I have always been fascinated by art and one of the art forms that I absolutely love is getting a tattoo. In India, there are many people who sport amazing pieces of art on their body, but the trend is still considered very ‘foreign,’ very ‘non-Indian’ for the regular Indian’s thought process. For me it is just another extension of who I am.
In case you haven’t started judging me, thank you. I get judged a lot because I wear tattoos, and it’s something that I almost end up expecting people to do.
So a few days back I was waiting to pick up my younger one and a woman was walking past. She took a look at me - I was wearing a plain black t-shirt and a skirt that came down till my knee. She took a look at me and saw the tattoo on my leg and happened to see it on my hand too, and for some weird reason, could also see the one on my nape.
And the moment she saw my tattoos, she gave a kind of smirk and looked at me again, actually, even though she had passed on, she turned back and glanced at me. I could see the disapproval in her eyes, checking me out to understand what kind of a mother was I, the one with the tattoos and the skirt and what kind of values I would be imparting.
It was all there in her look...
I've seen this look many times, mostly unspoken, when people judge me by the tattoos I have and the clothes I choose to wear, and by many other parameters.
That lady, even as she smirked and looked back at me, didn't have a clue about me. She didn't see the early morning alarm that I dismiss each morning and jump out of the bed, literally.
She didn't see that I sleep for only maybe four hours a night and then wake up and work the whole day, trying to spend as much time with my babies, while meeting my work deadlines and also running daily errands.
She never saw the way my sleep-drenched eyes were finding it difficult to concentrate, and how I passed the day gulping mugs of tea, in an effort to fight off the sleep and the exhaustion and concentrate on work.
She never saw the hot meal I had prepared for my kids and set ready for them to come home and have, or the things I had packed in their school lunch to make sure they ate healthy through the day.
Or those quick last-minute projects I helped finish or pack up, or the many ways I wiped those baby tears while encouraging my younger one to go to school and promising her that mamma would be right there, waiting to pick her up back in her arms.
The many times I had woken up at night to make sure my babies were comfortable and properly wrapped in their comforters, even as they kicked and pushed me to the edge of the bed in their sleep, and do each night.
I teach my kids never to judge...
Or the many smiles I put up through the day for them, even if my heart and mind and senses may be at some far-off place. Or the endless moments when I may have felt lonely and sad and depressed, but always jumped around my babies and chosen to act as fools with them, just as babies and kids love you to be.
The many times I chose to be there for them, the way I taught them to respect others, teaching them values and the importance to dream and live and let the world be a fair and happy place, to care for others and help as much as possible, to aim for the best and do what makes them happy, to reach their dreams with their hard work, and so many other things that every nice and fair human being should be.
That lady and all those who judge me by my tattoos could not possibly know how I teach my kids to never judge, to never kill someone's character with a glance, to instead know a person, understand that person, and agree to disagree.
No. I am not defined by the tattoos I have.
Also Read: 7 values a working mother unknowingly passes on to her kids
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