My darling son Jay passed away in an accident on June 20.
So many of you came to know Jay through this blog after we adopted him from an orphanage in Mumbai, India, in 2014. He brought so much love and laughter into our lives: laughter that has now fallen still as my husband Desi and I try to wrap our heads around this tragedy.
Jay was six and a half years old when we brought him home, a precocious little boy brimming with mischief, attitude and street smarts he had picked up during his hardscrabble early life on the streets of Mumbai. He was also extremely bright: astute and resourceful, fearless and sensitive, and never afraid to voice his opinion.
Early on we recognized he was gifted with a rare artistic genius: a talent that later got him into the county's coveted and highly competitive visual arts magnet program where he blossomed further, creating art that boggled not just us, his proud parents, but also his art teachers who predicted a great future for him.
I called him "Joy" because that's what he was to me. He swam fearlessly, raced his bike like the devil, loved the movies, inhaled trivia, and had a sophisticated and eclectic taste in music, from Vivaldi's compositions to Japanese anime soundtracks to Billy Joel to Eminem and even Kanye West ("He isn't all that bad, mom!").
After complaining incessantly about my love for old Hindi songs I once caught him blaring "Mere sapnon ki rani," an Indian movie hit from the 1970s, in his room. Embarrassed, he faked a nonchalant shrug and countered, "Did I say I hated it?"
Jay made friends effortlessly and could talk to adults just as easily as he could to peers. He was unstoppably adventurous at heart and afraid of nothing and no one: a trait that often landed him in trouble with his teachers who would write to me, upset, about something he had said or done in class. Still, they loved him for his effervescent charm and he often bragged, perhaps not untruthfully, that he was every teacher's favorite student.
He was also the most honest critic of my cooking. If Jay didn't think something was up to his taste, he would turn his nose up at it. It made me madder at times than I care to admit, but I also got the message. On the other hand he was also quick to brag about his mom's food blog to just about anyone who would listen.
Right now I am filled with grief and anger. There is nothing right about a world where something like this can happen. There's nothing right about my child's life stopping while mine continues. I will never see my beautiful boy grow into the amazing young man he was meant to be. My heart will never be whole again.
Friends and family ask us to take comfort from the fact that Jay lived a full life for the past eight and a half years, with opportunities he never might have had. But there is no comfort to be had right now. Still, I am so grateful every day for my community, which has risen to support us. Every day teachers, friends, neighbors from several streets away we'd never even met before walk up to us with stories about meeting Jay and being charmed by him. They tell us how he made them laugh.
I haven't done much cooking since that horrible day, but I am slowly getting back to it. I know Jay would want me to go on sharing my recipes with you, just like he loved sharing the cookies and cupcakes I made with his friends and teachers. I will get back to it soon enough, but for now I wanted to let you know why I've been missing these last few days and why I haven't responded to your questions and messages. I hope you will bear with me while Desi and I pull through this most difficult time in our lives.
Anonymous says
Dear Vaishali,
I am deeply saddened to read about the passing away of your beloved son. Sincere condolences. I cannot even imagine the grief.
Thank you so much for your recipes, and for caring about animals, and recognizing their sentience.
Kshama Sawant says
I forgot to leave my name. I'm Kshama Sawant.
Regina says
Dear Vaishali,
as an interested reader in The Netherlands I found out only just now by reading onenof your recipes, that your Joy is no longer with you.
I am so deeply sorry for your loss. You always included Joy’s critical views in your stories, which was so nice because he represented his age-group for whom we readers also cook.
Wishing you and your husband the strength to go on with your lives. You must miss your talented son.
Love Regina
Neerali Parag says
I have been following you for years. My heart is broken for you!! as a mother I found immense inspiration from you to raise my child vegan. I am so sorry for your loss. I wish I could undo it.
Rathna Sivasailam says
Vaishali, I am so sorry for your loss. I love your blog and come to it now and then looking for your fusion recipes. It had been more than a year and as I tried to find your latest recipe, I came across this blogpost. My heartfelt condolences. The world isn’t fair, and I sincerely wish Jay was still here.
Nisha says
Dear Vaishali, I am so deeply sorry for your loss. I wish you peace as you navigate a life without Jay. I’ve seen a loss like yours up close when my 14 year old cousin passed away, the only child of my aunt and uncle. I’ve seen what losing him did to his parents and the rest of us. It takes extraordinary courage to even sit down and write coherent words at a time like this as you have here. Thank you for telling us about the beautiful soul that Jay was. Here is a poem I found particularly moving as I grieved the loss of my father a few years ago. I hope it gives you comfort.
Blessing for the Brokenhearted
There is no remedy for love but to love more.
—Henry David Thoreau
Let us agree
for now
that we will not say
the breaking
makes us stronger
or that it is better
to have this pain
than to have done
without this love.
Let us promise
we will not
tell ourselves
time will heal
the wound,
when every day
our waking
opens it anew.
Perhaps for now
it can be enough
to simply marvel
at the mystery
of how a heart
so broken
can go on beating,
as if it were made
for precisely this—
as if it knows
the only cure for love
is more of it,
as if it sees
the heart’s sole remedy
for breaking
is to love still,
as if it trusts
that its own
persistent pulse
is the rhythm
of a blessing
we cannot
begin to fathom
but will save us
nonetheless.
—Jan Richardson
Parthenia says
I stumbled upon your website today when trying to spice up vegan black eyed peas. Wow! They turned out great! As soon as I saw your photo, I said to myself: I want to learn from her. Your energy comes through your photos. I was drawn to keep reading and found your heartbreaking story of the loss of your talented, creative, brilliant son, Jay. My heart goes out to you and your husband. When I lost my sweetheart, I thought I'd never be able to fully return to life. There's a lot of lightweight reading out there that doesn't do deep grieving much justice. I read it all. But the book that helped me is Grieving Mindfully by Sameet M. Kumar. Somewhere in there, I was called to make friends with my grief and recognize that its depth is a reflection of the depth of love I felt for my sweetheart. I hope this is helpful even if only to say, love yourself as you maneuver through the depths of your loss.
Rijuta says
I just read this post and wanted to convey my heartfelt condolences on this incredibly tragic loss. I know words can never be enough but I am keeping you all in my thoughts and prayers over the loss of this bright young life.
Jean Horrall says
Vaishali, I just read your post of July 2023 about your son. I am devastated to hear of your loss. Jay was very talented and handsome and it sounds like Joy was the perfect nickname. I am sure that Lucy was there to guide him into his new existence.
Jay is sketching many pictures of your beautiful Lucy and she is making sure that he is safe and protected. They are singing the songs of the ancients and probably doing Bollywood dances.
I wish I had magic words that would make this better. You and Desi were lucky to have them both in your lives, even though you wanted more time.
RomaC says
Deepest condolences for your loss. A truly difficult period for you.
Zamir says
I am 74 years old and of Indian origin (male). I "grew-up" in an Indian (Hindi) record store which my father owned. When I was 26 years old (1975), my first child (daughter) died. She was 23 hours old. She was buried in Guyana. She lives in my heart. I felt, in my heart, the loss of your son. My other children are my son 46 yo, my elder daughter 44 yo and a medical doctor, Tufts University (psychiatry) and younger daughter, 41 yo and a board certified nurse. I raised them, in the USA (Pennsylvania) as a single parent, from ages 10, 8 and 5. I often feel I abandoned the first child in Guyana.
When I read about the loss of a child, it touches me deeply. My absolute condolence to you and Desi for the loss of your son. You gave him a wonderful life from the streets. I feel your tremendous loss at not having the pleasure of seeing him grow and blossom into manhood. Maybe it's too early, but a future adoption may ease your pains and that of Desi.
I stumbled on your blog and I have made it one of my home pages. I live alone and cook for myself, so your recipes will be a great resource for me. Thank you very much.
Mark Carpenter says
What a massive joy to have had such a remarkable being in your life. My heart goes out to you as you make the painful transition to life without Jay, but his imprint will forever be with you. I send you deepest love from Dreieich, Germany 💚🙏
Liz says
Hi Vaishali. I am so sorry to hear about the loss of your son. 8 1/2 years is simply not enough time to spend with such a wonderful son. You an your family are in my thoughts and prayers.
Gabriela says
Dear Vaishali and Desi,
thank you for sharing your story with us. I was thinking for a while about what to say to you but I couldn't seem to find the right words.
Then I recalled a day several years ago; it was at the beginning of winter, late in the afternoon, the city centre was filling up with people. Some were running errands, others visitng stores or just casually walking. Shops big and small were brightly lit on the background of a quickly darkening sky. Me and my mom were on our way home, talking about various things, making plans for the upcoming days. Earlier that year a friend of mine suddenly died and the ambience of the evening made me ask “I wonder how Alex is doing up there in heaven? Do you think he’s looking forward to Christmas?” Right after I said those words, it started snowing. Beautifully, quietly. I believe it was his way of saying “Hello there, I miss you too”.
Now and then I look at the sky, I smile, wave and wish a nice day (or good night) to Alex and the rest of my close people who already moved up into heaven. I am looking forward to seeing them again one day. We are little people but our heart is capable of infinite love.
Take care
Leni says
From the bottom of my heart, you have my deepest condolences.