‘I was completely shattered’: Farhana Bodi on raising her autistic son in Dubai and finding strength beyond stigma

Dubai: In a scenic lake-side resort in Geneva, miles away from Dubai, Indian reality star, model, and influencer Farhana Bodi logs in for our conversation with her usual polish and flourish. She was on a work trip for a luxury watch event and was naturally composed, camera-ready, and effortlessly glamorous. But within minutes into our chat, the conversation shifted gears to a more vulnerable, raw space.

April is World Autism Acceptance month and for Farhana, this isn’t a campaign limited to a certain month in a year, it’s her life and she's a self-confessed work-in-progress parent.

“I was in a complete shock,” she says, going back to the moment that changed everything. Her son Aydin was just two when she realised that he was in the Autism spectrum. There was no roadmap, no family history, no inherited understanding of what lay ahead.

“Honestly, I wasn’t familiar with what autism was… it wasn’t something that was like, ‘Oh my God, I know what it is.’ It was just a big shock for me,” she admits.

And then came the spiral every parent dreads.

“I was completely shattered, because I thought, like, ‘Oh my God, what’s going on?’”

What followed wasn’t acceptance, not immediately she reveals. It was a blur of consultations, opinions, and desperate searching.

“I spoke to so many doctors who kept recommending me to meet specialists and experts. It was a flurry of doctors one after the other and it was truly overwhelming” she recalls holding back tears.

In that chaos, one thing grounded her: Dubai.

“What I loved about being in Dubai is that when it comes to autism, they’re really, really clued on! They take very good care of kids with autism. I have a great support system, including his father who's such a brilliant father to my son,” she says.

But information alone doesn’t build resilience, she tells us. Perspective has to kick in.

Farhana’s turning point came not from a diagnosis, but from a quiet, reframing sentence from her mother.

“She said, ‘You’re really blessed… God always gives the strongest moms kids like Aydin.’” Her words didn’t erase the fear, but it gave her the strength and fortitude to forge ahead.

From ‘Why me?’ to ‘Why not me?’

And, fortunately Farhana doesn’t romanticise the journey. She acknowledges the breakdowns, the doubt, the internal battles.

But she also made a conscious decision to move away from that debilitating and self-flagellating 'why-me' existentialist questions. She made a call not to wallow in self-pity.

“I’m not going to be one of those moms that’s just going to sit and cry about it.”

Instead, she learned to observe and adapt.

“Over the years, I just embraced it. I accepted it, and now it’s just a part of my life,” she says.

Today, she speaks about Aydin not through the lens of limitation, but individuality.

“Aydin is different, but he’s so special in his own way… I don’t look at him like, ‘Oh my God, he’s a special boy.’ No. I look at him like he’s like us… but he has his special ways.”

The invisible weight of single parenting

Parenting, as Farhana puts it, is already a minefield. Doing it alone after she divorced her husband and taking care of a child on the spectrum is something else entirely.

“Nobody will understand what I went through unless they put themselves in my shoes.”

And yet, she doesn’t position herself as a victim of circumstance.

“I must say that I’m really proud of myself. I don’t know how I did this. God’s really given me the strength.”

That strength, however, doesn’t cancel out guilt.

The guilt that travels with you

Farhana’s life is often lived on the fast lane - think flights, campaigns, shoots across continents.

“Of course, the mom guilt is there,” she says plainly.

Sometimes, she takes Aydin along but sometimes, she simply can’t.

“I made my flight a day earlier just so that I could spend more time with him,” she shares.

When she’s away, she leans on her support system — something she acknowledges is a privilege.

“He’s in good hands… my sister, my family, my nanny… I’m happy that we have that support system,” she says.

Still, there’s a quiet urgency in how she structures her life. Her work bends around motherhood, not the other way around. Plus, her child loves to stay in plush hotels, one of the many perks of what she does for a living.

No segregation, no apologies

Spend time with Farhana, and one thing becomes clear: Aydin isn’t an ‘aspect’ of her life. He is her life.

“I want to spend as much time as I can with Aidan… whatever moments I get, I include him in everything I do,” she says.

That means hotel stays, iftar gatherings, travel — a life where he is present, visible, included.

But she’s equally mindful of structure.

“He has his homeschooling… his therapist… his routine,” she explains.

It’s a delicate balance between integration and stability — one she’s learned through trial, error, and instinct.

What people don’t see

For all the curated glimpses of her life online, Farhana doesn’t hide the harder truths.

“The hardest part for me is to see his meltdowns,” she says quietly.

There are moments that shake even her composure.

“Sometimes he hurts himself… I’m not scared for myself. I’m scared for him.”

This is the part of parenting that doesn’t make it to Instagram — the unpredictability, the emotional toll, the constant vigilance.

And yet, she has learned to manage even this.

“I’ve learned to deal with that as well,” she says, almost matter-of-factly.

A message to mothers in the trenches

Farhana’s advice isn’t packaged in platitudes. It’s grounded, lived, and unfiltered.

“There are days when you’re going to break down… you’re going to question everything,” she says.

But the anchor, she insists, is emotional control.

“The kids can sense and feel our emotions… so it’s very important to be calm, positive.”

And perhaps most importantly, to let go of perfection.

“As a mother, we are not perfect. Every day we are learning.”

Awareness is not a month

Autism Awareness Month, she believes, is a starting point — not a solution.

“It’s never enough,” she says.

She’s constantly educating herself — through apps, documentaries, conversations.

And she urges other mothers to do the same — and to speak up.

“We have to share our journey… so we can inspire other moms,” she says.

A mother’s promise

At the heart of it all is a simple, unwavering truth.

“I love you so much, Aiden… and I promise to give you the world.”

She knows he may not fully understand his journey yet.

“He doesn’t know what autism is… he doesn’t know that he’s different,” she says.

But her hope is steady, almost prayer-like.

“I just want him to be the most happiest child in the world… he is my biggest blessing.”

And perhaps that’s the quiet truth at the centre of her story — not awareness, not labels, not even resilience.

Just showing up.

Every single day.