Updated: September 2017

As the world commemorates the 16th anniversary of September 11, 2001, terrorist attacks on the United States, I offer my deepest condolences to the families of 9/11 victims. As we continue to heal together, we must stand tall in our personal stories, reminding the world that terror in any form is unacceptable.

“Character cannot be developed in ease and quiet. Only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened, ambition inspired, and success achieved.”— Helen Keller

In the journey of my life, profound loving, stupendous suffering and colossal loss have played pivotal roles. Raised in an authoritarian household by a doctor and his nurse wife (whose past was unknown) mine was a nomadic childhood governed with strictness and extremely high expectations to excel. These demands left me with no room to negotiate my dreams. With no adult to turn to for guidance or support, it fell on my encouraging authoritative teachers and unconditionally loving animal friends to provide me with the much-needed emotional nourishment.

With steadiness came the expectations to be the emotional caretaker of the family, a role I was glad to adhere to for decades. Though catering to unrealistic demands weighed me down, my caring nature coupled with the attitude of gratitude guided me to focus on the positives provided by my father—shelter, education, structure, exposure, and health. My emotional health was another story. The duo—mother, nurse JayaLeela Mahalingam Rajagopal, and daughter, blouse tailor to the spiritually dead and intellectually challenged wives of wealthy men, Sangeetha Bijal Patel, systematically and steadily vandalized every dream of mine—from sabotaging relationships to strategically isolating me from family members to denying me access to become a child psychologist, and from eventually tricking me out of my homeland, India, to setting the masterfully corrupt—generously ignorant society against me.

Where juvenile delinquency and the problems of working women were my case studies subjects in college (Women’s Christian College, India), the 14-year arduous case study in America has come to serve the ugly truth. The first significant push into this complicated web came in the form of my marriage to Pushkar Madhav Natu, Director of Zenith Birla (India) Ltd, in the year 2002. Pushkar Madhav Natu and his family punished me with inconceivable slander, deception, and humiliation for questioning an illegally held property (by my then in-laws) along with challenging other significant financial and personal discrepancies. I would eventually, shockingly, come to learn about Pushkar Madhav Natu’s perfect partners in my slander and sabotage, in America and India, —outwardly masquerading sacrosanct virgin saints, actually high-testosterone, coarse-haired, glassy-eyed, glib talking perpetrators of hate—mother and daughter anomalous sadistic soulless mates—JayaLeela and Sangeetha.

The morally corrupt had the support of enablers—my father, a friend of the family, Dr. Sujai Subramanium, and many professionally successful failures of society. They took turns exploiting their age, genders, professions, and clout to slander, inflict pain, and bring me grave harm. As I was harassed, tormented, and tossed between America and India—Pushkar Madhav Natu refused to give me a divorce, in India as he did in America—I decided to ask Pushkar Madhav Natu’s sister Avanti Birla, and her husband, Yashovardhan Birla to help. Avanti and Yashovardhan Birla had not only come to Chennai to partake in my pre-wedding rituals and wedding ceremony, but they had also continued to correspond with me thereafter—within India and America, where they frequently traveled for plastic surgery. I was saddened to get their curt rejection: “Truth will prevail.” But this apathy did not entirely surprise me as Pushkar Madhav Natu had shared, along with a sea of other information (it was assumed that on marriage I would automatically become one of their third-class herd—collaborative in corruption while remaining spineless and silenced), explicit details about the real status of his sister, Avanti Birla, as well as the ill-treatment meted out to all of them at the hands of the Marwari community.

I am not one to be disheartened. So I battled alone, at times I was so fear-filled my bones hurt, other times I was cripplingly pained with my humiliation I wished my situation was a nightmare, and at times I was emotionally fatigued that all I could do was curl up into a ball and cry myself to sleep. I haven’t a clue how I survived treacherous, merciless oceans. But I know a couple of things in my heart—first, man pays for his sins in this lifetime, and second, the power of the universe does right by truth when you stand bold in conviction (the universe has a history of teaching expensive lessons to specimens who have wronged me). Years later, the mantra from the ancient Indian scripture gloriously reverberated:


Satyameva Jayate

Satyameva Jayate

Satyameva Jayate

Truth prevailed.

As reported in reputable media, amongst other uncovering’s, Birla’s were charge-sheeted for cheating investors of crores of rupees (millions of dollars), the Economic Offences Wing sealed several of their properties, and Mr. Birla was denied permission to travel abroad. I believe the greatest power in the world is the power of truth. And the more man denies and ridicules the power of truth, the more forcefully the universe works to remind man, when he is least expecting it, the facts of the universe. And when man refuses to honour it, the universe takes it upon itself to teach his children about the worthwhileness of human life and the importance of human dignity.

On hindsight, the hijacking and demolishing of my life at the hands of Pushkar Madhav Natu and his family should not have been, to put it in mild words, a rude awakening. I was crushed and nauseous to learn, within the four walls of our marital home (where he worked from his home office), of Pushkar Madhav Natu’s elation at the collapse of The Twin Towers of the World Trade Center; he assumed his company was going to hit the jackpot supplying an increased shipment of steel to the United States of America. On learning he had lost the bidding, he had become agitated and increasingly indignant as he prepared to break the news to his brother-in-law, Yashovardhan Birla. This pattern, of pacing angrily, cursing and calling Mr. Birla names (they are unmentionable on this platform), was the norm. Their mindset is best defined as a glue of greed, abuse, lies, entitlement, and apathy.

It goes without saying that my perpetrator, abusers, and the educated-corrupt herd would have preferred that I furiously dig a burrow and disappear from the glare of life—to get a chance at striking business deals, validate their denial, support their cowardice, shield their shame, and hurrah their smugness: “I told you she didn’t have a chance.” I don’t expect any better from the literate-illiterate—though they are physically visible, they exist through life much the same like pig-nosed purple frogs, spending the larger part of their voiceless lives underground—in darkness.

And backdrops of darkness are vital to showcase individuals with light. I refuse to be defined by others’ actions and ugliness and choose not to carry the burden of others’ secrets and shame. These decisions are firmly supported by my indestructible latticework that refuses to be intimidated, threatened, or silenced.

The ridiculousness of my life—oceans of betrayals, weddings, divorces, repeated uprooting, transatlantic swatting, unimaginable deceit, and destruction—has undoubtedly wounded me, irreparably. But each phase, turn, and introduction in the treacherous journey was designed to educate me. Like a salmon, the tumultuous journey had to be endured for me to find my way back to where it all began, to honour life and make a difference to humanity. It is only natural for me to boldly dream of an institution like The Federal Bureau of Investigation…. To put it in the words of Holocaust survivor and psychiatrist, Viktor E. Frankl: “What is to give light must endure burning.”

I am a survivor of abominable crimes.





First, I haven’t developed a taste for people who carry the burden of moral corruption, unworthiness, and forms of self-hate, so don’t step into my life, attempting to exploit my trust, sensitivity, and goodness. Second, if you fall into the category that has done wrong by me in the past, don’t interact with me hopeful of playing dumbo land. I do my elephant family proud with my memory as I do my strength of character, and I don’t feel an iota of obligation to conceal anyone’s shame drenched identity. And third, don’t cross my boundaries. If you don’t know what personal boundaries mean, please educate yourself. Good luck with self-worth and growth.