Hence.

I went to a bookstore today.
Came across one that immediately caught my attention.

It had a face of a young girl on the cover, smiling.
But something in her face didnt seem right. I couldn't figure out what.

I turned the book over to read the blurb at the back.
Its a memoir.
Of a girl who died at the age of 16 due to thyroid cancer.
Its her diary.
Chronicling her last few month as struggled with a smile.
It traces her journey with incerpts from her loved ones - filled with picture of smiling faces, colourful paintings done by her and some pictures of her while she underwent treatment in the Hospital.

I sat down with the book in the store and read a few pages.
Engulfed with emotions, I held the book to my chest.
The smell of the new book.
And memories flooding back.
The innocent smile of the girl on the cover.
My heart went out to her family and friends.

I let out a sigh and closed my eyes.

Last night, a friend of mine messaged me.
Her aunt has Stage III Lymphoma. (I had Hodgkins Lymohoma too, hence...)
She was seeking my advice.

Ma keeps telling me about how I should write about that year.
That it'l help people.
Like people in the Hospital.
Or others who are going through treatment.
For families who are in distress.

But I hardly remember much.
And it'll just be personal ramblings.

Hence this blog.
Hence these posts.

I dont see a point in telling Everyone what I went through.
I rather tell everyone what I Learnt from it.
How it teaches me to survive each day Today.

How it didnt break me.
But made me who I am. 

Akal Bodhon

Akal Bodhon  |  Acrylic on Canvas  |  16"x18"  |  2009

I dont believe in god.
So most people ask me, Why this painting?
This painting is from 2009 - the year I was undergoing Chemotheraphy.
I dont quite remember which month, but Im guessing it was during November or December.
I painted few canvases that time.
They till date remain my most precious, cherished artworks.
Each of them painted with care and patience, pain and thought.
Each of them telling a story of my journey in some way or the other.
And each unique in their thought process.


This one, however, is relatively simple.
It represents the Akal Bodhon.
Most people wont understand what the term means.
So. To keep it simple, and taking from a popular website:
"In the 'Ramayana', as it goes, Rama went to 'Lanka' to rescue his abducted wife, Sita, from the grip of Ravana, the king of the Demons in Lanka. Before starting for his battle with Ravana, Rama wanted the blessings of Devi Durga . He came to know that the Goddess would be pleased only if she is worshipped with one hundred and eight 'NeelKamal' or blue lotuses. Rama, after travelling the whole world, could gather only one hundred and seven of them. He finally decided to offer one of his eyes, which resembled blue lotuses. Durga, being pleased with the devotion of Rama, appeared before him and blessed him. The battle started on the 'Saptami' and Ravana was finally killed on the 'Sandhikshan' i.e. the crossover period between Ashtami (the next day) and Navami (the day after). Ravana was cremated on Dashami. Since the period of this worship was different from the conventional period (during the spring - 'Basanta'), this puja is also known as 'Akal-Bodhan' or a worship (Bodhan) in an unconventional time (A-Kaal)."
[ThankYou Wikipedia]

So what does this mythological story have anything to do with me?

Well.
I feel it does.
I don't believe in god.
But I do believe in the power of a woman, as represented by Durga.
I belive in patience and the determination or willpower that resides in this story.

I have always been fascinated by Durga.
And the power that she embodies.
Dont get me wrong.
I dont like the goddess.
I like the woman and mother in her.
Me falling sick was untimely (A-Kaal) and it was a battle that had to be fought and won.
When I was painting this, I wasnt invoking the goddess.
I was invoking my own powers as a woman to help me in the journey.
[I firmly believe that a woman is strong. Anyone who can endure labour pains Cannot possibly be weak.]

Thinking of the symbolic representation (as in the painting - the spear through the third or inner eye and cutting through the bindi) has always brought to my mind the power of a woman.
The red bindi is conventionally associated with feminity.
However, juxtaposed with it, is the spear that runs through it.
The force and power of it.
The inner eye, symbolic of Knowledge and Understanding.

For me, this painting is therefore me trying to garner whatever I needed before I went into battle with my last few cycles of Chemotheraphy (which are the hardest to deal with).
Firstly, My own feminine strength and willpower.
And secondly, a better Knowledge and Understanding of my Life.
But most importantly, a wider perspective to my own Inner Self, that in turn would help me to go on.

By the end of it, the painting therefore tells My story.
Me, with my powers, conquering the untimely sickness.
Or so I hope to believe. :)

Deal.

I was sitting with a bunch of friends in college.
In some discussion, me falling sick for that One Year came up.

"What did you feel when you found out?"
It was a very typical question.

What Did I feel?

Very honestly speaking. I dont remember.
All I remember clearly, very clearly, is the conversation I had with my Oncologist.

I was in her room.
She folded her hands and said, "Okay. I'll explain to you what exactly has happened to you. There is nothing to worry about. Its 98% curable."
"I know everything," I told her smiling.
She looked pleasantly surprised.
"You do?"
"I do. But I Also know I dont have patience and I dont like waiting - "
She looked at me quizzically.
I continued, " - I have waited for nearly 5.5 hours to meet you today. I want to get back to school. Tell me what to do to get well. And to get well Fast. Thats all I care about."
She looked at my parents and laughed, "That was easier than I thought!"

I have always had a deal with my parents and my Doctors.
Dont hide anything from me.
Tell me whatever is going on.
The good and the bad news.
I must be the 1st one to hear it.
And I'll figure out my own way to deal with whatever that comes my way.

And that is something I have maintained till date.

My Doctors knew this and respected my decision.
Hence, inspite of my age, they let me in on everything.

The reason for this is simple.
At the end, it would have to be me who would have to deal with it.
The good, bad or the worst.
I demand to know everything in advance to prepare myself for whatever that I was supposed to fight back.
Its simply for a mental preparation.
And thats Really helped me.

However, many around me do not hold the same opinion.
They wish to hide the difficult bits to "protect" the patient. To safegaurd him/her from the trauma.
Many a times a family member is kept in the dark.
Though I dont agree with this approach, I respect it.
I understand their concern.

However, I question this approach only because of one thing:
You may try and hide the truth from a family member or the patient, but for How long? The truth will have to surface at one point or the other; and what if then, it is too late?

One of the friend with whom I was having this discussion was kept in the dark through the entire process of his mother's struggle with Ovarian Cancer. She is under full remission now and its been three years. He was only informed of the whole affair After she was fully recovered.
I asked him the same question then.

What did he feel when he found out a year later, after everything was alright?
"I felt angry," he said. "I screamed and felt really bad that I was kept in the dark. Ofcourse I was relieved about Ma being okay. But I think I had a right to know. To help then. To have the opportunity of atleast being some sort of support ... But I guess I understand their perspective also. But still, I was pissed."

I guess it depends on the age and mental framework of individuals also.
Its subjective.
But I personally feel, every individual has atleast the right to know and figure out their own personal ways of dealing with situations.

Man in the Mirror

Every morning when I wake up, my hand instinctively reached my calf muscle and I start start scratching.
And I cant stop.
Its addictive.
And sadly, it feels good.

I have Psoriasis.

According to a medical webpage, Psoriasis is "a long-term (chronic) skin problem that causes skin cells to grow too quickly, resulting in thick, white, silvery, or red patches of skin. Normally, skin cells grow gradually and flake off about every 4 weeks. New skin cells grow to replace the outer layers of the skin as they shed. But in psoriasis, new skin cells move rapidly to the surface of the skin in days rather than weeks."

I have this since I was in class 8.
Same time I got specs.
I remember sitting in the Doctor's chamber, scratching my hand even then.

The Doctor examined me and told me flat on my face, no sugarcoating, that this disease had no cure.
At least not as of yet.

I remember getting home and walking up the stairs and bursting into tears.
I had white and red patches all over my body - from head to toe.
It used to itch. I used to scratch. And in many a times, it would bleed.
I cried and clenched my mother's saree.
She hugged me back and tried to comfort me, in vain.

I got home and locked myself in the washroom.
I undressed myself and stared at the mirror.
The patches were all over.
I mean. ALL over.

I cried for a long time.
I cursed everything and everyone around me.
I didn't know who to blame.

My genes? The Doctors? Myself? God?

I was just in class 8.
14 years old.
Just two years into my teens.
And there I stood, looking into the mirror, thinking I looked ugly.
Disgusting rather with red blotches on my face, my hands, legs and white flakes on my hair all the time.
I felt So angry.
Having nobody to blame, I cursed "God".
Even till then, I believed in His existence.
Next day I had to go over to my friends house.
I had a crush on her brother.
Lying down on the bed that night, I wondered how I would face him.
He wouldn't like me.
I looked ugly.
As it is, girls in school thought I was untouchable.
They went and complained to the Principal.
They feared I was going to school with a contagious disease.

Burying my face into my mother's bossom and tears running down my cheeks, I fell off to sleep.

Next morning as I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, I thought about what had happened to me.
Yes. I was 14 years old.
Yes. Friends of mine looked at me with disgust.
Maybe. Boys wouldn't like me.
Maybe. I wouldn't end up walking the ramp ever in my life.

But.

I was still strong.

I still had a family and friends who loved me and cared for me.
I still was the same Me. Inside.

I went to the washroom and undressed myself and stared into the mirror again.
This time, however, I didn't feel bad for myself.
I realised I Had to fight this fight. I Had to be confident of who I was.
I Had to Love myself first for others to love and appreciate me.

I needed to forget the external and concentrate on the internal.
And Nobody in the world would be able to help me if I didn't help myself.
That is also the moment, I gave up on Him.
From then on, for me, there was no god.
No external force.
Just Me.
There was just me - who had to fight the battle.

A battle with the self.
Always.

If people don't want to stay around me when I have psoriasis - its their loss.
If a guy doesn't want to like me because he thinks I look beautiful when I have psoriasis - he is stupid.

Or.
Thats what I told myself.
Defence Mechanism?
Maybe.
But it helps.

Helps.
Because today, if anyone looks disgusted when they see my red-patched arm, I don't care.
If they ask, I explain. Beyond that, I am happee with myself.

That doesn't mean, I still don't break down at times.
I still cry.
I still crib.
I still wanna blame someone.

But.
Its takes me far less time to get myself around.
To embrace myself yet again and move on with life.
To Love myself from within and not worry about the outside.

"When you are able to look into the mirror and feel happee about yourself, when you are able to love yourself and to be confident about yourself - the world with all its people will automatically reflect your belief.
It all starts with the Man In The Mirror."