I start the decade finding myself in love with a Bangladeshi Muslim girl. I come from a Jain Gujarati family. So my 2010s start with a huge challenge. It dawns on me that I want to marry this girl. Before I can do that, I need to get my parents on board. That is the challenge. My parents' initial reaction is, as expected, moderately explosive. But when the dust settles, my Dad's magnanimity reveals itself and he says he is willing to meet the girl and assess her on own merits, independent of her religion. He says he wants to assess her as an individual. He convinces my Mom to join him. They travel to London and meet M over lunch at Sagar Restaurant, Hammersmith. After lunch, M leaves to go her way. I walk with my parents to the Tube station. On the way, my Mum says - "If she is the one you want to marry, go for it. I am on board.". That is a testament to the beauty of M's personality.
That is all I need. I know right then that, now that my parents are on board, I don't need to worry about anyone else. Because everyone else falls into line. And so, the rest of the first 4 years of this decade is spent in progressing my fledgling career at a magic circle law firm (arguably the most blue-blooded of them all!), proposing to M, indulging in cross-border wedding arrangements and (with my parents' help) buying my first apartment. Through the process, bigots in my extended family are weeded out and new friends become family. M and I travel - a lot. Europe, USA, India, Bangladesh, Kenya, South Africa, Jordan, Oman, Maldives, Turkey, Sri Lanka and Thailand.
I put on weight. I stress eat at work. I don't exercise. I grow obese. And I remain in denial about my weight while secretly envying anyone with a healthy physique. M tells me I look like my 40 years' old uncle. M tells me I need to be wary of diabetes. M tells me this is not what she signed up to.
And then, one day - on New Year's Eve, December 2016, the penny drops. And it drops hard. M and I are at dinner that night with friends. I cry. I loathe what I have become. I loathe every bit of wobbly fat on me. I hate my moobs. I am disgusted that I have to wear waist size 42" jeans which don't sit well on my elephant-like hips. I weigh 104.4 kgs that day. I hit rock bottom. I am terrified of contracting diabetes in my early 30s. It is a dark, dreary night. A million questions rush through my mind. How did I become this? Why did I let it happen? Who can I blame? The following morning, New Year's Day 2017, the answer reveals itself to me - "Blame no one but yourself". I decide there is only one way to go - and that is upwards. So, I start tracking calories religiously and go for spin classes. Three months in and I am enjoying both. Spin classes are gruelling but exhilarating. Being in a self-imposed calorie deficit does the trick. I start seeing differences very quickly. Clothes that were too slim for me begin fitting well. By May 2017 everyone around me starts noticing the differences. I take to swimming. That, coupled with calorie tracking, further accelerates the fat loss. I start taking selfies of myself that I actually like to share with M. I look much younger. M feels proud of me. For the first time in my life, my parents land at Heathrow and the first thing my Dad does is fist bumps me on how well I look. That has never happened. By the end of that year, I weigh 84 kgs. I look young. I feel energetic. I am ready to welcome our son, who has spent the major part of 2017 in M.
January 2018 - my world changes, forever. My son is born. Healthy and happy. He spends the first one hour of his life in my arms (M is on the operating theatre table). Ben E. King's classic "Stand By Me" plays on the theatre radio. I sing it to Evren who is just one hour old but is listening to me while wrapped in my arms. A tear rolls down my cheek. This is my son. A life dependent on what I do. I am overwhelmed by the magnanimous capacity of M's body - what not she has been through to give birth to this individual, who won't ever have any idea of it himself. And so parenthood begins. Sleepless nights, frustrations, happy firsts (happy first bath, happy first solid food...).
Parenthood is and will continue to remain a major defining feature of my life. It has crushed my ego in ways I never imagined. It brings me to my knees in prayer as I seek the very best for my son. It drives me to re-assess the trajectory of my career. Money is important but now not as important as before. Time begins to take priority over money. I want to be a present father. I want my son to grow up knowing who I am. I don't want to miss bath time or bed time because I am chained to the office desk late into the night making money for those who already have plenty of it. Opportunities arise and I make a career move, that has, so far, proved rewarding.
But I end this decade tired and exhausted. Parenthood takes its toll. It demands a lot on you. You continue to give, selflessly, until a point in time when you realise that a balance needs to be recalibrated. I end this decade, yearning for a shift in my mental focus to things that matter to me. I have spent the past year battling some cruel demons inside my mind. This year I fought body dysmorphia disorder (BDD). I sought professional counselling and came out on the other side a stronger, better equipped fighter. Yet the fight continues, but it is easier to battle now.
I am tired of striving for more. I am done with proving myself. I want to be self-validated. This new decade will see a drive to move towards just that - doing things for me without worrying about whether it will be approved of. The approval won't matter. I want to be master of my decisions. I want my son to grow up knowing that he does not need to placate anyone with his life choices - and he is answerable to himself only. Yes, he must realise that life choices have consequences and my job is to help him make informed choices.
I end this decade with some regrets. I regret not experimenting in my youth, I regret not foraying into uncharted territory in my 20s. Did I experiment with drugs in my youth? Did I live on the edge in my youth? Did I stray? No. And that time has gone, never to return. So there are those regrets. I could have lived more carelessly in my youth and could have still managed to get back on track at the right time, That did not happen. I instead followed a straightforward journey through university into work. I won't ever know what it's like to wake up in bed in my early 20s with an unknown woman next to me, unable to recall the events of the past night. It is a regret, but now that I am married and voluntarily committed to the woman I love, it has no relevance and is not a feature of any desire of my present or the future.
I am tired, politically. The far right dominates in a world where liberal attitudes are at risk. I can no longer fight the mass populism, for I am exhausted. I just want to be at peace with my own set of principles. One day liberalism will resurge and that is when I will wake up. Until then it is time to cruise, for I am done with ascent, and descent is hopefully a couple of decades away.
