A MOTHER who almost died from a serious pregnancy-related health condition has urged expectant parents to seek help if they need it, as she voiced concerns that many will ignore symptoms due to the coronavirus crisis.
Khilna Shah, 35, suffered from pre-eclampsia, one of the leading causes of maternal death, during her pregnancy. The condition is caused by high blood pressure and can sometimes put both mother and baby in serious danger.
Speaking to Eastern Eye, Khilna said women may be hesitant to seek help if they experience symptoms due to the ongoing pandemic. Symptoms can include severe headaches, problems with vision, vomiting and rapid swelling of the face, hands or feet. “Due to the rapid increase in Covid cases and the significant strain on the NHS, more women are likely to put up with their symptoms, avoiding hospitals and GP surgeries where they can,” Khilna, from Wembley in north London, explained. “It is so important to seek medical advice if you have any concerns – better to be safe than put lives at risk.”
Due to current restrictions, some pregnant women have had to attend appointments on their own. However, if their blood pressure increases, they could lose consciousness, so their partners need to be aware of the symptoms and seek medical help if needed.
Her near-death experience has meant both Rupen and Khilna (pictured with Dylan) are reluctant to have more children
The pandemic has also resulted in expectant mothers being keen to get through their health appointments quickly, so they may not take in all the information required or ask the necessary questions. “You just want to be in and out quickly,” Khilna said. “You don’t want to spend
any more time in hospital than needed. I think this can certainly cause potential issues, in terms of the information you receive and take in.”
Although she was healthy during her pregnancy, Khilna experienced problems at 36 weeks. She had attended her baby shower, but later that evening, she began vomiting and had diarrhoea. She assumed it was food poisoning or a stomach bug, and even wondered if it could be early contractions. “It was my first time (having a baby) and I didn’t know what contractions were meant to feel like. I just knew they were painful,” Khilna said. “So I thought, this is natural pain and I would get through it.”
She went to bed, but woke up in hospital. Her husband Rupen had woken at 5:30am to find his wife completely unresponsive. She was not breathing and her eyes had rolled to the back of her head. She was rushed to hospital, where tests showed Khilna had had two major brain seizures in quick succession. It was caused by pre-eclampsia.
When Khilna finally regained consciousness, she was told by doctors that they had to deliver her baby by Caesarean section. Although Khilna can recall the birth of her son Dylan (who is now three years old), she felt it was all “a bit like a dream”. “I vividly remember Dylan being born, but the rest is still a bit of a blur,” she recalled. “I just thought it was all a dream. I remember waking up and not realising I had had the baby. It was only when one of the midwives said that my baby had been crying during the night and I had slept through it [that I realised what had happened].”
According to children’s charity Tommy’s, up to six per cent of UK pregnancies will be affected by pre-eclampsia. Globally, it is estimated that a woman dies every six minutes as a result of the condition.
However, Khilna does not believe that many women realise the symptoms or serious risks of pre-eclampsia. She also worries that issues relating to pregnancy are not discussed enough in the south Asian community.
“When something ‘bad’ happens to you, it can often be stigmatised,” she said. “Although some people are starting to open up, things that are perceived as ‘negative’ are still not openly discussed, such as issues relating to pregnancy complications, miscarriages as well as infertility.”
Her near-death experience has meant both Rupen and Khilna are reluctant to have more children. “We would have ideally liked to have had more children,” she said. “But having gone through what we did, it scares us to try again. It’s not worth the risk of Dylan potentially losing his mother.”
The couple have been supporting Action on Pre-Eclampsia (APEC), a charity that focuses on increasing awareness of pre-eclampsia and helping families who have been through it. Khilna said: “We must increase awareness of one of the leading causes of maternal death so that people are better informed and can recognise symptoms as early as possible. People should not feel scared to seek help if they need it.”
Jay's grandma’s popcorn from Gujarat is now selling out everywhere.
Ditched the influencer route and began posting hilarious videos online.
Available in Sweet Chai and Spicy Masala, all vegan and gluten-free
Jayspent 18 months on a list. Thousands of names. Influencers with follower counts that looked like phone numbers. He was going to launch his grandmother's popcorn the right way: send free bags, wait for posts, pray for traction. That's the playbook, right? That's what you do when you're a nobody selling something nobody asked for.
Then one interaction made him snap. The entitlement. The self-importance. The way some food blogger treated his family's recipe like a favour they were doing him. He looked at his spreadsheet. Closed it. Picked up his phone and decided to burn it all down.
Now he makes videos mocking the same people he was going to beg for help. Influencers weeping over the wrong luxury car. Creators demanding payment for chewing food on camera. Someone having a breakdown about ice cubes. And guess what? The internet ate it up. His popcorn keeps selling out. And from Gujarat, his grandmother's 60-year-old recipe is now moving units because her grandson got mad enough to be funny about it.
Jay’s grandma’s popcorn from Gujarat is now selling out everywhere Instagram/daadisnacks
The kitchen story
Daadi means grandmother in Hindi. Jay's daadi came to America from Gujarat decades ago. Every weekend, she made popcorn with the spices she grew up with, including cardamom, cinnamon, and chilli mixes. It was her way of keeping home close while living somewhere that didn't taste like it.
Jay wanted that in stores. Wanted brown faces in the snack aisle. It didn’t happen overnight. It took a couple of years to get from a family recipe to something they could actually sell. Everyone pitched in, including his grandmom, uncle, mum. The spices come from small local farmers. There are just two flavours for now, Sweet Chai and Spicy Masala. It’s all vegan and gluten-free, packed in bright bags that instantly feel South Asian.
The videos don't look like marketing. They look like someone venting at 11 PM after scrolling too long. He nails the nasal influencer voice. The fake sympathy. “I can’t believe this,” he says in that exaggerated influencer tone, “they gave me the cheaper car, only eighty grand instead of one-twenty.” That clip alone blew up, pulling in close to nine million views.
Most people don't know they're watching a snack brand. They think it's social commentary. Jay never calls himself an influencer. He says he’s a creator, period. There’s a difference, and he makes sure people know it. His TikTok has around three hundred thousand followers, Instagram about half that. The comments read like a sigh of relief, people fed up with fake polish, finally hearing someone say what everyone else was thinking.
This fits into something called deinfluencing; people pushing back against the buy-everything-trust-nobody cycle. But Jay's version has teeth. He's naming names, calling out the economics. Big venture money flows to chains with good lighting. Family businesses with actual stories get ignored because their content isn't slick enough.
Jay watched his New York neighbourhood change. Chains moved in. Influencers posted about places that had funding and were aesthetic. The old spots, the family ones, got left behind. His videos are about that gap. The erosion of local culture by money and aesthetics.
"Big chains and VC-funded businesses are promoted at the expense of local ones," he said. His content doesn't just roast influencers. It promotes other small food makers who can't afford to play the game. He positions Daadi as a defender of something real against something plastic.
And it's working. Not just philosophically. Financially. The videos drive traffic. People click through, try the popcorn, come back. The company can't keep stock. That's the proof.
Daadi popcorn features authentic Gujarat flavours like Sweet Chai and Spicy Masala, all vegan and gluten-free Daadi Snacks
The blowback
People unfollow because they think he's too harsh. Jay's take: "I would argue I need to be meaner."
In May, he posted that he's not chasing content creation money like most people at his follower count. "I post to speak my mind and help my family's snack biz." That's a different model. Most brands pay influencers to make everything look perfect. They chase viral polish, and Jay does the opposite. In fact, he weaponises rawness and treats criticism like a product feature.
The internet mostly backs him. Reddit threads light up with support. One commenter was "toxic influencers choking on their matcha lattes searching their Balenciaga bags." Another: "Influencers are boring and unoriginal and can get bent." The anger is shared. Jay simply gave it a microphone and a snack to buy.
Jay's success says something about where things are going. People are done with curated perfection. They can smell the artificiality now. They respond to brands that feel like humans rather than committees. Daadi doesn't sell aspiration. Doesn't sell a lifestyle. Sells popcorn and a point of view.
The quality matters, including the spices, the sourcing, and the family behind it. But the edge matters too. He’s not afraid to say what most brands tiptoe around. “We just show who we are,” Jay says. “No pretending, no gloss. People can feel that and that’s when they reach for the popcorn.”
Most small businesses can't afford to play the traditional game. Can't pay influencers. Can't hire agencies. Can't fake their way into feeds. Maybe they don't need to. Maybe honesty and humour can cut through if they're sharp enough. If the product backs it up. If the story is real and the person telling it isn't trying to sound like a PR script.
This started with a list Jay didn't use. The business took off the moment he stopped trying to play by the usual rules and started speaking his mind. Turns out, honesty sells. And yes, the popcorn really does taste good.
Daadi Snacks merch dropInstagram/daadisnacks
The question is whether this scales. Whether other small businesses watch this and realise they don't need to beg for attention from people who don't care. Right now, Daadi keeps selling out. People keep watching. The grandmother's recipe that was supposed to need influencer approval is doing fine without it. Better than fine. Turns out the most effective marketing strategy might just be giving a damn and not being afraid to show it.
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