Prof. Leena Thomas Kappen
“The lives we don’t experience are just stories to us! Life is not about what happened; it is about how we remember it.” — Gabriel Garcia Marquez. In this short life, we must create our own space. No one will do it for us. Learning from past experiences, absorbing energy, and moving forward is an art we must acquire.
Living in Canada for the past ten years after remarriage has opened our eyes to many truths. Women’s empowerment is progressing well in our country, but we must consider whether society is ready to allow men to accept empowered women. We need to involve both sons and daughters in family chores and decision-making, fostering new perspectives on personal freedoms, rights, mutual respect, and compromises based on love.
One day, after finishing my work in the Pharmacology Department at Kolenchery Medical College, I boarded a bus home to Piravam. A seat next to a woman staring blankly out the window became vacant. As I approached to sit down, I was surprised to see it was my sister, who had been sent away from our neighborhood years ago for her wedding. I felt joy at seeing her after such a long time, but she was trying to hide her inner turmoil. I didn’t want to leave her like that.
As we talked, things slowly unraveled. I, too, had contemplated life and death many times. This meeting, however, brought difficulties for both of us. When people with similar feelings come together, life can change dramatically in a single day. I want to write about the transformations that occur when people, lost and contemplating suicide, find hope while traveling on a bus. My sister, sitting next to me, was constantly taking allergy medication and struggling with related issues. Overwhelmed by fatigue and misunderstood by her family, she left home with thoughts of ending her life. Her eldest daughter, in the tenth grade, was deeply worried about her mother’s struggles.
My sister was trapped in a bubble, believing strong medication had rendered her incapable of getting out of bed or performing household chores. She returned home to see her parents for what she thought would be the last time. I explained how to manage her allergies and the importance of her role as a patient in her treatment. Although I helped her regain normalcy, sleepless nights of torment followed for me. I realized she was likely one of many suffering from a lack of understanding about their medications. As a pharmacist, I often lost sleep considering my role.
Ultimately, I decided writing was one way to contribute. My first article on medicine was published in Mathrubhumi Health Magazine in 2006, titled “Label – The Head of the Medicine.” The joy I felt that day was irreplaceable. My father, a lover of Malayalam and an author, was my editor, and my teacher, Amma, encouraged me. Soon after, I received a call from Manorama Health asking for articles. I continued to write for magazines such as Mangalam, Deshabhimani, Women’s Era, and Indian Express, culminating in the publication of “Drugs – Use and Abuse” in Mathrubhumi and Sastra Sahitya Parishad. I participated in numerous seminars alongside fellow doctors and received the Best Pharmacist Award from the Kerala Pharmacy Council in 2013.
My work with the Canadian Malayali Health Initiative has enriched my life.
During this time of social engagement, I had the opportunity to work as a casual sound artist at Kochi FM. A friend praised me, saying, “It’s so nice to hear your voice over the phone.” How powerful is the magic of “the word becoming flesh.” Today, I find courage in reading stories and sending audio clips, inspired by those words. My heaven on earth is being surrounded by those who uplift us with kind words.
It took years of struggle to realize this heaven. I lived with my husband for only seventy days after our wedding in 1999. After months of grappling with my feelings, I decided to share my truth. I told my father that I could not return to a life where I felt trapped. That day, my family, church, and society labeled me as “wife,” yet I hesitated to share my life with the man God had joined me to.
Three main reasons delayed my decision: Would my father or mother suffer a heart attack upon learning of my pain? Would my choice affect my sister’s wedding? Could my mother-in-law handle the problems caused by her son? My father, a retired assistant engineer, and my mother, a school teacher, along with my sister studying pharmacy, formed my family. My father is passionate about church history and biblical details. For three months, I kept my feelings hidden, worried about how my decision would affect my father, who has inspired others with his writings and sermons.
As a pharmacy student, I feared that my choice might adversely affect my unborn child. “You only need to think about yourself and the baby,” I reassured myself. “Your sister’s wedding will go smoothly. Your mother is smart and has the strength to manage this.” Those words became the foundation of our family’s joys—love, togetherness, mutual support, and success. Writing this now brings tears to my eyes as I embrace the memory of my father and mother, who surprised me with their unwavering support.
Looking back, I realize my father was a feminist. He taught me problem-solving and critical thinking, encouraging me to live fully. Thus, I was reborn at the age of twenty-seven. Why shouldn’t I be happy?
The challenges women face in this situation are immense and filled with worries. My thoughts were confined, as they still are today. How would I deal with locals meddling in others’ affairs with innocent humor? How would raising a child without a father affect their growth? How would I find financial stability? Would I have the strength to endure the slander directed at me? I had just completed my Master of Pharmacy, yet I had no job or income, uncertain of what opportunities awaited me in a state where pharmacy colleges were scarce.
Reflecting now, I realize I was fortunate. My second birth is literally true. During those difficult times, my parents never uttered a discouraging word. Their unwavering support became my greatest source of courage and pride. They reminded me that patience and understanding are sometimes necessary.
“If you had told me it was possible, I might have considered ending my life without thinking of my baby,” I reflect. In moments of despair, when we feel utterly alone, our intelligence and education seem to fade, overshadowed by emotions. This is not merely the fault of a few individuals but a reflection of our country’s social system.
Today, my child and I thrive because my family, relatives, and close friends stood by me, offering support. He is now studying law in Canada.
Although I secured a job within a year of having a child, the lack of financial independence and job insecurity were significant challenges until then. Despite the support I received at home, I often felt inferior. The lesson I learned was the importance of educating parents and girls about this issue. For girls, a good education is crucial, along with having a job and savings. Only then should parents be educated about marriage.
Moreover, if girls encounter problems in their marriages and cannot get along, they should have the opportunity to return home. With a little support, they can create their own “space.”
I wish to share insights from my life. The “lust and passion for life” that awakens in a woman after leaving a marriage is often unrecognized. I hope our country will understand this and bring new light to their minds and ideas. When I brought my parents, who were dear to me, to Canada and created a comfortable life for them, I felt my life was complete.
I have learned a great deal about social etiquette in Canada. Discussing family matters, work, and sensitive topics is considered rude. For example, when inquiring about someone’s job or salary, we must do so carefully and politely, saying, “If you don’t mind, I hope to ask this respectfully to avoid any misunderstandings.” My brother and I often faced judgmental questions and comments while living in our home country, and it was difficult to escape their effects.
Our society struggles with respecting others’ private spaces and lacks proper etiquette when discussing personal matters. Social etiquette seems to be absent from education. Life becomes beautiful when individuals and the world around them are respectful and culturally advanced. While we may take pride in our culture, it is a mistake to think it is natural to interfere and express opinions unnecessarily. The freedom we have here to live without fear of judgment is invaluable.
Even though divorce exists, we often struggle to face questions like, “Are you going there anymore?” “Do you want to see your father?” or “Will you get a share of the property?” We cannot answer all these questions or change those who ask them. It took us time to realize such questions stem from their behavioral disorders. When societal values erode, it is better to focus on our own growth. As part of my self-renewal, I
I began reading and writing while teaching in the Pharmacology Department at Kolenchery Medical College and Amrita Pharmacy School. Writing became a purpose for me. My first article was published in Mathrubhumi health magazine, an experience as unique as the joy I felt. Since then, I have shared articles related to medicine in health magazines and published books titled “Medicine Knowledge” in Mathrubhumi and “Medicine Use and Abuse” in Shasatra Sahitya Parikstha. During this time, I received the Kerala Pharmacy Council’s Best Pharmacist Award. Later, I found happiness in teaching pharmacists across Kerala and embraced my identity as a ‘single woman.’
I was reclaiming my life in the ‘Wave.’
Although I lived with my loving parents, I led my life as a “single mother.” The world around us did not prepare us for such a life, and I faced many unanswered questions. I attended CUSAT in Kochi to prepare for the UGC exam, hoping to pursue a doctorate in pharmacy. However, I did not pass the exam. Later, with a friend’s help, I worked in a lab in Ernakulam that conducted quality testing of medicines. Since then, I have built myself into who I am today, supported by the love and encouragement of friends, relatives, colleagues, and media workers. I wake up almost every morning reflecting on those memories. One aspect of mental hygiene is dedicating the first moments of waking to express gratitude for the good things in our lives. If we practice this, life becomes brighter.
I then worked as a senior lecturer at the Pharmacy College of Kozhikode Medical College on a contract basis for a year, thanks to my friends’ encouragement. Subsequently, I taught pharmacology to MBBS and BSc nursing students at Kolenchery Medical Mission Medical College for six years, followed by three years at Amrita School of Pharmacy in Kochi. In 2011, I began considering marriage for the second time.
While at Amrita, I became friends with Manju, a beautiful soul. We celebrated life at every opportunity, dining at various restaurants, even those where women were often reluctant to go. After enjoying ourselves, we took our children on numerous trips across India. One day, an old school friend asked me, “What are your plans for the future?” I wondered if she felt shame seeing me live this way with my son. I replied, “My shame is not about this; I could post my profile on a matrimony site to make it seem like I’m doing something for you.” I expressed my disdain for men in Kerala who played a ‘helper’ role, unable to serve food or make tea. I said, “If someone who combines these qualities and considers women as equals comes forward, needing my love and support to flourish in life, then maybe I’ll reconsider.” I jokingly congratulated myself, thinking, “What a bad attitude.” The intellectual side of me questioned whether it was foolish to respond to those who judged me for not returning to my husband’s home. Regardless, I created a profile on Bharat Matrimony, which led to a call from Canada.
At that time, I was a master’s graduate without a passport, while all my friends had gone abroad, believing they should love their homeland with their medical knowledge. The trauma from my first marriage still haunted me, and I was in a difficult mental state. I grappled with fear of marriage, distrust of men, and feelings of resentment. When faced with questions from society about a woman living without a husband, my patience often wore thin. I later learned that my son’s friends teased him by calling him a “fatherless boy.” He didn’t share this with me, fearing it would worry me, and his silence cut deep.
However, that phone call from Canada changed everything. It reprogrammed the long-standing perceptions in my mind and shaped a new version of myself. They expressed a need for a mother for their two sons. When I spoke with them, their request seemed reasonable and genuine. I discussed it with my ten-year-old son, saying, “There are two brothers without a mother. How about we go?”
His response was, “Let’s do what makes a mother happy,” and he appeared relieved. My trust in him was crucial, as he had always been mature beyond his years and someone I could rely on for decision-making. He had a remarkable ability to adapt quickly to new situations.
When the call came a second time, I consulted my parents, and both families communicated. Everything progressed swiftly from there. At forty, I became a bride for the second time. On September 17, 2012, at the Piravam Registrar’s Office, in the presence of dear relatives from both families, Cyriac Kappan (a mechanical engineer) and I signed as husband and wife.
A new life began. That day, my son gained two older brothers, and I welcomed two more children into my life. Now, we have been a family of five for twelve years.
Now, let’s flash back a bit. After only seventy days as a wife in my first husband’s house, I realized I had no desire to return. It felt like a life that was dying—a time when I often thought, “I should turn off this machine that is currently running.” I walked a precarious line between madness and reality, unsure of what to do, who to confide in, or how to express myself. The only things that filled my vision were the sky above and the crocodile-filled crater below. While pregnant, I read many books, including those by Osho, to learn how to avoid letting people’s behavior affect me. With counseling not being popular, my only option was to educate myself through reading and study.
After giving birth, my body struggled with ninety days of bed rest. When I lay down, certain thoughts would escape me, and I felt I needed to do something to relax my mind. Following a friend’s suggestion, I went to a sister at St. Teresa’s in Ernakulam to learn oil painting, and I mastered that technique. From the tenth grade, with my mother’s help, I sewed midi dresses, churidars, and netis, and later, with my father’s assistance, I made lab coats for pharmacy college. I decided to enhance the collars and pockets, learning that skill as well. This led to opportunities to teach in colleges.
Despite all this, life continued—listening to the wire, dealing with intermediaries, crying, getting exhausted, and then rising again. Although I had resolved not to turn back, the Bible verse stating that what God has joined together, let no man separate, held me tightly. Since ‘critical thinking’ was a time when no one taught or encouraged me, I learned to ask myself where the certainty and proof were that God had joined us together through years of philosophical inquiry. In response to my constant questions about how I could know if God had arranged it and whether there was a checklist for that, I eventually had an epiphany. “What factors do people consider when arranging a marriage? No one officially asks me, as God, if I have any opinion on it. There is no checklist to determine whether God arranged it. So, when problems arise, even in a toxic relationship, everyone will say that ‘I arranged it.’ It doesn’t matter much. If you are certain you can’t continue, then you should leave. It’s as if someone inside me is saying, ‘How long will I wait for you?’” For this enlightenment to occur, I had to endure years of trials, suffering, and disappointments. It wasn’t about whether I believed in God, but about making my life meaningful and making God believe in me. On such a day, what would be your decision? If I felt I had left wrongly, some people offered me a chance to return if I apologized. My father came to take me to the car in the department; my blood pressure had dropped, and I could barely stand. That was the first time I told my father, “There is no point in living like this anymore. I have to end this so I won’t remember the old days and can be free. I need to create a new version of myself.” It was the day I set out to find myself, to take pride in who I am, and to celebrate my life.
I must have been a golden mother who realized that making mistakes and regretting them was a tedious cycle. So, I filed a petition on the advice of a family friend who was a lawyer. When I went to court and spoke with the counselor, her question was, “Why did you waste the last nine years?” She said there was no need to delay any longer, and the faces of those who had cried in family court for divorce flashed through my mind. Doubting whether I was dreaming, I asked her to confirm that what I heard was true. I still remember that woman with gratitude, seeing her as a divine figure. At that moment, I felt like hugging Paulo Coelho, who said that when we decide on something, the world aligns to support us. Since I made my decision, my family, lawyer, and counselor were ready for anything. At that time, divorce laws were much simpler. After another day of court visits, when I saw the same counselor again, she suggested that if I filed for divorce by mutual consent, things would resolve quickly or the verdict would favor me. When her lawyer indicated she would not take up the case, we concluded we could file a mutual consent application. My lawyer agreed to take it up and submitted the application. Three months later, I received a letter granting the divorce by post. After my second marriage, my husband sponsored me and my son. In May 2014, we flew to Alberta. My goal was to become a pharmacist. Aware that the exams were tough, I dealt with low thyroid issues and my age—42—while my father warned me too. My main motivation was to succeed in my field. Those words motivated me even when I failed the first exam and the first part of the main exam twice. Thus began my struggle with the pharmacy exam—a tough battle. I passed one exam each year while also working full-time as a pharmacy assistant. My husband, a mechanical engineer and director at a company here, had long aspired to pursue a Master’s in Business in Canada. With a little encouragement, the five of us, including him, became university students. We worked together to manage the kitchen, jobs, and courses. Often, when I was supposed to study, I felt immense gratitude for my children for the meals they prepared for me. When my son and I first set foot in this house, the youngest son was washing rice and putting it in the oven. From this sight, I realized the profound truth that mothers teach their sons: they cannot live without help. As I write this, he is a third-year medical student. Today, with him by my side, my motherhood feels complete.
If we let go of our obsession with controlling the kitchen and the prejudice that sons will make it dirty, our sons can become self-sufficient, which will support the girls raised alongside them.
Since that day, our family has done household chores together. The importance of chores for boys, the stress that arises if each family member does not fulfill their role, and the joy of sharing responsibilities must be understood in every family.
With love, support, and a safe space for one another, we have achieved our individual dreams. In addition to my role as a pharmacist, I serve as a preceptor, guiding new graduates and conducting their exams. I have escaped the confines of a life where I was expected to marry someone with a master’s degree; I have transformed into something greater.
I want to live multiple lives with the life I have reclaimed, and I am striving to do just that. We must build our own paths toward our dreams. To achieve this, we need supportive partners and boys who understand feminism. My younger children form a great team, and I feel they have benefited the most from this second chance. My brother is in medical school, and my younger brother is studying law. The eldest works at Canada Post after completing his accounting degree.
The five of us celebrate every bit of happiness together. Now that my parents have received visas to stay here permanently, I feel pride in my rich life. Beyond the kitchen, I have decided to make my life vibrant by integrating technology and social media. I dusted off the dances I learned in the past and created reels on Instagram, which serve as good exercise for both body and mind as I navigate menopause.
I realized that reels and YouTube videos on social media are more effective than writing for popularizing medical knowledge, so I began creating content alongside my writing. The joy I experience from giving back to society in this way is immense. My skin color, which I describe as black, is something I cherish today. However, my childhood and adolescence were marked by challenges, as I often faced negativity from others. These experiences damaged my self-esteem and instilled a profound sense of isolation. While my friends with lighter skin tones enjoyed opportunities at school, I often felt left out, leading to persistent pain.
Today, in Canada, I am a social media influencer with millions of followers. I proudly connect with health workers, including doctors and nurses, and appreciate their recognition when they see me in public or online. Looking back, I realize I have lived a guilt-free life. Each morning, I wake up with gratitude for the lessons life has taught me, appreciating the happiness, opportunities for learning, and the profound sense of peace I’ve attained.
We must carve our paths in life, recognizing that no one can create that space for us.
Right now, I am sitting by the shore of Bluewater Lake in Canada, watching the setting sun and feeling thankful for the realization that there is still much to accomplish. My friend’s three-year-old child once said, “The sun is like me; it doesn’t like to stay in the dark, so it goes into the sea and disappears, but tomorrow it will return as light.” I, too, am waiting for that light. May everyone find enlightenment.
Finally, I refer to myself as the “Phoenix Kumari.” When you feel overwhelmed, I encourage you to adopt this name for yourself.
Prof. Leena Thomas Kappen ✨
Canada
