Kusum Shukla, my mother, was a highly intelligent, talented and multi-faceted lady. She had her own identity which was separate from the roles she played even though they were all interwoven in the fabric of her life.
Kusum had so many stories to share that were life lessons in themselves. Unfortunately for me, she wasn’t fond of writing blog posts.
Her favourite forms of expression were the palette knife for artworks and her beloved pen for writing poetry. Her art was a genuine reflection of her soul.
And she loved to tell me stories about her life.
As I work on compiling her book of English poems, I am seeing her as her own person and not just a mother, daughter, wife, grandmother or pet parent to the numerous pets she had over her 81years of life.
This story goes back to her time in Doha and the renewal of her diplomatic passport.
In those days, one had to give one’s occupation. That stayed fixed until the pages and extra pages in the passport were exhausted with stamps or the passport validity expired.
When an artist’s identity is reduced to a label
That day I’d come home for the lunch and siesta time and saw both my parents sitting at the dining table glumly. I knew my mother was upset about something, and my father had a serious look on his face.
Our 4 miniature dachshunds were gathered around her feet as if their touch could help my mother in some way.
It turned out that the visa official had put my mother’s occupation as housewife in her new passport.
This was despite my father having told his Personal Assistant that the occupation was supposed to be ‘artist’.
My mother had already had numerous exhibitions during their tenure in Doha. My father was due to be transferred for another posting. The validity of the passport was 10 years which meant the occupation of housewife would last until his retirement.
Perhaps the Personal Assistant got it wrong, or the consular officer ignored it but this upset Kusum. She felt that she had been given a generic label and that all semblance of identity had been lost.
Identity is something that deserves recognition
To some, it may seem like a minor administrative matter. To Kusum, it felt as though an important part of who she was had disappeared.
Being an artist was never simply an occupation; it was how she expressed herself, how she saw the world, and how she had chosen to contribute to it. Seeing that identity replaced by a generic label was unexpectedly painful.
My father told her he would try to get it fixed. He understood how she felt and agreed that a generic label of housewife made her sound like a domestic staff and not her true identity.
When I returned home in the evening, I saw both my parents were looking at the passport and laughing. The occupation had been changed to ‘housewife of an Ambassador’.
My father was actually more upset about the new change but unfortunately, the housewife part couldn’t be removed. So, the consular officer added some status to that occupation.
In later years it became a family joke but at the time it was upsetting to both parents.
The passport saga stuck in my mind. Years later, I asked my mother about the occupation issue and what it had meant to her.
We are more than the roles we play
As my mother told me, “life invites us to wear many hats -spouse, parent, caregiver, professional, friend. These roles are meaningful, but they should never eclipse the person beneath them. I was proud to be an ambassador’s wife, but I was also an artist. One identity did not cancel out the other.”
The biggest gift you can give someone is understanding them
She told me that what made all the difference was that her husband understood why it mattered. He didn’t dismiss her feelings or suggest she was overreacting.
He recognized that this wasn’t about a passport. It was about feeling seen for who she was. That simple act of understanding became a reminder that the people who love us don’t have to solve every problem. They simply need to acknowledge what it means to us.
Looking back, I realize the passport was never the real issue.
It was merely the page on which a larger question had been written: Who am I when the world chooses the easiest label instead of the truest one?
Thankfully, Kusum shared her life with someone who understood that identities are not bestowed by official documents. They are shaped by the work we love, the lives we touch, and the person we know ourselves to be.
What a beautiful, if poignant, story! Kusum’s quest to express herself creatively, carve out her own identity, and claim her voice at a time when her peers settled for the anonymity of being a spouse, is inspiring. Equally inspiring that her husband understood her quest and supported her. Thanks for sharing
My pleasure! Kusum’s ability to understand that her various roles didn’t define the person that she really was helped her navigate life after losing her husband with the same grace and dignity that she had always shown in her interactions with others. My father always encouraged her to be her own person and post-retirement spent time helping her to further her artist career and aspirations.