Tag: family

Single Fathers Are Not a Myth, So Why Are We Invisible?

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Seven years ago, my world – and the world of my then 10-year-old son, Suryansh – was irrevocably changed. When my wife, Kusum aka Vibha, passed away after a brave battle with cancer, we were left in a silence that no house is ever prepared for.

In a society that rightly celebrates the strength of single mothers, there is a quiet, overlooked shadow: The Single Father. We are not a myth. Yes, we are very few, especially in India – where you may know thousands of single mothers, but single fathers are rare. But we are here, raising the next generation in the trenches of grief and growth. Yet, for all the space we occupy in our children’s lives, we remain largely invisible to the world.

A Tribute to an Extraordinary Son

If Suryansh ever reads this, I want him to know one thing above all: You are truly an extraordinary boy. The circumstances we faced made you mature well before your age. Throughout this journey, you have been understanding, supportive, caring, and deeply loving. You weren’t just a child being raised; you were a partner in our survival.

But I also want you to know that it was okay to still be a kid. Even the strongest teenagers have a world of things struggling inside them – hormones, the pressure of growing up, and the simple, human need for a mother’s presence. When we fought or cried together, it wasn’t because you weren’t “doing enough” – it was because we were both learning to navigate a void that was never meant to be there. You did great, Suryansh. You always have.

The Village and the Specific Void

We were not alone. My mother – Suryansh’s grandmother – moved in with us to take care of him with immense love. She did everything humanly possible to anchor our home. However, as Suryansh grew, he realized the distinction: a grandmother is a treasure, but she is not a mother. He sought a mother’s unique parenting, and for that, he only had me.

I chose not to remarry – a decision I made happily and with a full heart – because I wanted to ensure my undivided attention and care were focused entirely on our bond. It wasn’t a sacrifice; it was my priority, and it has been the most fulfilling path I could have chosen. I gave myself completely to being the best father I could be, even trying my level best to “be a mother” too.

But the truth is, I didn’t have that “God-given” gift of motherhood. No matter how much I tried, I could never replicate the “golden touch” that mothers naturally possess. Mothers are the most beautiful, amazing beings – no one can truly come near that frequency of care.

The Academic Anchor: Class 5 to Class 12

In our Indian culture, the mother is often the silent engine behind a child’s education. From Class 5 to Class 12- the most defining years of a student’s life- it is usually the mother who manages the schedules, the exams, and the daily discipline of study.

Losing Kusum meant losing that academic foundation. I had to step into a role that was entirely foreign to me, trying to provide the stability and focus that only a mother truly knows how to give. Suryansh and I tried our best together to navigate his studies and excel in academics while through this grief & void, was nothing short of heroic.

The Search for a Map in the Dark

During these last seven years, I was a man trying my best to help a young kid grow in the best possible way, but I was often doing it in total isolation. When I looked for support online or in-person groups in India, I found plenty of resources for single mothers – and they absolutely deserve that support.

But for single fathers? Nothing. It is as if society believes men don’t need emotional communities, or that we don’t feel the same “Am I doing this right?” anxiety. Because we don’t naturally possess that maternal “golden touch,” we actually need more support, more resources, and a community that acknowledges our existence.

Lighting a Candle

I am writing this blog to raise a voice for the men standing in my shoes. I hope this “lights a candle” so that we can stop treating single fathers as an invisible demographic.

To the fathers doing the work: Your commitment is seen, even if the world isn’t looking.

To the sons like Suryansh: Your strength is heroic.

To all those loved ones who jumped in to support a single parent and/ or the kids who lost a parent – just as Suryansh’s grandmother, Smt. Pushpa ji, did for us – Thank you! Your love is the bridge that helped us cross the impossible

The Evolution of My Feminism

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I believe our understanding of feminism isn’t something we just read in books; it is something that evolves through life and experience. I grew up surrounded by incredibly strong women.

My grandmother was the first in our extended family of farmers to step out and support the work in the fields, in addition to managing the household and the children. She did this to support my grandfather and ensure her children received the education they needed. Because of her hard work, my father became a lawyer, one uncle became a government school principal, and another uncle decided to pursue farming with better equipment and a better life.

When my father started his legal practice in a new city called Muzaffarnagar, in the state of Uttar Pradesh, we struggled. I still remember living in a distant small town called Shamli, in a single room that served as his office by day and our kitchen and bedroom by night. To help us survive, my mother began giving private tuitions, traveling from home to home while managing our household. Despite the hardships, she never stopped learning. She completed three separate Master of Arts (MA) degrees in an era when education for girls was still a distant dream for many, eventually securing a job as a government school teacher.

It was my mother’s sweat and dedication, alongside my father’s hard work, that allowed my brother and me to build successful lives.

Then, I married Kusum. She was the strongest of all.

Based on my respect for the women in my life, I had developed my own rigid “rules” for what feminism should look like. I thought changing a surname after marriage was wrong. I thought traditions like Karwa Chauth – a festival where a wife fasts and prays for the long life of her husband – were regressive. To “protect” her, I intentionally didn’t have Kusum’s surname changed.

But over time, I noticed something unexpected. In the college where she was working as an Associate Professor, and in many other places, she began signing her name as “Kusum Tomar” instead of Kusum Malik. I realized she wasn’t doing it out of pressure; she was doing it out of love. She loved being a wife; she loved the nuances of our culture, the sindoor, and the rituals.

The biggest lesson came through Karwa Chauth. I used to try to stop her from fasting – initially due to my own understanding of feminism, and later because of her battle with cancer. I would even fast in her place to support her beliefs, after her diagnosis with Cancer. But during her last Karwa Chauth before her death, even though she was very ill, she fought with me because she wanted to keep that fast. It was her choice, her faith, and her way of expressing love.

Those were the moments I realized that my desire to protect her was just the first step. The next step was understanding that true support means honoring her choice. Whether she chose to break a tradition or embrace one, my role was to stand by her and celebrate her.

I feel fortunate to have been shaped by such remarkable women. From my grandmother’s fields to my mother’s classrooms and Kusum’s courageous spirit, I have tried my best to learn from them and to stand with them. Today, I see feminism not just as a set of ideals, but as a deep, evolving respect for the path a woman chooses for herself.

I am proud of that journey, and I will continue to stand with the women who are and will be part of my life – with mutual respect, shared values, equality, support, understanding, and companionship.

Feminism #NariShakti #StrengthOfAWoman #IndianFamilies #LifeLessons #LegacyOfLove #KusumMemorial #GrowthMindset #ChoiceAndDignity #MenForEquality #RespectWomen

Why I Still Do This

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People often ask me a question.

“It’s been seven years since you lost your wife to cancer.
Why are you still so deeply involved in helping cancer patients?
Why not move on… live a normal life?”

It’s a fair question.

Losing someone you love to cancer changes you in ways that are hard to explain. The world moves on, but a part of you remains in that hospital corridor, that chemotherapy room, that moment when life feels fragile and uncertain.

Many people assume that after such loss, the healthiest thing to do is to step away from it all. To distance yourself from hospitals, from patients, from the pain that comes with the word cancer.

But the truth is – for me, it works the opposite way.

Every time I think about stepping back, something happens that reminds me why I cannot.

Today, I received a message from a caregiver whose mother was undergoing treatment.

She wrote:

“She was a fighter and the backbone of our family. I would like to thank Vivek Sir from my heart for extending the span of my mother’s life.”

Her mother eventually passed away.

But those words stayed with me.

Not because they thank me – because I know very well that no doctor, researcher, or advocate can extend life on their own. Medicine fights, science tries, and sometimes the disease still wins.

But what matters is time.

Sometimes what we give families is not a cure.

Sometimes what we give them is time.

Time for a daughter to sit with her mother.
Time to celebrate one more birthday.
Time to share one more meal together.
Time to say the things that matter.

And when that time creates even a few more memories for a family – it means everything.

That is why I continue.

Because behind every case file is a family.
Behind every diagnosis is someone’s mother, father, partner, or child.
Behind every extra month or year is a lifetime of memories being created.

Cancer took my wife.

But it also gave me a purpose I cannot ignore. And not only this one message, I have recived hundreds of such messages during this journey.

If by being involved – through advocacy, support, awareness, or research – I can help even one family get a little more time together, then that effort is worth it.

That is why I still do this.

And that is why I probably always will.

A Mother, A Wish and A Miscommunication with the God!

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Today, on Mother’s Day, I find myself reflecting on the remarkable strength embodied by the mothers in my life: be it my mother who is in her old age still helping my home to run and a great support for me as single parent in parenting Suryansh aka Avi (Kusum and my son), or Kusum’s mother who was such a strong support for Kusum in her fight with Cancer, and Kusum herself who despite her fight and struggle with cancer, disease and treatment side effects, even at the time she got partial paralysis, she always did everything for the great upbringing of her son. Their strength inspires me daily, reminding me of the boundless love and sacrifice inherent in motherhood.

When Kusum aka Vibha, found out she had stage 4 lung cancer that had spread to her brain, bones, ovaries, and adnexa, one of the first things we talked about with our doctor was how much time she might have left to live. Throughout her incredible seven-year battle with cancer, facing multiple setbacks, we always understood that stage 4 cancer couldn’t be cured, and that death can come anytime. So, Kusum and I would often talk about it, sometimes in a light-hearted way, and other times more seriously.

Kusum used to say she wanted to live at least until our Suryansh finished his class 10 board exams. For those reading who aren’t in India, in our country, class 10 exams are the first big national tests students take, along with millions of others. Class 10 is like the starting point for academic success and sets the foundation for the rest of the journey.

It seems there was a mis-communication and mix-up with God, in terms of figure 10. Instead of waiting until Suryansh finished his class 10 exams, which Kusum wanted, God misunderstood and took her away when Suryansh turns 10 years old.

That left me with another wish from Kusum still waiting to be fulfilled. Over the last five years or more, being a single father has been quite a challenge. Mothers are incredible—strong, skilled, and seem to have a natural knack for parenting. But we father, how much we try, we can never become as good as a mother. And when I sought help, it felt like all the support material found on internet was for single mothers only. They forget that single dads like me are out here too!
But, I’ve been fortunate to have amazing support from my family, friends and a son who’s just as amazing as his mother, which has made a huge difference.

After five years of when God took away Kusum, this month, Suryansh passed his 10th class exams with flying colors. He scored exceptionally well, way beyond what I could have ever imagined. But you know what? I’m not just happy because of his high marks. Grades have never been the most important thing to me. What matters most is his learning, his hard work ethic, his honesty, and the development of his skills. What really makes me happy is knowing that I was able to fulfill one more wish of Kusum’s.

Now, the question arises: “Should I let you go, Kusum, now that Suryansh has completed his 10th class?” And the answer is a resounding “No, I’m sorry, I can’t!” Because, truth be told, I can’t do this alone. I believe your blessings, as our guardian angel, have been guiding both Suryansh and me to this point. And as we continue on this journey, we need you even more, our angel by our side.

And hey, Happy Mother’s Day to you, my love, and to all the incredible mothers out there. And you know what? I think Happy Mother’s Day to me too!

Vivek