clarify rather than hypothesize? It’s already serving me well, as I just ask outright if I’m perplexed by someone’s behaviour. More often than not, it turns out to be the most innocuous thing.
  3. Say No and mean it. Aha! This takes many years to solidify into a behaviour choice, especially if you are a people pleaser like me. But, but, but… Time is not an infinite resource. It is up to you to decide where and what you want to spend it on. In my case, I’ve decided that I would rather say no at the very outset than not deliver on a promise.
  4. Be true to yourself, i.e. have some integrity. Recently I’d paid the bill at a restaurant, only to discover later that they had left the entire alcohol tab off the final tally. I could have let it go. After all, it was saving me a pretty packet. But after a sleepless night worrying that I could cost someone their job, I returned to the restaurant to settle the remainder of the bill. Yes, in the short term it hurt my wallet. But in the long term, my conscience and I could live together happily ever after.
  5. Enjoy every day. This is so oft-repeated it’s almost a cliché. It is so important, though, to really stop and smell the roses, to slow life’s treadmill enough to enjoy the view. Who knows which day may be your last?
  6. Have an attitude of gratitude. Really! Try it. Just say thanks to whoever/whatever you believe in. If you have no religious beliefs and think that the world is just chaos, then thank that chaos for everything it’s given you. Life, love, a home, a family, food to eat, clothes to wear, holidays to go on – everything is a gift that we must never take for granted. Just a simple ‘thank you’ will bring many more blessings into your life.
  7. Patience. This from one of the most impatient people you may ever have met. That’s moi! If I could have something day before yesterday, I would. However, life has taught me that all things come to those who wait. Waiting doesn’t mean sitting on your hands and hoping for a million pounds to fall into your lap. It means working quietly and diligently towards your goals without expecting to be rewarded immediately. There is an Indian proverb that goes – सब्र का फल मीठा होता है – which literally means that the fruit of patience is sweet. That it most definitely is.
  8. Confidence. I have two young girls, and I watch them as they navigate the world, unsure of themselves and their place in it. I always pretended I was more confident than I was when I was younger. “Fake it till you make it” was my internal instruction to myself. I don’t need to fake it anymore. Knowing who I am, what I’m not, and that I add value to the world allows me the luxury of being confident, not arrogant. I hope it doesn’t take my girls thirty years to discover their own unshakeable core of assurance.
  9. Growing old is a privilege. Yes, it is, and it’s one denied to many. In the last eighteen months when we’ve lost so many loved ones to Covid, it is even more important to acknowledge that living to a ripe old age is yet another blessing, a prerogative that only the lucky have.
  10. A legacy of kindness. What do we leave behind that is truly important? Wealth, name, fame? Or, the fact that we may have touched someone’s life with a little bit of kindness? To me, that is the only legacy that matters.

50 not out! It’s been a fantastic game so far, and I’ve hit a few sixers along the way. The day I’m bowled out, I hope everyone says, “She had a good innings.”

Because, you see, I really did.

Families

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What constitutes a family?

Is it the one we are born into, the one we create for ourselves or the people we choose to surround ourselves with?

In the course of a lifetime, one person can have several families. There is, of course, the birth family – mother, father and siblings. Then the extended family from both sides of the parents – grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. In modern lives, there are also the possibilities of step-parents and half-siblings. While there may well be a blood tie with many of these people, how strong one’s connection to them is depends on various factors. For instance, has that family feeling been fostered from the very beginning? Or, has it been a distant relationship, more in name than in deed?

In my case, being an only child, I was always extremely close to my parents. In fact, it was a wrench to move away and start living independently. However, sadly and due to circumstances, I never developed a close bond with much of the extended family, save a few people. In the absence of siblings, my friends became that extended family. I invested time and energy in a family that I chose to create, or so I thought.

Lately though, in these lockdown days, I am starting to understand that in many, many ways, blood is thicker than water. I have my own nuclear family around me – safe and healthy, thank goodness! However, unaccountably, I am feeling the need to reach out to members of the family that I haven’t seen or spoken to in years. Perhaps it’s the knowledge, particularly at this time, of how ephemeral our lives really are … how fleeting and transitory. Soon, an entire generation of people who came before me, people who were connected by blood to my mother and father, will no longer exist. And although, I will carry that bloodline forward as will my children, in time that gene pool will dilute, taking with it times, places, languages and memories.

How one views oneself or one’s place in society often comes from cues accumulated over a lifetime. For instance, I am Indian because I was born in India. I am also lucky enough to have been a well educated and well-heeled Indian, affording me opportunities that weren’t available to the majority of my countrymen. Through a fortuitous mix of North and South, a marriage between my father and mother, I was able to straddle two cultures as well. Growing up in the North, the balance always tilted heavily in that favour, but my south Indian genes could never be denied in my complexion, hair or features. Annual summer holidays spent in the homes of aunts and uncles reinforced the fact that one half belonged to a culture and language I had yet to explore fully. However, age, migration and my own inability to invest time left those relationships and that side of me, unfinished and to a large extent, unfulfilled.

Any one person has only a certain amount of time and energy to harvest, and chances are, they put those towards aspects of life that they deem to be more significant than others. My little family, my job, my passion (writing), my hobbies and my friends have taken up the bulk of my lifetime. Yet strangely, now I feel that perhaps I should have taken some of that time and put it towards the people I have a history with; familial ties, after all, cannot be denied. However, this strange pull aside, I also recognise the fact that some of my hesitance to reach out was rooted in a deep antipathy towards the politics that permeated the extended family dynamics. The ‘he said, she said’ toxicity of my childhood that I had vowed internally to never be a participant in. The long stretches of angry silences, the holding on to grudges long past their sell-by dates, the misunderstandings, the slights, the judgement calls of adults functioning like toddlers in the throes of a tantrum. My deep-seated dislike of drama such as this had put a continent of disapproval between us. One that I am trying to make rapid strides over, to reach across and say, “I’m still here and I still care.”

Maybe it’s all too little, too late. But I cannot leave it as it is. For it is in this bizarre, surreal time that I have truly appreciated those who have reached out and asked, “How are you?” It’s shown me how certain relationships that I felt were strong were in actual fact, very weak indeed. Whereas others, the ones I hadn’t paid much attention to at all, were the ones that were unbreakable. In my belated reaching out, I hope I am able to convey some of my own love and bonding to the family that I, in some ways wilfully and in others, unwittingly, neglected. Yes, families are social constructs, but they are also instinctual ones created from blood, genes, memories and love.

“So much of what is best in us is bound up in our love of family, that it remains the measure of our stability because it measures our sense of loyalty.” – Haniel Long

Up close and personal

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Loss is universal. It is something each one of us will encounter at some point in our lives. Yet, how we deal with it is an intensely personal experience. Some of us will rage against the unfairness of it, some will accept it as our due, others will go into a state of denial, others still will perhaps find unhealthy crutches to lean on. No matter how we process loss, one thing we can be utterly and completely sure of is that we will be touched by it.

My own biggest loss was that of my mother. I was 27, newly married, living over 4000 miles away, and still trying to come to terms with the separation that my career and now, marriage had created between us. My mother had been my fulcrum for most of my life. She was the strongest, bravest, most beautiful lady that I had looked up to for nearly two decades. However, she was not without her faults, and as I grew out of my teens and set foot into my twenties, suddenly, for some unknown reason, her inadequacies were all I could focus on. Perhaps, that was Nature’s way of making sure that I would be able to fly the nest. But how hurtful it must have been for her to see this daughter, her only child, the one who had previously idolised her, turn cold and indifferent. Thankfully, that state did not last long. Sadly though, much before I could tell her how much she meant to me and how much I loved her, she was gone.

Everything I write today, is in some way or the other, dedicated to her. I can only hope to be half of the woman she was.

The Intimacy of Loss, my first novella, deals with the loss of innocence, the splintering of a family and the loss of a society’s morality. Puja is a teenage girl grappling with her sense of self, the dynamics of friendships and family ties and a strange, inexplicable bond that springs up between her and an outcast of society. It is a tale laced with loss, but also with love and hope.

I hope it is one my mother would be proud of.

You can buy the book at:

The Intimacy of Loss: A Novella

Don’t forget to review it once read. All your feedback is immensely valuable to me. Many thanks and happy reading. 🌹

My unlikely journey to fatherhood – André Hellström

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I started having the first stirrings of the paternal instinct when I was volunteering, taking care of a 10 year old boy with autism, through the National Autistic Society. I saw ‘Joel’ once a week for two years and although he had difficulties building relationships with others, we connected very well. Being with Joel, I realised I wanted to be a dad.

I can only compare the paternal instinct with the feelings of realising that I was gay- they are very strong and there is no going back.

I believe one of the most important things in life is to help others, so helping a loving lesbian couple wanting a family became very important to me. I was reluctant to donate to a sperm bank as donating to a sperm bank is anonymous and I’ve always been adamant that a child needs to know where he/she is coming from. I was also very close to my grandmother, she was my everything and I wanted her legacy to live through me. I found a lesbian couple from a website called Pride Angel where female couples are looking for donors. I knew straight away that they were the mums I was looking for. We bonded very quickly but it was still a long journey towards building trust. After all, we were about to create another human being.

I tried getting both mums pregnant through artificial insemination. One mum got pregnant after four tries. The following nine months waiting for the baby felt like nine years! It was endless! And full of worries! I was worried that the baby wouldn’t survive. I was worried that our child would be bullied and resent us for putting him or her into this kind of family. Now, looking back at some of those worries, I feel silly. I worried too much. We live in multi cultural London and what’s a ‘normal’ family today anyway? Our baby was planned and with so much love and trust behind it.

Nevertheless, a lot of thoughts went through my mind and I felt very lonely during the pregnancy. The mums had each other but not many of my gay friends could relate to my paternal instincts. I had no one to talk to when I was worried, or overwhelmingly excited about having a child! But I did talk to the mums a lot. In fact, we cried and laughed with happiness during the whole pregnancy. As the belly grew, the more we understood the magnitude of what we had done! Of course, ALL children are small miracles but somehow we selfishly felt that our baby was just a tad more special…

Our son Enzo was born in the year 2014. The mums sent me a photo of them holding our newborn son and I felt beyond happy! And the relief. I was relieved that Enzo was healthy, I was relieved (and proud) that I had pursued my dream of wanting to help a lesbian couple in having a child. It had taken four years from my initial feeling of wanting to be a dad until Enzo was born. I felt a sense of inner peace, like a puzzle had been finished. By helping others, we also help ourselves.

After Enzo’s birth, it was going to take about two weeks to organise the birth certificate. Our agreement was that the mothers would be on the birth certificate but during the first two weeks there was a possibility that I could change my mind… By not being on the birth certificate, I would, as a consequence, lose all legal rights to my own son… The mothers knew I could change my mind so we had initially agreed that I wouldn’t see Enzo the first two weeks. However, as we had grown so close during the pregnancy, the new mums couldn’t wait for me to see him and to be honest, it would’ve been torture not to. So the next day I went to their home.

Therese was sleeping on the bed holding Enzo, both exhausted after the birth. I had never seen anything so beautiful in my life. I’m not religious but this was somehow a religious experience. I can’t really describe it but I’m sure I felt the presence of my grandmother there. Therese woke up and handed Enzo to me saying ‘Please hold your son’. Remember again that she knew that I could change my mind, so really, she was playing with fire. I actually didn’t want to hold him at first because I was terrified that my heart would break handing him back to Hilda and Therese.

Therese sensed my worry and she simply said ‘You will be OK André’, so I took Enzo in my arms and just like that, I felt like I had been a father all my life! Enzo grabbed my finger and although a baby can’t see, he did somehow react to my presence. It was an instant bond. After a few hours I left their house and believe me, this was the time when my human instincts played with me. It was as if my entire being knew Enzo was my son and wanted to go back to him. Even more interesting considering I’m gay, I felt very protective about Therese, the birthmother. The immense love I felt for her was so strong. I felt like a lion king! Having said that, I never want to downplay the love I have for Hilda but at that very moment, my focus was on Therese and Enzo.

Having no say in the upbringing of my own child isn’t an easy thing to live with. But when it’s hard, I just focus on why I did it; to help a couple in love to have a family. Legally Hilda and Therese are parents to Enzo. My son will, however, call me daddy and will always know I’m his dad. Nonetheless my role is more like an uncle who is there to provide the love, but has no say in the rules.

This can prove difficult as, although I am not a  part of bringing Enzo up, I still have to love my son unconditionally for the rest of my life – even if he turns out to be a spoiled brat! And yes, the mothers do spoil him while I definitely would be more strict. I bite my tongue a lot. I have voiced my opinion two to three times when I just didn’t feel comfortable with the whole situation. Telling a parent how to raise their kids is not something I recommend, especially when it comes from a very direct person like me… But the mothers ‘get me’ and understand my directness and sometimes, bluntness. I don’t mean any harm, it is just how I’m wired.

Thankfully I have learned to choose my battles, both in my role as a ‘donor daddy’ and in my ‘outside life’. I think all parents learn to choose their battles, otherwise parenthood would be too exhausting. Being a dad changed my life for the better. Having said that, being a full time dad wouldn’t be for me, as selfish as that might sound. What’s important to say is, that all human beings are on a journey through life, we all have our ups and downs and although becoming a dad made me feel complete, it doesn’t mean it’s for everyone. Just as I tell other gays that want to become fathers, being a ‘donor dad’ is not for everyone. I followed my heart and what felt good to me. I will never tell anyone else what’s right for them.

The mothers, who initially just wanted a donor and not an involved donor chose a more difficult path. Let’s face it, having me in their life does make things slightly more complicated. They do have to see me and include me in big holidays etc. And for that reason alone I love the mothers so much. All three of us are in this journey together.

Enzo is a copy of me, it’s as if my DNA has gone straight down to him. But this helps the mothers, and me, to understand him more. One example, Enzo is not very good in groups. He’s very independent and sometimes even quite selfish… He hates sharing. So in the nursery when all kids sit in a circle singing songs, he’s not the slightest bit interested. I was there in the nursery once and saw this. I was a quite upset that he didn’t want to join the group and socialise. I could see the teachers trying to include him but his stubbornness wouldn’t have it. Suddenly it was like a ‘deja vu’ from my own childhood, I was exactly the same! So being a dad sure brings up memories from my own time as a kid that I had forgotten about.

In 2016 our second son Levi was born. To have TWO sons was more than I could ever have dreamt of. Enzo being Enzo wasn’t as excited as he sure didn’t like the competition. It didn’t help that Levi had colic for 3 months. The family’s life was pretty much turned upside down with a constantly screaming baby for that long.

I’m not sure I should even mention this but I will since it’s quite a ‘taboo’ subject. When Levi was born I didn’t bond with him in the same way. Yes, once again I felt like a lion king but I somehow didn’t feel the same immense connection with him. It made me feel very very guilty. I loved Enzo so much and didn’t think there was room for more love. But then my stepmom said something beautiful, ‘It’s not like you have to fit more love, it’s as if another room opens that you can fill with love’. That stayed with me, and it’s so true. I do love Levi so so much but I have to admit, even though he’s 2.5 years old now, he still doesn’t adore me in the same way as Enzo has always done. I, of course, do love them both equally, but Enzo feels very close to me.

I certainly don’t want to favour one of them over the other. That would make me a terrible dad! As time goes on, I’m learning how to handle my feelings. There’s no ‘manual’  on how to be a ‘donor dad’ and as mentioned before, I can feel quite lonely in my situation since most of my friends, and even some family members, show no interest whatsoever. That, in itself, hurts tremendously but this is ultimately MY journey and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Being a donor dad was MY choice and I love it.

Life is all about choices and whatever we choose, let us choose well…

 

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My name is André and I was born in Sweden. When I was five years old my mum took me to the island of Crete in Greece. I remember seeing the Boeing 737 knowing from that day that I was going to work on an airplane. It was my driving force throughout my whole childhood, I couldn’t wait to get out and see the world! After college I worked as a holiday rep all over Europe and then I worked as a concierge on a top rated cruise line. On board Crystal Harmony I saw the whole world and although it was hard work, I sure lived my dream. 1997 I felt it was time to change the ocean for the air and I was hired by United Airlines. It might not have the glamour it had when I flew to Crete in 1974 but even after 22 years as a flight attendant, I still get a buzz during every take off- I truly love my job and the airline industry! I use the time off and flexibility to challenge myself outside work and I do that by travelling or doing volunteer work. I love living in London. It’s like living in the centre of the world, I love the mix of different nationalities and religions. This city surely has been very good to me.