The Sub Inspector and I

The Sub Inspector and I, strange title for a post in a blog that is dealing with Ranjan's cancer and my battle. Wait till your hear the story. It is a proof yet again that nothing happens fortuitously in this life that we love thinking we control, even if we are not control freaks. One more reminder of Papa's: no leave moves without His will! here it how it goes.

It was about 4pm when the bell rang twice. Now in my house if anyone, barring my darling grandson, rings the bell more than once, we all jump and rush to the door to normally chide the person. I was in my office, hence near the main door and I went out ready to pounce when I saw a tall man of a certain age that did not look like your courier man. I introduced himself as Sub Inspector Mohan Singh, CID. What had I done now! It transpired that he had come for a passport verification for Parul who of course had got her passport and flown away across many seas. The man was polite, soft spoken and though I asked if there was anything I could do, he said that he needed Parul's signature on his form that now would have to be returned and revived when she came. I guess we are all a little in awe of authority of any kind, even though it could be because of their nuisance value, though in my case it was another parental lesson, I felt the need to explain to him why everything had been rushed and thought that the best thing would be to play on his emotions and mention Ranjan's cancer. I guess this was the operative word the man upstairs wanted me to pronounce.

The SI told me his wife had cancer too, blood cancer and she was in a poor state because of the side effects of the chemotherapy. So here I was telling him about all my arsenal, showing him soursop leaves and Tibetan medicine. I asked him if he had an email and he sheepishly confessed that he has not much knowledge of computers but would send me his son's id.

He was true to his word and in the evening I got a call and talked to his son and promised him to send all the information. This is the first ting I did this morning. I hope it helps relieve the awful side effects of the poor lady. I must say I feel good and maybe should like my grandson loves doing add a middle name to mine. What about - another favourite expression of the grandson - Anouradha Side Effects Bakshi!

And who else but our friend Sub Inspector Clouzot to illustrate this post.

The warrior of Light

You are a Warrior of Light, wrote my dear friend and soul mate Mrinal in a recent comment to one of my posts! A quick Google search reminded me of Paulo Coehlo's book: Manual for the Warrior of Light and Wikipedia, gave me the definition I think Mrinal has in her mind when it comes to me:  those in pursuit of their dreams and who appreciate the miracle of life. The dream bag is rather small at this very moment with one main dream: get rid of Mr Hodgkin. Mrinal also sent me a a link that tells you how to protect yourself to add to my survival kit. The aim is to protect yourself while helping others as it seems we attract people in need. I know some of you out there who worry about me, so I will try and follow the advice! The article ends with these words that could seem a little pompous but are actually true as I too believe that we do not love ourselves as we should. It says: Most importantly..even if no one thanks you for all of the amazing light that you are shining in this world please, take time to appreciate yourself!

I like adding a picture to every post and I went looking again on Google, a true saviour, for pictures of the Warrior of Light and found them all too grim. So I went looking for a picture from the Little Prince that seems, a character I am more in sync with. He too landed on our planet to make us wiser and more humane then went back to his planet to to his rose. I guess I too have left, temporarily I hope, my mission to tend to my rose who needs all the care possible at this point of time.

So I guess I will add the tourmaline and the convex mirror to my kit and pray to my Angel to protect me. I guess I need all the help I can get, even the one that may sound esoteric to some.

Side Effects and Survival Kit

When Mr Hodgkin comes knocking at your door and then decided to squat uninvited in your home, he does not only change the life of the one he inhabits, but also the lives of all those around. Most of all the life of the spouse who becomes the cancer buddy. And believe it or not the 'side effects' of the buddy are as numerous if not more than the one who is affected. In this case the 'buddy' is me. For those who may be going - God Forbid - through similar conditions and for all others too, I thought it would be fun and useful to list my 'side effects' and the survival kit I have put together. This kit has to be flexible and responsive to all challenges that can come any time. The 'side effects' I have had till date are insomnia, readjusting my work life; giving up a well ordained existence to a one day at a time, or even one minute at a time mode; worrying every time I open an envelope containing the latest blood counts; making trips and sojourns  to the kind of hospital I never wanted to have to enter; browsing the Internet every time a new challenge appears - this time it is oral ulcers - and above all spending more time than I ever did with my husband. There may be more 'side effects' but let us just look at the survival kit to counter these.
 
I must start by admitting that I have not found the item in my survival kit for the biggest 'side effect': insomnia. I do not want to take sleeping pills. I want to figure out my body clock is behaving this way. It do not feel unduly tired though I get an average of 5 hours of sleep max! Mostly it is sound sleep and I get up refreshed so maybe it is my brain that realises that I have less time than before to pursue my preferred activities and gives that extra hour or more in the early hours of the day to write, but there are night, thankfully a few, where I cannot sleep at all and lie awake. These are the ones I need to dissect and figure out. Maybe there are some questions that still need to be asked and are not easy to formulate. Must work on that.

If I were to select the one most important personal survival tool in my kit it would be undoubtedly writing about each and everything, the good, the bad, the ugly, as honestly as possible, as loud as possible and to the world at large.This has been why I began this blog the day R's illness had a name. It is a my catharsis and emotional release. Without this platform I would have already had a meltdown.

The second, or actually it could share the place with the first, 'tool' for want of a better word is the support I have got for so many people, known and unknown, from across each and every continent. To know that people spend a moment of their precious time reading what I write and reaching out to me is priceless. You cannot begin to imagine how humbled and grateful I feel. I know that I can send out a mail and seek help. I have done so to get medicine not available in India! I have two wonderful friends I wake up every morning at some unearthly hour and if I fail to do so, I get a mail or SMS asking me if all is well. That is not all, I know that they are an SMS away should any need arise 24/7. God bless then all.

The next is more tricky. For a control freak (my daughter's words) or organised person (my words) it is very difficult to readjust your life, particularly when you were devoting all your time to your work and living and breathing project why every minute of the day. Well here the survival kit is in the shape of four wonderful people who have taken my worries and run the ship spot on! For me, I have learnt to change priorities and accept to live life a minute at a time. It can be bothersome but exciting at well. I am discovering a new me!

The trips to the hospital have been made easy by a wonderful doctor who heals with his heart and is also an SMS away. I am also discovering the fact that these hospitals that look life five stars hotels do not run like them! Each time we have a 'surprise' package that now makes us smile rather than brood. It also is meat for this blog.

When a challenge appears the Internet is a saviour. Did you know that if you suck ice while the chemo is being done or at least for the first hour, you are less likely to develop ulcers? You have guessed right the next item in my kit on chemo days will be a flask of ice.

The last item I will share today is the importance of alone time (an expression my grandson uses a lot). I have worked out mine. I have to switch off or get off the Hodgkin's spinning wheel. First and foremost my 40 minutes on the treadmill at 6 km an hour with loud music blaring in my ears, music that takes me on a rapid and space and time defeating tour of my life. For those 40 minutes I travel in my time machine. One caveat though: my knees! Then there is a sort of retail therapy which consists in browsing at my favourite book shop or walking through the market. It is better done with an empty pocket. Then there is my weekly cuppa with the dearest people on earth and last of all locking myself in my cockpit, as that is what my office looks like and writing!

Voila. Any more ideas?

No pain but lots of waiting and crawling

Someone - you know who - was very happy when he was told at the stitches we was dreading to get removed were the soluble kind! So no pain...

Doctor's visit went well though we had to wait for more than an hour and a half for our turn and then it took us one hour to crawl back home in horrible traffic jams. Left home at 4pm got back at 8pm!

All seems on course. Next chemo on the 5th!

The Gods do get jealous

I celebrated too fast. Three chemos down and none of the usual side effects was great encouragement particularly for Sgt Anou and her drill. But the Gods do get jealous and this morning Ranjan told me had ulcers in his mouth. Now the question that is bothering me is if this is the only side effect we will see or  will the others follow meaning all the brews and drills simply did not work. Only time will tell. The blood results were not too bad: WBCs at 3000. But there is a week to go till the next chemo and one more blood test a day before.

I guess the blisters are also a gentle reminder that Mr Hodgkin should be taken more seriously that we have been. Maybe he just wants more space. Maybe we need to alter/change arsenal and tactics. Maybe I had sunk into a comfort zone. Time to regroup and resume the attack.

Wish me luck!

The house I am growing old in 1

One of the 'side effects' of Ranjan's lymphoma has definitely been looking at life past and present with brand new eyes. - Before I go further a quick update on Ranjan as many of you read my ramblings to get to know how he is. The weight dropped by a kilo:(( today but no worries; the blood counts have been taken; he is feeling well and has gone out for some work; and we see the oncologist tomorrow. - One of the things that has come to the fore is our house, the only asset we have and seeing how one could 'use' it better. The obvious solution keeping in mind the size of the structure would be to say: rent it! Well if you have read my previous blog, or seen the house you would know that is not possible. This house is more like someone's folly and was extended for 'emotional' reasons. The other option is of course break it and make it into flats. Reason says that is the way one should go but before you can plan further the heart takes over and floods you with memories of the past and alarming images of what is to come should we chose that option. Ranjan and Mama seem to have had the same reaction: how can we share our space with people we do not know (future). How can we empty it (future) and where will we stay for the time it takes to build. And now with Ranjan not being well, the idea of uprooting him is inconceivable. But I guess if push came to shove, all this would become possible.

But what do you do with the memories that suddenly crowd your mind, memories you had forgotten, some sweet, some bittersweet and some sad. Let me start at the beginning and you will understand why giving up this rambling folly is quasi impossible. When my father was still in post, they decided to settle in Delhi and thus bought this piece of land. At that time visiting the land was a real expedition as it was situated in the boonies. But it was ours. An architect was found, a plan designed and one of my uncles given the responsibility to supervise the construction. If all had gone well we should have had a built house by the time papa retired in 1969. But that was not to be.

By the time we retired, what we had was a shell with walls and a roof and unpolished floors. There were no doors, no windows, no toilets, no water connection, no electricity, no nothing! The estimated money had been spent and the contractor who was a crook, had further claims and had taken possession of the ground floor. We went to court but that was another nightmare. Papa was shattered as he was a scrupulously honest man who was lost in the reality of India and its corrupt ways. We won the case, and the police vacated the contractor's material but the next day he had put them all back and this time occupied the ground floor with a bunch of goons. To cut a long story short, Mama packed papa to Mauritius and she and I 'moved' into the half finished first floor. Mama was a real trouper and a woman of steel. Everyone was shocked as I was 17 and the both of us not truly equipped to take on drunk goons. But then you did not know Kamala Goburdhun nee Sinha! She stood her ground and in the winter of 1970 mother and daughter began living in the house I am today growing old in.

The situation was burlesque initially. The bedroom was freezing as all we had was curtains on doors and windows. We slept on two charpoys. There was one tap in the unfinished kitchen that also became the bathroom with one of us guarding the door or should I say curtain. Pooing was the biggest issue. Well we pooed on newspaper that was then packed and thrown away later. I do not remember if we ever had Delhi bellies at that time! We had a cook who cooked us meals and candles to light our dinners which were rarely tête a têtes as many friends joined us for dinner and sing song sessions, mostly bhajans, meant to irritate the goons. The local tea stall man who was a young boy then and still runs the street tea shop, would bring us hot tea every morning and after getting ready, quite a saga, and eating two toast grilled in a frying pan I set off to college. Mama stayed put guarding the fort.

One day when I came back from college, I found myself locked out. The contractor was at the gate and would not let me enter. Mama was on the terrace telling me not to worry and go get help. There were no phones in the vicinity, actually there was nothing! I ran across empty grounds to what you all know as R Block Grater Kailash I where a friend of the family lived, barged in and phoned everyone I could think off: my lawyer uncle, 100 for the flying squad and my father's friend who headed  RAW at that time. By the time I got back the police was there in all shades and hues, I was allowed to go to mama and the matter was sorted for the time being. But that incident scared us and we realised that we had to find a solution as courts and law would take an eternity and we would remain on the 'streets'. Before anything, Mama decided we had to have a phone and she moved heaven and earth again and we got one. I still remember the number: 78678. Strange how much one's memory keeps safely inside our heads.

All our money had been sunk in these unfinished walls and unless the contractor did not get out we too were stuck. Going to court did not seem the right option so we were forced to into 'arbitration'. An 'arbitrator' was appointed by the court and again to cut a long story short we were stuck between the devil and the deep blue sea, the arbitrator and contractor were hand in glove and ultimately we had to pay a little less than what had been demanded. Appearances had to be kept you see!

We had our house! By that time papa's famous Provident fund had been released and that is all we had to finish the house. The few months that ensued were strange yet comforting. Mama and I remained put in our palace without walls while the ground floor was completed. We had a tight budget so quality had to be compromised. The goons had left and in their place came in the workers. This was my first contact with people I would work with half a century later: the migrants! When I look back at those forgotten years I realise how close I felt to them. I spent hours watching them work and chatting with them. I felt a strange empathy for them but could not understand why. How could I begin to imagine that one day I would be working with and for their children. Another full circle I guess.

Anyway there are million of stories about those fateful months waiting to be told. I really do not know whether I will have the time and energy to write them but there is one I have to share. As I recounted earlier we always had someone to cook and 'clean' for us. One of them whose name I forget now, was elderly and used to spend hours cooking though I can recall his food never tasted great. Since my childhood I have never spend time eating and still do not, and get impatient when others take forever. This irritates Ranjan no end as I am always wanting to leave the table once I am done specially if it is only family. Anyway in those days when we did not have a dining space, I use to eat my meal in a jiffy and get on with other things, This use to irritate the said cook. One day, in front of all the workers, he threw an ultimatum to my mom: he did not like the little time I took eating the meal he had spent so much time preparing and hence either mama threw me out or he would leave. Everyone burst out laughing and you can well imagine who stayed!

The ground floor was finally ready. It was time to call Papa back home. It had been almost a year since he had left. It was lovely to have a room with doors and windows and above all a bathroom. I was given the first choice and chose the room that is now our kitchen. But now came the hitch where was the money to furnish the house. There was only one way to do it and that was sell all the things we had bought and brought back. Many of you do not know the days when one got practically nothing in India so people like us brought back cooking ranges, air conditioners and loads of other appliances not to forget a car! Ours was a Mercedes benz that was then sold to pay for my wedding. Anyway we furnished the house as best we could. It took time but things were better when Papa decided to take up legal consultancies. There was no looking back.

So even if my head says that this almost crumbling and irrational house should be brought down and made into sensible flats, the heart says no, or at least no until it becomes an emergency. This was not the house I was born in, or the house I grew in but it is definitely the house I would like to grow old in!

Full circle

Someone wrote: It's amazing how everything comes full circle back to the way it was always meant to be and someone else: Love comes full circle, from the seedling of a loving thought all the way to your gratitude when it appears on the physical plane. At this moment of my existence I must say life and love have come full circle as they were always meant to be and I am filled with boundless gratitude. And believe it or not coming full circle was a 'side effect' of cancer! It was all a matter of changing one's way of looking at things and in my case walking the talk as am I not the one who always 'swears' by the Fox's maxim in the Little Prince: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye. So even if what you are looking at is as terrifying as cancer, look with your heart and you will find things you could never imagine. Foe me it is a journey into the forgotten and the yet unknown. So bear with me as I travel this uncharted course.

You may wonder why I have chosen the picture of the name plate that sits beside the entrance of our home. I must confess it took me along time for me to place it there after my parents' deaths. And it is only very recently that I changed the name plate at the gate though Papa's name and thus my maiden name is still prominently displayed. There will be many stories about the house but today I just want to share one that shows how life does come full circle.

The first one that comes to mind is the day when Ranjan, after an inane and unnecessary argument the cause of which I forget, had declared one day: I will never set foot in this house (the one we all live in now!).

I had completely forgotten about this incident till recently when my elder child suggested we start looking at options to 'redo' the house which meant break it down and replace it with flats. One would have expected me to react violently as this is all I have left of my parents and every corner is replete with memories that come alive with very little prompting. But imagine my surprise when Ranjan reacted with unexpected passion and said he wanted to live in this house till his last breath. Wow! Had we not come full circle.

For those who have never been to my home, let me try to give you a quick walk around. Seen through the eyes only it is a two and half storeys building built in the style of the late sixties initially (one and a half a floor) and then added upon most illogically following needs and idiosyncrasies, mom's and mine. Before I change mode to heart mode, let me reiterate that this house was never rented! The first addition was after my marriage and the birth of my second child. Papa thought it stupid for us to pay rent and thus added two rooms on the first floor. Then much to everyone's horror I discovered Vastu and resorted to additions and deletions that made no sense to many. So the house has 2 staircases but is still not rentable as you cannot divide it into units. You have to come and see it. At some point after my parents' deaths, someone suggested I make more changes to stop looking at it as a mausoleum and refusing to end my mourning. Yes there was a time when I threw a fit if someone dared change the place of a chair. But it was time to move on, at least for the kids. I wanted a big kitchen so my old bedroom and mama's room after my marriage became a big kitchen. And when my in laws moved in to stay, I built a den on the second floor for the much needed isolation and space to keep my sanity. It does get a coat of pain now and then but the costs are prohibitive and the house being old damp patches are here to stay as well as cracks and peeling paint. As for the interiors if you look only with your eyes, you cannot find any adequate word do define the eclectic blend of styles. You see my parents were also people who functioned in heart mode so everything they bought was never an 'investment' but something they liked. And then arrived Ranjan who has strong likes in particular for old furniture and crystal. So the house is filled with chinoiseries that my parents bought, crystal and porcelain that we have in abundance as both Ram and Ranjan were posted to Prague. Paintings often bought by Papa to help struggling artists some have become famous, and all kinds of odds and ends from the countries we lived in. The prize possession of my parents was an ugly ceramic cat that I made when I was for, and our prized painting are two works executed by the grandson.

As you see the move from eyes mode to heart mode was surreptitious. This house defies logic, style and above all practicality. It is worn out, even a bit jaded but yet warm and welcoming. One does not see the cracks and patches but the lives of the people who built it and lived in it. People often ask me why I have given up travelling altogether. The answer is simple. I just want to stay home. I guess Ranjan feels the same. We have come full circle.

Some good news

I know many of you want to know how Ranjan is doing as many of my blogs I realise are becoming soulful reminiscences. So here is some Breaking News. Something has to be working right though I will not celebrate too much as the Gods might get jealous but Ranjan has out on 2 kilos and that is great as he is undergoing chemotherapy and we are fighting a battle to keep his immunity in control. This has been the best news for me in a long time. Let us see how short lived this elation is as tomorrow if the blood test and the counts saga. However I am allowing myself to savour this day by taking some time off. 

Serendipity

Ranjan's cancer seems almost like a fortunate stroke of serendipity! Gosh what am I saying! How can cancer be fortunate! Walpole's heroes it is said were always making discoveries by accident and sagacity of things they were not in search of. Accident and sagacity seem key words in my journey too! I was certainly not searching for cancer but sagacity was what made me see this setback with new found wisdom. But everything in life is for a reason. We can keep believing that we are in control of our lives, but the truth is that everything happens only because (S)HE- whoever that he is - and (S)HE only knows the big picture.

For almost two months I was beating myself for not shedding the tears one is presumably supposed to when you hear the words: your husband has cancer! I was wondering why the rage and the anger that again presumably should have come did not. The quick explanation was that I had frozen my feelings as I was afraid that they would weaken me in my resolve to fight this battle. But then why did I not cry when I was alone. The beginning of an answer to these silent questions came via the comment of a friend to a picture I had posted.  She looked beyond the happy faces to the backdrop of the picture and her -words what a warm home you have; much lived in, slightly worn, each piece with a story to share - were like the proverbial penny that drops and makes you see with your heart instead of just your eyes. 

In hindsight I remember that when my dear family Doc confirmed that lymphoma means cancer, I was filled with a quietude I had never experienced before. I wrongly interpreted it as bravado. Saras's words helped me look at life with brand new eyes, twilight eyes. This cancer, that I know will be cured, was a gentle nudge that made you understand that it was time to slow down, to look at life gone by, to give up regrets and fill your life with peace and serenity. It was also time to remember and consign your memories to paper so that your progeny have a unique legacy that is not counted in figures but in feelings. It was time to look beyond the picture.

The most touching 'side effect' of this cancer had been rediscovering my love for Ranjan and his for me, a love that got lost for far too many years in unnecessary and futile pursuits made to please others and hence hurt each other. How foolish we were. But had cancer not entered our lives we would have probably continued being fools. In time we have left, we will be able to make up for all the lost years and not leave anything unsaid before one of us exits this world. 

Cancer has also made me give up my anger towards things that did not happen when one so wanted them to. Projects close to both our hearts that never materialised in spite of yeoman's efforts. Today I understand why they did not come true. 

Another 'side effect' has been to look at my warm and much lived home and remember the stories that every corner has to tell. And God there are so many of them, how will I tell them all.  

Of course there is the need to make that famous bucket list though I do not know where to start. Maybe the first step is to look at those who depend on me and have still not found their wings. It is time to be that wind beneath their wings.

Counting my blessings

When Cancer enters your life, no matter how strong you are, your life inevitably changes. No matter what statistics are thrown your way, no matter if the Doc you trust tell you it is the 'best' cancer to have, no matter if your alternative medicine doctor reiterates that 'this' cancer responds well to the poisoning of chemotherapy, no matter if your astrologist friend who has always been bang on comforts you by saying it is a bad patch but you will come out of it - the worst months are still to come - the reality of dying stares you in the face as never before. For whatever reason Cancer is always associated with words like remission, abeyance etc. Your life changes because you realise your own ephemerality, more so if you are in your seventh decade. This is bound to happen. There are several ways of handling this brutal realisation.

Life is a death sentence writes writes Oriana Fallaci in her letter to a child never born, a book that touched me profoundly. Being born has only one certainty and that is you will die. But when the going is good everyone forgets this inevitability. We humans fall prey to hubris far too often. Cancer is a sure way of bringing you back to earth. As I have oft repeated in this blog, so please forgive my rambling iterations, I have encountered cancer three times in my adult life. The first time we chose to ignore it and look the other way. The second time I fell hook line and sinker for the then available medical treatment but never reached stage 2 of the said treatment. This time not only do I want to face it with all the arsenal available, even ludicrous ones like jumping on a trampoline, but I also want to deny it of all the space it usually hogs, and consign it to a tiny corner of our lives.

I want to demystify it and find all the positive that it does and can entail if we look at it in the correct perspective. True I would never say this if it was a child or a young person who was afflicted. I am talking about those who have passed the prime of our lives and are in our twilight years, when every extra minute you get is a blessing. When my mother was asked why she refused treatment she simply said I have lived my life. What she meant was that she had seen her child grow, succeed, marry, have children and so on. My take is a little different.

Cancer that comes into your life at a later stage and at a time where information technology is so advanced that you can find out everything you want and make informed choices,  should not have the terrifying connotation we still give it. And you should not make it the centre of your existence. Deal with it yes, but be ruled by it no! Yet it requires a lot of your time, give it, generously and ungrudgingly. So you may ask, and rightly so, what do I mean by its positive side?

When something hits you where it hurts particularly when nothing warranted it, you are shaken, and the reason you are shaken is because you always felt in charge of your life. You can rant and rave and feel anger and cry. That is what some or many do.

It has been almost two months since I came to know that Ranjan had Hodgkin's disease. I have often wondered why I did nor cry, scream, curse whoever and above all feel let down. I thought it was my coping mechanism to freeze my feelings to deal with the crisis, as I thought it was a crisis. But for the past few days I have realised that I have not frozen any feelings, on the contrary I feel strangely serene, as if many puzzles yet unsolved have fallen into place. Somehow cancer has solved my crossroad dilemma and shown me my priorities and the way I had lost. There will be no angry tears as this too is part of the big picture and the wise accept that.

For the past two months I have been travelling down memory lane more than ever and what is extraordinary is that all the things that seemed ugly, hurtful, mean seem to hold tiny spaces that makes them almost invisible and unworthy of any attention. What I need to do is count my blessings and spend my time being grateful!

A daily dose of Gayatri on!

When I decided to share the news of Ranjan's cancer with friends and family, I received a mail from someone very dear and in it he said: you are going to be buffeted by commiserations that will irk, advise, questions and interrogations sage as well as malicious..! I must admit that I was pleasantly surprised by the number of people who reached out to me from every corner of the planet. Most of them were persons that came into my life through Project Why and in some cases people I had never met face to face. I was also touched by the reaction of my family members, many of whom I rarely meet or talk to for varied reasons. Everyone of those alive, ranging from 90+ to 20 called in person or on the phone and offered to help should the need arise. Everyone of them sounded sincere and let us leave it at that. I do not think it will go further but it was comforting. A cousin even went to the extent of reaching out to Ranjan directly - they have been to the same school - and convinced him to meet some healer who would help him. I was completely stunned when Ranjan accepted to do so and has been in touch with the said healer on his own. It is really a first, as he has always been cynical or at the very best tolerating and non interfering when I decide to perform some religious event. He often takes off for a game of golf. I guess cancer changes your attitude to things. But let us get back to the point of this post.

There is a part of the 'family', not mine, that has, for reasons I will not go into as they are hurtful and negative and I have no place for such feelings in this fight, cut me off altogether. However following the news of Ranjan's cancer has decided to send a SMS a day, written in that most irritating new age way of 'c u' for 'see you' that get my goat. Each message as the phrase 'Gayatri on'. It took me some time to decipher the fact that it meant that the person was chanting the Gayatri Mantra for him. It felt irksome. If I do something for the well being of someone I profess to care for, I do it discreetly without reminding the person concerned every single day that I am doing something for him. The whole purpose and sanctity of the prayer or pledge is lost. Why the hell do you want the world to know, and most of all why do you want the person you are doing it for to be reminded every day that you ARE doing something for him/her!

In this time of strife this daily dose of Gayatri on is the only irritant I have to face. So help me God. Or wait, as in everything else these days, is there a silver lining of sorts? Difficult to figure out at first as this irritant emanates from a corner that has left no stone unturned to hurt me and those I love.

The Gayatri itself comes to us from the RigVeda and asks us in its purest form to beseech the Absolute Creator to stimulate our intellect and bestow upon us true knowledge or in other words to open our third eye. Many benefits have been attributed to it from removing obstacles to lead us to eternal truths. I guess it all depends of where you are on the road to the eternal. Each one can us can derive the depth of the meaning we want to attach to it. Many have forgotten this. Today the Gayatri has become the mantra you loop on your music device every morning for a stipulated time in your shop be it in a small market or a mall; of the one you chant at every havan or prayer meeting; the one you learn at school just as we as convent kids learnt the Lord's prayer. Being reminded of it every day, even in an annoying way, gently nudges me to remember its true meaning and correct my attitude to the inevitable. It is a process I probably have begun. Perhaps it is time to go deeper and cleanse myself of the negativity I hold on to unnecessarily. Easily said than done. But will give it a go!

Sergeant Anou's Daily Drill

I could a write song on the lines of Sgt Pepper's Lonely earts Club band but I am no Lennon or Mc Cartney. Those were Ranjan's avatars. I have been more of a book worm. However let us have some fun whilst giving you a peep at the daily drill Ranjan is subjected under the unrelenting and stern eyes of Sgt Anou! But let me try to come up with something one could sing to St Pepper's tune! So let's go:

It was fifty days ago today

Mr Hodgkin's came to stay

Threatening not to go away

But not knowing who what would come it's way

So let me introduce to you

The one who who will steal the show

Its Sergeant Anou's daily drill!

Its' waking up at six sharp

And swallowing the five pills

It's drinking the juice of the soursop

And eating the oat meal

Its Sergeant Anou's daily drill!

Then come the pills, the juice and slush
And the jumps

And more soursop

Followed by a healthy meal

Of vegetables and cereal crops

Its Sergeant Anou's daily drill!

I know you may be bored

But there is still more to go

A bowl of fruit and protein shake

Make the afternoon easier to take

Till the evening falls and more pills come

Before the soursop

And then the healthy soup

And fish and treats 

And sweet meats 

Before the bitter brew

Its Sergeant Anou's daily drill!

Its Sergeant Anou's daily drill!

It's made to make Hodgkin's go

Its Sergeant Anou's daily drill!

I hope you will join the show!
That will make Hodgkin go

Its Sergeant Anou's daily drill!

Third chemo

Taken towards the end of the chemo on 23rd August. All looked well till then but we had a small set back later but all was well this morning.

Magical Mystery Tour

Living with Mr Hodgkin is nothing short of Magical Mystery Tour, or should I just say a Mystery Tour as Magical seems a bit out of place here. But mystery it is as you really do not know what will happen at the next bend. So we went to sleep yesterday with the certitude that we would have Ranjan's chemo port placed today. As for the ensuing chemo it was still a mystery as the blood counts were low and the Doc would decide after the port was placed and I guess after yet another blood test but no poke this time as the port would be in place. I must admit I had a bad night as I normally only sleep well when I am in control of things. No wonder my elder one calls me a 'control freak' and even a 'nag'! I prefer to say I am organised.

BreakingNews : I could not finish this blog and thus the chemo port drama was enacted and after twists and turns the port is in place and the third chemo done!

So with Zozo's arrival into our lives the 'control freak' has taken a lashing. I suddenly realise that my place has been taken by a new 'freak' who is the one to set the rules. However this one is temperamental, capricious and deadly. When we did not know of his existence, and that was for quite a few months, it manifested itself with symptoms that were similar to so many mundane ailments that we did not even begin to imagine the havoc inside Ranjan's body. We finally found him tucked behind the aorta in the abdomen. Once we identified him there was no turning back. The mystery tour had begun and would end only when the intruder would be annihilated. But this guy has game plans of his own and one is left with few choices. No choices in the life of a one is perceived by her own nears and dear ones as a 'control freak' though I prefer thinking I am organised to a fault, is unthinkable. To win this battle, I needed to feel in control. Not easy when the adversary is someone who has already beaten you twice. In hindsight I think this happened because when we met earlier I was poorly armed. To fight an adversary you have to know him, his strengths and his weaknesses. Only then can stay a step ahead and hope to win. In the 90s there was no Internet, no search engines and social networks. You fought alone or simply conceded defeat. But today that is not the case and my so called desired to 'control' may well turn out to be my greatest asset. In this case 'control' mean getting to know all that I can about Cancer and particularly Mt Hodgkin a.k.a Zozo!

You may wonder why I decided to call this journey a mystery one. Let me elucidate. Cancer had many avatars and forms and you need to recognise and master the one you are dealing with. That is step one. Then you need to ferret out the possible treatment and chose the one you want. If you chose 'chemo' as is the case with us, you have to comprehend how it works and more importantly accept that it is lethal, toxic and poisonous. Hence all the dreaded side effects. You have to come to terms that you are poisoning the one you are treating. That is a toughie for me but in this case, and this one alone, I have accepted it with my head if not my heart. That is the mystery bit.

So what does the heart do? Well it goes on looking for magic tricks that will counter the side effects and heal and not kill. There is one caveat. All your tricks should not interfere or counter the chemo. A difficult one but believe me if you have the patience and the passion then there are hosts of trick in the magician's hat. Diet for one. Then alternative medicines - I chose Tibetan and one Ayurvedic plant that complements the Tibetan pill -, then the right exercise regimen - in our case yogic breathing as the cancer cells hate oxygen, and the trampoline to keep the lymphatic system moving. So you can imagine what a tight time table this is. Does not leave much time for anything else. However if you want to survive the drill that is interspersed with chemo sessions and blood tests, you have to be able to remain that control freak whose regimen was as strict and well planned. Ah ha! The clash of the Titans. But there is a way out. It is a choice you need to make. Which one takes the front seat. Ranjan's cancer of course. Then you take the back one and accept a little flexibility and juggling and fit your regimen in the tiny and ever changing spaces that are available.

This my friends is my Magical Mystery Tour!

The port... a drama in several acts

The famous chemo post has been placed but what a drama  it was. We were asked to reach the hospital at 7 am. We did Ranjan, Dharmendra and I. The place was eerie. Not a soul, dim lights: a perfect setting for the play to unfold. At 7.15 all the lights came on. We just sat there waiting for the protagonists. They sauntered in one by one: the guards (there were none till then), the cleaning staff and then the reception staff. By 7.45 we could start the act one. The paperwork. As usual it took forever but by 8.30 we had a room. Then after some more waiting a nurse peeped in. She came back a few moments later and took BP and vitals. Around 9 there was some activity: the OT staff was there, Ranjan was made to change and was wheeled out to the OT. We were told the procedure would take one hour. So for the next hour we waited quite happily. 10, 11! I started agitating and ask D to find out what was happening. He was told it would take 'a little time'.

At 11. 36 am I get a phone call from some Doc on the surgeon's team asking me if I am Ranjan's attendant. I say yes! She then tells me that Ranjan is scheduled for a chemo port placement. I again say yes! But I start getting concerned. She goes on to say: he is coming?? I am totally zapped. I tell her he is here and has been taken to the OT floor more than two hours ago! Talk of efficiency.

I guess they 'located' him as there is no call after that just some more waiting. At about 1pm or so they bring him back to the room. In the mean time I have been busy getting in touch with the oncologist to ask him if we do the scheduled chemo or postpone it for a day. He answers by saying that we go ahead if it is not too 'late'. I try to imagine what 'late' in this case means. The last time we started 'late' after his PET scan we went reached home well past 9pm. True it was pouring that night. I finally locate the good Doc and he tells me that we should be able to begin by 2pm as there is no place in the chemo day care and chemo cannot be given any where else. Remember chemo is lethal poison! The toxic brew can only be brewed in a special well isolated cabin.

Shamika has come in so I decide to take a break and have some lunch at home, the food available in the hospital is all 'fast' and I need a slow cooked meal. I am quite confident that we are on track and the chemo would be on the way soon. But this a play with a lot of action and we are not through. I have a bath, and have just began to eat - it is 3 pm - when I call informs me that Ranjan is still 'waiting' for a bed in the chemo ward. He has been brought down but no bed has yet been vacated. I look at my watch and wonder when this rather laborious and now annoying play will end. By 3.30 he has a bed and after the usual weighing and measuring - this was done earlier one floor up; why can't things be computerised and shared - and the BP, and temperature and pulse routine all seems set for the chemo. A quick mental calculation and I figure we should be done by 7.30 now that there is a port and no need for needles. I plan on getting back by 5pm. At 4 I get another call from Shamika saying that nothing has begun. They are apparently making Ranjan's cocktails. Normally 4 of them. I again wonder why, when they knew that he was coming in for chemo at 2pm and was simply waiting for a bed, did not prepare the mixes. But it is all about protocols! I will not get into that.

When I reach the hospital at 5.10, the actual chemo has not begun. Some shouting and raving gets things moving and the first of 4 lethal brews arrives. Ranjan who has been in the hospital from 7am, starved till 1 pm and had a port inserted and hence a raw wound is exhausted. All he has had are some bad sandwiches and a 'upma' that Shamika and Dharmendra said looked 'foul'. But the ravenous man gulped it all hungry as he was.  He even had bad coffee!  When I heard all this, my heart stopped. How would his body react to all this bad food when for the past months now he has been on a very healthy and organic food. React it did. But that is for later. Let us finish this act. Finally the real chemo began at 5.15 and I think they rushed the drips a little as we were through by 8.15pm. After final instructions about the port and the next steps we left at 8.30 to be stuck in the mother of all traffic jams!

That is when all reactions began. Ranjan went pale, started feeling nauseous and strange. When we got home he was listless, refused anything to eat and just lay down disoriented and in pain. I was really worried as this was a first for me. I knew he had to take some medicines no matter what - antibiotics and pain killers - but he would not budge. After gentle coaxing he ate a banana and two pieces of chocolate. I gave him the minimum medication and hoped for the best. Finally, after much tossing and turning, whining and moaning he fell asleep.

I feel into a light slumber, my ears attuned to his every movement and sound. Thankfully he slept and woke up looking more like himself.

I am ready with my arsenal!

Needles and ports

Zozo a.k.a Mr Hodgkin is an unwanted guest. We all know that. He is a real pain in the ****! The main reason is that nothing and I mean NOTHING can be planned in advance. Not even a day in advance. For the past month we have been trying to get a chemo port placed as Ranjan hates needles. poor chap I have lost count of the number of pokes he has had in the past year! But two chemos down we have not been able to place the port. It is all a matter of numbers and their vagaries. They go up or down at their own sweet will, sometimes in the span of a few hours. If the haemoglobin is up -- hurray - as it is the case today, the white blood cells that were fine two days back have slumped. And the saga goes on. So till 5pm today we had it all planned: chemo port placement at 7am and then 3rd chemo. But at 5 10 pm I got today's blood results and the white cells are down. Call to the oncologist who says that we go ahead with the port and then we shall see about the chemo. Damn!

So another night wondering how tomorrow will go. Just the port and back home by 10 am or chemo with a low level of WBCs and home by the evening and then dreading the next blood result. And then fixing another day for chemo 3 and so on.

Each time the counts dip, I find myself trying to look for new brews that could do the trick. I must say Ranjan does not complain and swallows everything I give. I guess my concoctions are better than needles.

A smile in custody

There must me some God, whatever shape, colour or gender, who works in mysterious ways and makes you feel better, specially when you are down. I have talked a lot about my fake smile, and the domino I conceal my feelings under to be able to carry my battle. Imagine how it felt to read this: As for us - we are sitting here on the other side of the world and we are imagining your real smile. We just want you to know that your real smile still exists (we will keep it safe for you until you want to use it again). This comes from the most wonderful souls I have met in my life. Two big children who smile all the time and more than that can conjure miracles as one of them is really a magician.  I am talking of Alan and Em! (Apologies for stealing this picture guys, but I needed one of the two of you without loads of pwhy kids.) Their words remind me of who I really am and I know my smile is safe with them till I feel the courage of reclaiming it without the fear of other emotions that I need to keep at bay for the moment. Somehow Mr Hodgkin aka Zozo has turned my life on its head.

I entrust my smile to all of you who have reached to me with so much love and affection. I promise you to smile and laugh again without fear of breaking down. But at this moment I am still in learning mode, and a bit on a roller coaster. I never been on one but I guess it must be quite akin to what my life is. The good old AA pals teach one to live one day at a time. Live with Mr Hodgkin is one minute a time. You feel all is well and then a touch of sniffles sends you flying. For someone who liked planning things in advance it is a tough lesson to master and I am trying to be a good first time learner, just like my project why kids!

To all of you out there who take time to read these words, I would like to say that your messages and comments is what is making it possible for me to fight this battle that has too many bad memories. The fake smile and dark cloak is my coping strategy till I feel stronger. Please be there. I need you to able to remember who I really am.

Love you guys!

I love your house

There are positive sides to cancer coming into your life in whichever way it chooses. I would have never believed I would be writing these lines, and had someone suggested the idea, I would have socked her/his face! And yet here I am writing about the 'good' that cancer brings along. Apologies for using this picture again but this post would not make any sense if not illustrated. Here is how the story goes. A few blogs ago I used this picture to remember the good old days, the ones before Mr Hodgkin decided to move in with us. A dear friend, I consider her so though we have never net, write the following words: As much as I love this picture, it is the background that draws me - what a warm home you have; much lived in, slightly worn, each piece with a story to share. I love your house!  How true she was. I could never truly understand let alone express why I flew into a rage, or almost, when some suggested we redo the house, and make it 'modern' or whatever other word used. When anyone, even those close to me, suggested we break the house down and make flats and thus money, the only excuse I could come up with was that this was the legacy of my parents, and for me it kept them alive. True there have been moments when I too have been infuriated by the cost of maintaining this house, but those were short lived. 

My friend's words and the elephant in the room that cancer brings along, do make you conscious of the fact that we often that your time on this planet is not infinite and that death is lurking somewhere in the future. It is time to make your bucket list and tick the items as soon as you can. I can never thank my friend enough for making me see my house with my heart instead of looking at the cracks, the faded paint or the water leaks that come each monsoon. As I look at this picture I see baby photographs of my kids, a picture of my parents in their prime, books that are an intrinsic part of who I am, the Dali ashtray a maid broke but that we quickly glues together as best we  could. I can also see part of the blind that is quite tattered but still plays its role and yes one has a story, some maybe innocuous but others need to be told as in our world where the written world has almost disappeared, stories die with you unless you tell them.

Yes this house is much lived in. I built it with my parents. We faced unbelievable obstacles and even litigation. I remembering moving in with my mother when it is was still half built. And even when it was sort of finished we barely had money to furnish it. But it was home and we loved it. It was a place where my parents could finally settle of years of the nomadic life that comes with being a diplomat. It is the place where my parents could finally display all they had bought in the places we were posted and never mind if a Chinese Celadon plate was next to a Greek Amphora, it looked just right! It is the house where I got married and so did my daughter, the place a brought my grandson when he came to India for the first time. It is replete with memories that give it the warmth and comfort of a home. It is time I walked through it and let my memory run wild. I know it will be a treat where all the senses will come alive. 

True there will be sad memories and happy ones but is that not what life is all about.

Thank you Saras for opening my eyes and allowing me to fall in love with my home again, and thank you Mr Hodgkin for reminding me that time is short!

It’s not so difficult when you are completely numb

Before I go on I need to introduce you to the the two new inhabitants of our room sitting on Ranjan's favourite chair! For those of you who have kids or grandchildren who are allowed TV time you would recognise the funny little cat robot Doraemon and the very poor imitation of the mighty Chota Bheem! These were the farewell gifts Agstya got from his teachers at pwhy. Of course mom was quick to decree that they were too big for the suitcase and needed to be left behind in the toy bins that get filled to the brim every time the little bloke flies back to his home. But this time was different. Agastya had other plans.  On the day he was laving he came up with these two and very seriously declared: I am leaving Doraemon and Chota Bheem for Nanou so that he gets well soon and then sat them on the chair and marched off! That night he flew away. In his little mind he had left a little of himself in the space he shared with us for so many days and nights.

Agastya is a very mature little bloke and in spite of his young age he thinks! His favourite opening line when he is about to say something serious is 'How about ...!' So this time his how about... was his way of knowing that Nanou having Zozo in his tummy needed someone to take care of him. The two soft toys were the best idea in his little mind. I cannot begin to tell you how many episodes of both these cartoons we have seen in the past two months. Sometimes, when we really miss him, Ranjan and I often say: did you watch Doraemon! Chota Bheem is the other option. I realise that God works his magic through children. Let me tell you why. When we first saw the Chotta Bheem rag doll we all commented on how ugly it was, how badly made etc. But Agastya had his plan. The rag doll is so badly made that when you see it you laugh. And that is what its role is: to make us laugh!  As for Doraemon he has a magic pocket full of gadgets that take care of all problems. So when next problem appears, we have to peep into the magic pocket and voila! Well done little bloke.

Yesterday was the first day without him in the house. I had imagined I would miss him, shed a few tears, walk around the house mournfully. But I just felt numb. I did all that I had to: took Ranjan for his injection, held his hand when he winced in pain, booked the blood test for tomorrow and smiled when needed, talked when needed, answered the phone, gave updates about Ranjan's health  but it was as if someone else was playing the script of the day, I was just numb. As Bethany Griffin wrote:  I’ve perfected the art of the fake smile. It’s not so difficult when you are completely numb. As I wrote in an earlier post, saying R has cancer is the same as saying R has the flu. To that I can add saying Agastya is gone St Louis is the same as Agastya has gone to the park! It seems like nothing can break the walls I have erected within me. I am unable to process anything that could break the barriers have built.

The fake smile, which in my case means all the correct things I need to do in the months to come, is well in place. I must admit it is a little scary. Maybe it is the coping strategy I have opted for. It takes care of terrifying things like Cancer; of heart breaking things like a grandson's departure and perhaps of all that is to come.

Reclaims its space

The little boy has flown away. He is still in the air, somewhere between Delhi and Paris where his bapu awaits him and then will fly again back to St Louis and his life. For the past 2 months or 60 sleepies - sleepie being the way Agastya counts time - he was with us. I realise this morning that he and only was able to push away the other elephant in the room and aka Zozo aka Hodgkins and make all of us forget the Damocles sword hanging on our heads. However, even before the little chap could pack his bag and fly, Zozo reclaimed its place, lest he be forgotten. Yesterday a visit to the good doctor charted at least the week to come.

For those of you who are always asking for updates on the chemo here is the latest bulletin: WBCs dropped to an alarming 1.9 - I say alarming because I even got an SMS from the lab - on Friday. Monday morning the WBCs were up to 2.9 but the haemoglobin dropped one point. Two Grafeel injections today and tomorrow, blood test on the next day and if all goes well and the counts behave then on Friday the 23rd the port will be placed first and then the third chemo. In between Ranjan will have to visit the hospital for a PAC (pre anaesthesia test). Then more waiting for Godot, Godot being here the side effects if chemo, and more injections and blood test. So that is the situation today! It can all change if the counts don't behave.

I have my life charted for the next 4 months at least. 

My head is taking me everywhere

For the past few days we all have been dealing in our own way with another elephant in the room, one so big that it overshadowed the other one. I refer to Agastya's departure. Yes he left late yesterday night. As I said we each had our coping strategies: Ranjan smothered him with kisses and hugs; I made several trips with him to the toy shop looking for the tiniest cars so that his mom would not give me another mouthful. She did but we hid the cars in his bag! His cricket team - the gardener, the auto driver and his pal Deepak - gave their best, in spite of the rain. Geeta made his favourite food. None of us admitted to being sad. How could we? We are adults. But children are different. They have not learnt deceit and guile. They say what they feel in the best way they know. So did my little fellow.

He stood at the bottom of the staircase and knowing how much we all were upset simply said: My head is taking me everywhere? He just knew we all wanted to be with him. his nana upstairs, his cricket pals outside and I ready to take him out. I just hugged the little bloke and told him to do what his heart wanted. He stood a while, picked up his bat and went out. A few instants later we heard his giggles and laughter. All was well. The moment had passed.

As I sit in an empty house I wonder where my head will take me today. For now, I am just numb!

Bergsonian Rhapsody

The notion of time has always been a philosophical query that has fascinated me. Though mathematical time is always the same, the perception of it by us mortals is different and according to Bergson intuitive. The time waiting for a loved one will feel far longer than the one spent with the loved one, even if in both cases the the minutes on the clock remain the same. I remember how long a year looked when I was small, one birthday to another seemed an eternity! Today it seems to move so fast that one does not realise where time has gone. But within the 365 days that seem to fly as you get older, there is a Bergsonian Rhapsody being played. Sometimes time weighs like a lid as Baudelaire so beautifully wrote in his famous  poem entitled Spleen. For the past 4 years or so the movements of our rhapsody were punctuated by waiting for Agastya and then waiting for the day he left and then waiting again for him to come back. All this waiting was interspersed by other activities.

For Ranjan it was his work, his weekly and sometimes morning Golf, his few trips abroad for work and golf; for me it was my work at project why, my writing reports and when I could find time my creative writing. But all changed on July 4th 2013 at exactly 7.20 pm when a scan report landed in my hands with the ?lymphoma written on it. All our carefully scripted lives keeled over as an unwanted guest forced itself on us, hogging all the space. Everything else had to fit around its non negotiable demands. Agastya's presence made things easier as it brought the much needed laughter and joy as he wrestled for his place and always won. But there is a flip side. His presence made me push away all the elephants in the room and in my head. Come to think of it the 'Ranjan has cancer' I find myself mouthing to people enquiring about his health, does not seem to have sunk in. It still feels like saying 'Ranjan has flu'! And that is because the presence of a little child makes you want to hope and live.

I dread tomorrow when the house falls silent and little things strewn here and there - a pair of tiny Crocs, a small car, a cricket bat in the garden, the Odomos tubes that his mom seems to place in the most unlikely of places, his favourite chocolate drink in the store room, his clothes folded neatly on the ironing table - will be heart wrenching reminders of the little chap's presence. It will take time for the house to get out of Agastya mode and get back to its usual shape. Somehow no one, even the staff, likes putting things back and everyone delays the task as much as possible. But  inevitably, things will fall back in place.

Time that seemed to run at the speed of light while the child was here, will now take on new perceptions in true Bergsonian style, seeming so incredibly slow at times and quicker at others. This time it is not the demands of a child that will trace our day, but the ones of the unwanted guest and his impositions that have to be met. And there is no routine here as one bad blood test can alter everything else. It is strange but true that somehow this will help us fill the empty space and time of our lives. We have another time table to follow and this for quite a few months to come.

There is yet another side to this Rhapsody. I do not when or how the cancer will replace the flu in my mind but I know it will. The tears will have to be shed. Tears of sorrow. Tears of rage. Tears of helplessness and even tears of fear. Till now a little Angel kept them all at bay.

The elephant in the room and Doreamon's magic door

My darling grandson will leave tomorrow. For the past two months he has been romping around the house with is great one liners that could solve any problem that came our way. His to infinity and beyond, or how about we, or why is this happening to me, kept us going through the difficult two months he was here and made cancer, chemo, side effects, WBC counts take a back seat. His hugs at the time you needed them most made everything possible. For 60 days the little bloke slept between Ranjan and I and having him there was the best cure possible for Ranjan's illness and my nerves. But tomorrow he will fly away and God only knows when we will see him again!

For the past days there has been a huge elephant in the room. No one has dared acknowledge it. Yet I know that Ranjan has asked himself the question. I can see it in his eyes that moisten a little when he holds the little fellow, or strokes his face when he is asleep or just looks at him in the surreptitiously while I pretend not to see. As for me, I have to rehearse my act that much more and not show my feelings while I mouth answers to silent questions. Cancer does that to you. Even if millions tell you they have made it! The elephant in this case is too big to get rid off.

For the past two months a pair of grandparents have been willingly compelled to watch a lot of Doreamon, Agstya's favourite cartoon for some years now. But this time he is four and a half and understands the story line. For the past week or so he has been asking me why we cannot have Doraemon's magic door that allows you to travel in space and time. You just pick it up and set it in your room and walk across and reach the place you want. Agastya would like one that would allow him to walk from his room to ours and vice versa. And I must admit I too want one.

But all we have is Skype and our crossed Good Mornings and Good Night as St Louis and delhi have a 11.30 hours difference. So the two of us - Nani and Agastya - have been working out how we will communicate, send each other kisses and hugs across the screen.

I know that in a few weeks, I will hear the I do not want to talk to Nani, the little fellow often says when he is busy playing with his cars or doing something far more interesting than talking to an old granny! Children have the ability to adjust to any situation in a jiffy. For Ranjan and I, it will take longer if at all. We will have to content ourselves with a glimpse of the little one somewhere in the background of a screen.

I cannot but remember my communications with my grandparents when I was his age. We were posted in Rabat I think and mama use to make me write a letter every week to my nana and nani. My English was almost  non existent and all my letters began with: Dear Nana and Nani, are you well or not. I use to get long replies that mama read me. We are blessed to have Skype!

I know we will miss Agastya more than I can imagine, but I also know that we will soon be overtaken by the strict regimen and time table that Mr Hodgkin's demands. But every morning and evening we will switch on our screen - the best alternative to Doraemon's door - and a glimpse of our beloved angel will help us ignore the elephant in the room.

The heat is on

After a great week when Ranjan celebrated his 64th and had a relatively easy week after his second chemo, ate well and was in good spirits,  had a haircut, and felt good, the chemo was surreptitiously at work within his body, killing the good and the ugly. Yesterday was blood test day and looking at him I though: all is well. Imagine my fright when a cryptic SMS from the lab stating that the counts were out of limits and I should contact the doctor asap! The 15 minutes or so I took my chap to get the results were pure hell! What had happened! Well the cat was soon out of the bag as I got the result. His WBC had dipped to 1900 well below the minimum 4000 needed to fight any infection.

An SMS to his oncologist was promptly replied with the usual: wait and let us do another count on Monday and take it from there. He is scheduled for his next chemo on next Friday. So now we have less than a week to get is WBC to a 'respectable' 4000 so that the toxic brew can kill again.

So this week was as is said in medical parlance: a false positive! The darned chemo lulled us into a false sense of well being and made me forget for a bit that the battle was on, even if outwardly all seemed on track.So now I have 2 days to conjure a miracle with few tricks up my sleeve: food, jumping on the trampoline, my special brews and as much laughter as I can muster. There is a problem though and a big one that may make my task more difficult. Agastya my grandson leaves on Monday night and though everyone of us, specially Ranjan, are trying to put a brave face, some scary questions do fleetingly cross our minds. Keeping the WBC in these conditions is no easy task.

So my adversary won this round as it lulled me into a false sense of complacency. The war is still on with many battles to come. I am determined to win the next round and the war!

The hair cut!

Tried to give Ranjan a haircut. A downright  disaster! Got the hairdresser in this morning and here is the new look!

Got one step further... Diamonds in the ears!

I am sixty four

The birthday party was great! Here are some pictures! Ranjan was allowed a cigar with doc's permission. The spirits were high as some even landed under the table. Shamika and Rani had cooked some great food and for once I was a guest at the party!