We are incredibly grateful to Sita for sharing her story with us as part of South Asian Heritage Month (18 July – 17 August). In this heartfelt blog post, Sita talks about the death of her son and the impact this has had on her and her family, the cultural taboos and stigmas that exist in South Asian communities, and why breaking the silence around pregnancy and baby loss is so important to her.
Rikesh and I fell pregnant at the end of 2018, and from the start, we were overflowing with excitement. Life felt perfect and it was about to become even better. We felt so blessed.
We knew we were having a baby boy and had already named him Arjun. We celebrated him in countless ways throughout the nine months including a traditional Indian baby shower.
At 38 weeks and 6 days, I went into natural labour. I laboured comfortably at home for a while. I had a bath, made a snack, rested, watched some TV. I tried to stay peaceful and calm, preparing myself for the final chapter before meeting our baby.
As the contractions grew stronger, we made our way to the hospital. I remember walking in and thinking,
This is it. We've made it. We're safe now. Our baby will be here soon.
I truly believed that if anything were to go wrong, I was now in the safest place possible to have it fixed.
I was so wrong.
After what doctors later called "the perfect storm," our beautiful Arjun passed away at just 50 minutes old. I remember staring at him, just waiting for him to wake up - he looked like he was simply sleeping so peacefully and would wake up at any moment.
In South Asian culture, baby loss is still deeply taboo. Despite how common it is, no one talks about it. I never realised how many women around me had suffered losses, until they reached out after Arjun died. Quietly, gently, they tried to comfort me. I was stunned that I'd spent my whole life unaware of the grief these women carried in complete silence, often with no support at all.
Why don’t they speak up? Because they already know the consequences of doing so. While our community has many strengths; love, resilience, strong family values - it also has a ruthless streak. Opinions fly fast and harsh. My own parents faced painful judgment after their loss. I never forgot how the community treated them.
Knowing what my parents had endured, I braced myself for the worst. But to my surprise, both Rikesh and I received an outpouring of love and support. It was overwhelming in the best way. It showed me just how far our community has come.
That said, not everyone knew what to say - some disappeared from our lives entirely. We heard our fair share of superstitious remarks, too. The progress is real, but there’s still a long way to go.
The love and support we received saved my life.
Losing your child breaks you in every imaginable way. I was at my lowest. But that support helped me begin to piece myself back together.
Pregnancy and baby loss brings not only grief but also taboo, stigma, and the “secondary losses” - friends who vanish, communities that stay silent, systems that fail you. All of that makes healing even harder.
That’s why I speak up. Every time I share my story, I hope to chip away at the silence and make space for others to grieve openly, safely, and honestly.
As Arjun was our firstborn, our daughters never got to meet him. But in the past year or so, they’ve come to understand that mummy and daddy have a baby named Arjun.
They look at his photos, and to them, he’s their “cute baby brother.” As they grow, we’ll share more about him - about the love we still carry, about the life that almost was.
Every year on Arjun’s birthday, we visit Brighton beach - the place where we scattered his ashes on his first birthday. It’s a place of peace for us.
His birthday often falls near Raksha Bandhan, a Hindu festival that celebrates the bond between brothers and sisters, so we include him in that celebration too. The girls tie a Rakhi for their brother, and we pray that he’s happy and safe wherever he is on his journey.
We already know that fathers are often sidelined in conversations about baby loss. Siblings? Even more so.
I lost my sister at a very young age. People thought - or maybe hoped that I’d just forget. But I remember everything. Playing with her. Her health declining. The hospital visits. The funeral. The silence afterwards. My parents’ grief. All of it.
It marked me. And I know I would’ve benefited from some support, even just someone acknowledging what I was going through. That’s why I believe siblings must be part of this conversation. Their grief matters too.
It’s important to be honest about your feelings. Don’t bottle it up for the world’s comfort. Repressed grief doesn’t go away, it just hardens.
One thing I really value is how openly my parents spoke about my sister. It showed me how deeply they loved her, and how much she mattered. I want my girls to grow up knowing the same - that their brother is still cherished. That love doesn't die with death.
Grief is a lifelong journey. I will love Arjun for the rest of my life, so I’ll grieve him for the rest of my life - but that’s not a bad thing.
The weight has softened over the years. Sometimes I see his photo and smile. Other times, I’m in tears. Both are perfectly okay.
As parents, we’ve learned to honour our emotions and let them flow. We include Arjun wherever and whenever we can. He’s woven into the fabric of our family.
I hope for a future where our communities are more open. Where loss isn’t swept under the rug. Where baby loss is recognised as the devastating, life-altering experience it truly is.
No other death is treated the way we treat baby loss - with awkward silence, quick distractions, and spiritual shame.
Why should the smallest lives receive the smallest mourning?
Babies matter. Their parents matter. Their siblings matter. And our grief deserves a voice.
Forever Tied in Love
Through our Forever Tied in Love campaign, we've helped hundreds of bereaved families mark Raksha Bandhan (8 to 9 August) this year - honouring that enduring sibling bond and creating a space to reflect and remember.
Raksha Bandhan (translated to Bond of Protection) is a Hindu festival, although its heartfelt meaning has extended to other cultures and communities. Raksha Bandhan is a day rooted in love, tradition and the special bond between siblings. But for families grieving the loss of a baby, it can be a time of quiet sorrow too - a moment when absence is deeply felt.
Traditionally, sisters tie a sacred thread - a Rakhi - around their brother's wrist as a symbol of love, protection, and a lifelong connection. This year, we partnered with knitting group Knit your Socks Off and invited bereaved families to remember much-loved siblings by requesting one of our special handmade Rakhis.
Because love doesn’t end. Bonds aren’t broken. And remembrance can sit gently within tradition.
Find out more about our campaign.
*Please note we now only have a limited number of Rakhis available until 10am on Wednesday 30 July.
Support for you
Here at Sands, we know that talking about pregnancy and baby loss can be difficult. Please know that you are not alone, and there are people who understand and whom you can speak to in confidence.
Support for South Asian Communities
Sands Helpline
t: 0808 164 3332
e: helpline@sands.org.uk