Chicken run vs Vegan run

I often find myself questioning whether reading books actually teaches me anything, or if it’s simply another form of entertainment—albeit a rather poor one at times. But every so often, something I’ve read will unexpectedly stick with me, making all the difference. When I was your age, I, too, developed the habit of reading, and back then, there was one author who reigned supreme in the world of novels. In one of his books, he mentioned that even in the most unfortunate situations—say, an accident—you can learn valuable lessons, like how following traffic rules can make a difference. I’ve never forgotten that quote—except, of course, when I’m behind the wheel. Now, you might wonder how this connects to what I’m about to say. You might even argue it’s a classic case of finding patterns in everything. But honestly, what you think doesn’t matter here, its my blog; what I think is the only thing that counts.

Four months ago, on an unfortunate day, I found myself visiting the GP for what seemed like a trivial illness—a mild fever and a cold. Whenever I catch a cold, it tends to drag on for 10 to 15 days, which feels like an eternity. I was hoping the GP would offer some magic cure to speed things up. She assured me to cure the cold within two weeks with no medication. As a bonus, she decided to check my blood pressure. The first time the monitor started running, it shot up like my electricity bill, quickly exceeding the limit and flashing an “E” for error. I thought it meant infinity, but she calmly reassured me it was likely a malfunction and made some adjustments to take the reading again. But the machine, perhaps sensing the change, started running again, only to stop once more after hitting infinity. The GP, frustrated with the device’s refusal to cooperate, tried to tame it. She yanked at the wires, shook the machine a couple of times, and adjusted it further. Finally, the device, exhausted by the ordeal, settled at 165/105.

Looking at the reading, the GP’s concern was clear. But we’d already spent 8 minutes of our 10-minute appointment wrestling with that machine. Sensing her dilemma, I decided to intervene. I mentioned that I had a family history of high blood pressure and that I was quite familiar with blood pressure monitors. I offered to track my blood pressure every day for the next two weeks and return for further analysis. She seemed relieved and let me go without any more fuss. On the way home, I cursed myself for making such a big deal of this common cold. It was still there, so had to keep blowing it, but also blew it out of proportion this time. As it turns out, this treasure of high blood pressure is our family friend, everyone shares it. A decade ago, another GP had caught it during a routine checkup and placed me under 24-hour surveillance. Fortunately, I stayed just below the 130/90 threshold, narrowly avoiding medication. Then I bought a blood pressure monitor and became obsessed with it for a while. But the wildly fluctuating readings drove me crazy, don't really like anything or anyone—that changes its mind constantly. When my kids stole the batteries for their remote car, it made me feel very relaxed, with a feeling of BP going down substantially down! From then, I successfully avoided having my blood pressure tested in any setting, thereby managing to keep it in check. But, as they say, no good lasts forever.

In a series of unfortunate events, I found myself watching a Netflix series called You Are What You Eat  a week ago. The show, with its vegan agenda, followed a fascinating experiment involving identical twins—one of whom went vegan, while the other maintained a regular diet. It tracked the effects of 8 weeks of plant-based living. The series discussed the dangers of antibiotics in the poultry industry, which made me feel sympathetic toward chickens. I didn't say 'who cares about the chickens given our own rampant use of antibiotics in humans?'. Then they went after farmed fish, revealing their heavily processed diets and the use of artificial colors to mimic the wild varieties. That stung a bit, considering my tendency to buy wild-caught Pacific salmon—at twice the price over Atlantic salmon. But the real kicker came when it revealed the dark secrets of the dairy industry. That’s when I totally submitted myself! Finally, someone was not just bashing the poor meat-eaters, it would be disrespectful not to listen to them.

But going vegan from a strict non-vegetarian diet is like changing religions. I couldn’t walk around with my head held high in society if I made such a drastic change because of my poor health. However, I have run out of options to tame that rebellious blood pressure monitor. Following this sacred vegan diet for 8 weeks felt like a catastrophe waiting to happen. I am stepping into this storm of clouds and rain, but if I played my cards right, I could use it to escape from the radar. That’s when Arjun fell into my trap. After all, I’m your dad, with deeply-rooted Indian values! The trap was simple: I casually mentioned how bad I am at controlling my food habits and how incredible Arjun had been in sticking to a vegetarian diet for two years, despite intense maternal pressure. He grew an inch taller in pride, gleaming with glee. I pushed on, claiming that I could outdo him in self-discipline by going vegan for three months—if I only had the right motivation. The others quickly chimed in, claiming I was all talk and no action. Arjun joined in as well, eager to settle an unrelated score with me. That’s when I threw out the perfect bait: I challenged him to become a non-vegetarian if I succeeded in being vegan for three months. Arjun, ever the sharp one, hesitated for a moment, but then, swept up in the excitement to take the challenge. The others joined in, confident they would win either way. Finally, Arjun had taken the bait, and I had my perfect excuse to experiment with veganism—and, more importantly, to break Arjun’s two-year streak of discipline and out perform him.

When I was younger, one of my aunts used to call me a leech. I’m not sure which one she hated more, but she certainly studied me well. It’s a bit hard for me to let go of things I latch onto. That trait came in handy when it came to my vegan experiment. Chicken, fish, and eggs didn’t stand a chance. But my morning coffee? That was a different story. Milk was off the table, and soy milk? Well, that was an abomination—I would’ve preferred high blood pressure over that any day. I tried almond milk and coconut milk, but none of them made my coffee worth drinking. Finally, I found oat milk, which was surprisingly good, perhaps because I was no longer comparing it to my original milk-based coffee. Once that hurdle was cleared, everything else became easier, as long as I ignored the occasional traces of ghee that would make its way into my food without Arjun's knowledge. Not that I like it or need it, but I can't make people change their way of cooking always! I continued my vegan journey, travelling with my head held high, impressed with my newfound self-control. It felt surreal. My blood pressure had dropped considerably. I used my free private insurance to get a comprehensive check-up, ticking off all the boxes for the tests. While the Netflix series had certainly influenced me, I knew that it wasn’t just the veganism that helped—it was the broader lifestyle changes that came along with it. I gave it a grand send-off by finishing a sub two hours half marathon. I was in the best shape I’d been in for years, with my vegan run proving substantially better than chicken run! 

After four months of my vegan experiment, I returned to my “normal” life—but it wasn’t the same as before. That old unhealthy lifestyle could never return. An hour or two of exercise became my new norm. Junk food felt more like medicine than a treat. Alcohol was only allowed in good company. And I made an oath to continue my veganism for one month every year, just to remember the lessons it taught me. I think I was probably a bit drunk that day, so may not take it very seriously!

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PS: This was written long back, sometime in May 2024, but I got so busy with my active life that I just forgot to publish it! 

The curse and sacrifice

The moment of my greatest tests are here again. Looking down at my newborn baby, his tiny body, so fragile yet perfect in my arms. He is mine, he is me, my flesh and blood, my eyes and ears. His smiles and my tears, both seem to flow down these waters without anyone noticing it. I don't have to kill him myself, the guards will do it anyway in another few hours when the sun raises. But I have never let them do that in these last seven years, I will not let it happen this time as well. This is the curse that I have to go through and the sufferings should be mine alone.

There was a time when I was really in deep love with Shantanu. What was there not to get attracted towards him. He was every girl's dream. He was my dream as well even though I knew I didn't deserve him. He should have married a princess, but he fell for me and my beauty. I wasn't me anymore as I lost myself completely in him.

The writings were already on the wall before we even got married. But I refused to believe in me, my old dreams. The simple dream of having a small family, a loving hard working husband and two handsome boys as my eyes. On our way to palace, the sage told our nineth son would be the most powerful and will rule the world, making his father proud. But that would only come with the price of sacrificing his brothers. Shantanu was moved by the curse, but looked determined to keep the boon. He never disobeyed the sage but I was sure our love would melt him when the day comes.

I held the tiny body close, as if I could protect him from the harsh world outside. I tried to memorise every feature of his face, to imprint it in my memory forever. I wanted to remember the way he smelled, the sound of his soft breathing, the feel of his warmth against my skin. This wasn't hard for me, I already remember every inch of his body. I have been doing this from last 8 years. It is the same innocent life, shiny eyes, tiny nose and long ears. Shantanu tried to console me the first time. We are not killing him, but we are lifting a curse as he will be reborn again in an year. I try to believe that as truth sometimes, but then those moments of struggle for life haunt me again , as I drop him in the water in few minutes. No matter what the world thinks, I know I am killing my own kids for the hunger of greater power.

The palace was filled with beautiful servant girls. But no one would match my beauty even without my queens attire. The first few months were truly the pinnacle of my life. I was living my wild dream with no boundaries. The troubles only started when I was into nine months of my first pregnancy. How wrong I was to think I would be able to convince Shantanu to keep my child through my love. He was consumed with power and blinded by his ambition. My love didn't have any chance against my powerful king and my husband refused to listen to my pleas.

The day when my first born saw the light of the world, I couldn't close my eyes for even a second. All the pain of bearing him for nine months and then then the final intense and overwhelming agony of bringing him out is going in vain. But I still had the bleak hope of my king changing his mind after seeing the beautiful face of our first born son, the true ruler of Hastinapur in the days to come. I didn't take out my eyes out of him, even though the terrible pain of child birth was making me sick. The news of newborn reached my husband as soon as the sun raised, and I started praying for my son to rise as well. Instead I saw the king in my room moments later, along with his guards. There was no love, no hope of bonding, no emotions in his face. He was as determined as before to wait for his powerful ninth son. He didn't even bother to look at the innocent face of our first born. The guards were ordered to take the child away for sacrifice.

It was the very same face that I am looking today. Even though it was eight years ago, I remember every bit of him. He was my long lived son, one with whom I spent the most amount of time, almost eight hours to be precise. He would have been eight years old today, studying in a gurukul. He would have been so happy to see his younger brothers in such tiny body, showing him how he was when he was born. They were similar, but not same, every one of them. Those images were imprinted in my memory forever. I wanted to remember the way they smelled, the sound of their soft breathing, the feel of their warmth against my skin, even though it was only for few hours.

When the guards came forward to take my child away, I refused to give him away, like any mother would do. But I knew my limits, I knew my place. I held my son firmly in my arms and stood up, even though the pain was still unbearable. I am not standing in-front of the same Shantanu that fell in deep love with me an year ago. Perhaps it was me who couldn't see the King in him that day as I also fell in deep love with him instantly. But I still wanted to plead for what I wanted within my limits.

That day looked the same, though I was near the river during the noon with sun above my head. The king was kind enough to let me sacrifice my offsprings than let the guards do it. And so I kissed his forehead, whispered a prayer for his soul, and forced myself to do what I had to do. It was a sacrifice that I would carry with me for the rest of my life, a burden that would never truly be lifted. I wanted to be drowned with that sorrow, burden and sins of crime. But in that moment, all I could do was love my child as fiercely as I could, even if it meant it would be only for few more seconds. I carried him tucked into my chest as we would never be separated from each other. I went on for some distance in the river, till the water came to my chest touching his feet. Then I let mother Ganga take him to her arms and walked backwards. With my tears flowing like a stream, mother Ganga raised above to take my beautiful firstborn and left me with nothing but dried up eyes. 

Shantanu was proud of what I have done, it appeared he loved me even more. But I could no longer tell what love really is. Every time we made love, the scenes of my son disappearing deep into mother Ganga's arms would muddy the pleasure with pain. It wasn't just my hands that was stained, but my mind was corrupted too. I pretended to love my king but I could never forgive him for separating my precious jewels from me. He loves me for my subjugation to his ambition of power, not because he genuinely loved the girl he fell for on the banks of mother Ganga for her sheer beauty.

I am here again on the banks of mother Ganga. The sun will raise in another hour. The pain of giving birth to my eighth son an hour ago is no longer paining. It is the separation that is hurting me deep again. I have done this on my own like a machine for last seven years. The tears dried up long long ago, I was nothing but a moving rock. As I look at his vivid eyes, I feel nothing but a sense of overwhelming sadness. He looks more perfect than all his brothers. His tiny fingers, little nose, the way his eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks, seem to be melting this rock.

I am the queen of most powerful king in the world. How can I be so powerless? Was it really a choice that had been forced upon me, a decision that I never wanted to make? Or I was also complicit in the plan for powerful kingdom through my ninth son and I wanted the glory without the burden of sacrifice. Were my circumstances really beyond my control, or I knew that I had choices but I wasn't brave enough to grab them. I never questioned myself but only blamed my king for all the pain for so long. But this innocent face is questioning my consciousness. I keep looking at him again and again. Deep down, I know that these memories are only for my comfort, only for my solace, in the dark days to come. 

As the sun raises clearing the sky, the clouds in my mind also started disappearing. My path and my choices were more clear to me. I can no longer carry this burden on my shoulders and blame others. This is bringing the comfort that I have been longing for all these years. As I see my son again, I remember more my first son who would have been 8 years today. So I gave one final kiss to his forehead, whispered a prayer for his soul, and forced myself back to do what I had to do. I could see Dasi watching what I am doing from some distance away. As I placed my newborn on the banks of Ganga, I started taking my steps backwards, back to the womb of mother Ganga. Every step I take backwards, I feel I am becoming lighter from my burdens. To cover seven sins of my past I took seven big steps backwards, and I am already in her comforting arms. I am no longer sinking with my burden of crimes, but floating with the relief of finally doing the right thing.