That makes me extraordinary

After a very long time Ranjan sat at the piano and played some of his favourite tunes. It was magic as for too many months now the silence in the house was almost eerie, particularly at the times Ranjan played: practice in the morning and playing before dinner with a drink in his hand. For me this was the sign I was looking for. Remember the next two months are not great; that is what the stars foretell. But seeing Ranjan at his piano playing an Abba song was pure delight.

On the other side of the planet Agastya my grandson is learning to play the piano and shows us diligently his daily exercise that goes 1-2-3 as his finger taps the note 3 times and then the little hand is placed on the chest while he says 'rest'. But once the exercises over, Agastya becomes a composer and plays with abandon his hands flying on the keys as he sings his own composition. It is a rare treat. He likes Mozart and wants to see him play on You Tube. Now is poor mom is having to explain to him that You Tube did not exist when Mozart was alive.
So piano is a big part of our world. I kick myself for all the times when I got irritated when Ranjan would sit at any piano - in a hotel lobby, a mall, a friend's home - and play. I felt almost embarrassed and today in hindsight I feel sheepish. Piano is part of who Ranjan is! I learnt that the wrong way.

So let me end with Billy Joel's words: I am, as I’ve said, merely competent. But in an age of incompetence, that makes me extraordinary.”

Ranjan's music is extraordinary!

Bucket list item no 1: all I know till now

In my last post I stated rather passionately that I would live each day as if it was my last! So let us walk the talk. so if today was the last day of my life, the most important thing that needs to be done is to share all the information I have in my head concerning Ranjan's day-to-day care and well being. I am putting this in the 'public' domain as I know there are many across the world who hare caring for dear ones with cancer and hope that the knowledge - a big word I agree - I have gained could be of use to them, should they want to follow my way.

To put things in context, this is my third if not fourth brush with cancer. My first one was when my Nani was diagnosed with liver cancer way back in 1957. My memories is that of a worried mom, a hurried trip to India - we were in Rabat - and a telegram on July 13th 1958 saying she had passed on. I was 6. Cancer was often talked about but to a growing teen it meant nothing. What mattered was getting passed papa with a short skirt and Twiggy eye lashes without being admonished. Somewhere along the way 2 lumps in ma's breast brought the beat lurking, but it kept at bay. It was in 1989 or so that we all knew Ma had cancer though the word was never whispered. She wanted it that way. She lived on bravely and died on her own terms. Papa somatised her cancer and was diagnosed on October 30th 1992 with cancer of the colon, had surgery on November 5th and left me on November 29th.

We moved to Paris and on a visit to a doctor for some silly ailment, I was told that I was high risk and that I had to have a yearly check up. Sorry! I was not at willing to live life from check up to check up. This was 1992. A chance meeting with a young woman with cancer open my world to alternative therapies and with the arrival of the Internet and Sir Google, I started my personal cancer research. Right from the outset I intuitively sensed that chemotherapy and radio therapy were not for me. It was not the vanity of losing hair, but the vague feeling that it was poison. I knew simply  I would follow mama's footsteps with a caveat: pain management if the beast were to attack me. I must confess that I always thought I would be at the receiving end.

I began eating healthy, rainbow diets, giving up milk products though I occasionally binged on cheese, taking supplements and reading every book I could lay my hands on where people had beaten cancer with alternative medicine. I had a small fright almost a decade ago and I knew that if I opted for conventional medicine then I would be drawn into an infernal spiral. Thank God someone had mentioned a Tibetan Doctor. It was a eureka moment for me. When I met her I was attracted by this spunky woman who radiated a sense of well being. I shared my history with her, my terrifying fright of having cancer. When she suggested a blood test, I burst into tears and told her I trusted her and would take all her medicines and did not want to know anything else. It has been 10 years and I religiously swallow her pills and powders and meet her at least once a month for what is to me a full body scan. She specialises in cancer and has had many success stories. You can find her contact details here.

My cancer never came, or if it did it remained in the brain of Dr D who must have cured it. I was happy that I had found the doctor I dreamt of! Then Ranjan got sick. He lost weight, appetite, had slight fever occasionally, and somewhat began to fade away. I must admit that my dread of the word C may have delayed diagnosis though I do believe that we took all the steps required. But please if you have a dear one who starts losing weight, has low fever and blood counts falling think cancer. The way you deal with it is your decision, and only yours. Do not get seduced by what doctors tell you. My Pa was told he would be up and about in 15 days!

When Ranjan was diagnosed with Hodgkin's lymphoma, I rushed to Dr D hoping that she would tell me she had the cure. Instead she told me in her inimitable way that Hodgkin's Lymphoma, testicular cancer and one of the leukaemia responds well to chemotherapy. I was stunned. I realised in that fleeting moment that the one thing I had always wanted to keep away from our lives had surreptitiously found a crack to enter it. Dr D also said that she would give her medication to boost immunity and ward off the bad side effects. So Ranjan has her medicine 4 times a day and should anyone want to contact her, here is the address:
D-10  Kalkaji, Delhi 110019
(91)-(40)-23309811

The next thing I learn about cancer is the importance of nutrition. It is important to give up the things that cancer cells do not like and feed the body with food they hate. The things to give up are sugar, white rice, white flour, white everything! All dairy products and all non vegetarian food. Fish is acceptable as long as you try and find a low mercury one. Though its is a huge environmental foot print, I buy his fish in a shop called The Taste, in Defence Colony and some of it comes from Chile! Organic vegetables are available and delivered to your home, so our other items like dals, red rice, spices, oils organic flour etc. I source mine from the following stores
I say organic
Altitude Store
Earth Organic
There are other options if you google for them. But I have found these stores friendly and efficient. Altitude Store also has breads and farm eggs and organic chicken and lamb.

Of course if the patient has strong preferences, it is a bit of a juggling game as is the case with me. Ranjan does not like some vegetables like squashes and pumpkins so one has to be very creative. The idea is to give as many different coloured fruits and vegetables every day.

Vegetable and fruit juices are essential and you can mix and match to your heart's content and hide all the things you know will be rejected: fresh turmeric, amla, cabbage, broccoli, beetroot, kale, radish etc. Ginger is a must.

Next come berries of all shades and hues. I again get my frozen ones from The Taste in Defence Colony. Cranberries and Blueberries are a must. I usually make a smoothie with silken tofu.

Seeds of all kind and specially linseed oil are very good so I put them in cereals and smoothies.

Another thing I give Ranjan twice a day is pure Ashwagandha Root Powder with honey. This is difficult to get as it is often mixed with other plants. The best place to get it in Delhi at Kottakkal Arya Vaidya Sala , Karkar Duma , Delhi but you need to insist that you want pure root powder and not churnam. This works wonders with immunity levels and side effects of chemo.

Next is sour sop. A fruit that I must have eaten in large quantities when we were posted in Saigon in the early sixties. It is somewhere between a jack fruit and a durian! The best way is to get leaves and bark and boil it and then drink three glasses a day. I source mine from Alavi Herbs in Hyderabad. They are efficient and send you the leaves once you have deposited the money in their bank.

Everyone is talking of the magic of Apricol Kernels also known as vitamin B17! Alavi herbs supplies these too. You can of course learn more about these on the net before deciding to add them to your regimen. However if you want Vitamin B17 supplement you would have to order them from abroad.

Mushrooms are known to help cancer patients. Some of the exotic ones are available at  INA market or some fancy vegetable shops but you can also go for supplements that are available on line.

I also give Ranjan Salvestrol which I did not find in India. I am blessed to have friends who order it and send it to me. You can imagine how much juggling it takes to handle all this. We are booked from 6 am to 9pm!

This was the nutrition story. If I find more I will share it immediately.

Most of the bad side effects are kept at bay with all these brews and stews, but some may still appear. We had some blisters in the mouth. Now the antidote to that is to make the patient suck ice as long as the chemo cocktail is being poured into his system. It is not easy but coax your loved one, it works miracles. Nails turning blue are also a sign of the poison finding its way in all places. Cold gloves are available outside idea but two bags of frozen peas work as well. Ranjan was not very cooperative but I hope I can convince him. I also feed him home made food even though it is not allowed in the hospital that sells fast food! But the two times he had the hospital food he was sick so I am willing to break the law.

Another important part of my arsenal is to make the elephant in the room a mouse. I must admit there are times when it does loom large, but we have learnt to squat it by laughter and humour. Ranjan has an iPad full of all his favourite old funny sitcoms and he often watches them. We also talk about Zozo or Mr H as we call his cancer lightly. One of the side effects I could not help with was loss of hair and he has lost quite a lot on his body. I remind him how one of my sina que non conditions was to marry a hairy man. So beware we have a cause for divorce!

Breathing is very important as cancer cells hate oxygen. We are still fighting over this one. And by the way I forgot the trampoline. Believe it or not rebounding - jumping on a trampoline - is a fab way to boost your immune system. Try it!

What you need is to overload your life with positive thoughts and throw out all the negative ones. Just meet people who make you laugh and shun those who are feed on your energies. Do not feel compelled to entertain any one you do not want around. People who care will understand.

So now I have written it all down. I may have forgotten some things and will write them down as soon as I remember. There maybe new things I add in my cornucopia as I go along. Will also make sure I share them.

In case anyone wants more information please email me at anouradha.bakshi@gmail.com and do forward this to anyone you know who is battling cancer.

I did not see this one coming!

For the two months or so, since Mr Hodgkin's presence in our home was detected, the control freak in me has been trying to work out all possible scenarios, from the bad ones, to the good ones, and from the irritating ones to the funny ones! I have gone to the point of working out all steps if - God forbid- we had a medical emergency that needed hospitalisation or what colour eye brow pencil to use were Ranjan to lose his bushy eyebrows. Along the way I dealt with the annoying side effects finding quick fix solutions and with each chemo the list of my arsenal grew by leaps and bounds. We know go to the hospital for the chemo with a big red ice box filled with ice and bags of peas to deal with blisters and nails turning blue. I scouted the net to find all colour and hue of alternative remedies and established my line of supply. For those not available in India wonderful friends are just a mail away! I have sourced all organic food suppliers in Delhi and know where to get the best of each item needed. I felt in control or so I thought.

Two days ago a pill meant to relieve my knee ache due I guess to over stressing on my treadmill did not agree with me and the reaction was so severe that I was unable to walk, talk, think, write etc for over 24 hours. And then to crown it all two large abscesses in my gums took care of the rest of me and I have been knocked out since. Frankly the control freak in me had took my health for granted at least till the exit of Mr H. I did not see this one coming!

I would like to think of this mishap for want of a better word, as a message from up there to sort my house in order short term. The long term can wait and even be taken care of by others. But the now is only in my head and the first things that needs to be done is make sure that everything I jealously keep in my head - another control freak trait - has to be written in black and white. I remember Kamala, my mother and mentor, calling me one day in one of her lucid moments and asking me to sit down with paper and pencil and write all the things that needed to be done id she were to die as she felt papa would be broken and I lost. So she patiently told me where all phone numbers and addresses were and so on. It sounded grim at that moment and made me cross, but I did as was told. Another memory that comes to mind is one of the last entry in the final diary she wrote begging God to not take away her mind! He did. She died 8 months later. I found her diary many years later at a time when my life was at its nadir and I needed someone to show me the way. Her diary did. It was uncanny. If anyone has the time and inclination my answer to a dead mom's letter is here.

The other lesson I got from my other parent is that nothing happens without a reason so putting all the wisdom of those who gave me life, I too need to figure out what this mishap which resulted in sleepless nights actually means. The only thing I can think of is that I need to write down all the information about Ranjan's treatment on paper/screen: the contacts, the addresses, the phone numbers, the daily schedule, the brews and potions, the preventives and fixes, the nutrition requirements etc. I will do that later today. It also means that I need to organise my bucket list and begin ticking items asap be they family ones of extended family ones.

It means I need to life as if today was my last day and then set myself free to enjoy all the last days of my life to their fullest!

a small request

There are times when I feel very  blue and low and very alone. I know many of you read these pages. Could I request you to just leave a small message, just a smiley if nothing else. It will chase away my blues and help me carry on!

love to all

I could not do it without each one of you

The other side of 'side effects'

You must have been wondering why such a long silence, as normally I find myself posting on this blog everyday and even twice a day! Before I tell you why, rest assured Ranjan is doing well though this chemo took a little longer to recover from. But then this how it goes, from OK to worse, and we are not even midway if we go by what the doc said! So there were no terrible bad effects as my brews are still effective, but poison is poison and the body can reject only that much. What was different this time was a lingering nauseous feeling, a loss of appetite though he ate what we gave and lethargy. But he is back to normal (the chemo normal) and the blood results was as expected WBC tumbling from 19 000 to 3800. The boosting shots will begin next Monday for 3 days and the 6th chemo will again kill 12000 of them in 3 days. One has got used to this.

This time it was I who reacted to a medicine given to me by my own trusted doctor. The story goes like this: I had been having a nagging knee/leg pain and asked for some magical cure as it was hampering my much needed 40 minutes of treadmill: my daily feel good dose. So he gave me a pill telling me that I may feel a little woolly the next morning but that it will settle down. The next morning I was not a little woolly but blown out as if I had had a bad acid trip. I slurred and banged into every wall or door or anything else. Being me I insisted on carrying on with my routine and came down to my den and sat at my computer but soon realised that I was not in a state of mind to write anything. I barely wrote two mails with great difficulty as my muscles seemed working on their own and not listening to my brain. I went back to bed feeling miserable. It could not have happened on a worse day as I had to meet 2 donors at noon. I spoke to the Doc and he told me that the side effects should wear out by then. Not in the least. At noon I was just able to drag myself to the doctor. My BP was 56/79! I was asked to go back and drink electrolytes and rest. In the evening the BP was still 56/80. I slept and woke up this morning with a head ache but feeling a tad better. The BP was 60/85 a shade better but not quite there. I hope that the side effects of this damn drug will wear off as I am miserable not being follow my sacrosanct schedule.

At 2pm I will be taking Ranjan for his weekly visit to his oncologist. I hope I make it without swaying and wobbling and being a nuisance. As for my knees and legs, they better behave as I am not even trying any new drug till Ranjan's chemo is over.

Noah's rock and our bucket list

When all goes well, I may find myself sitting at what looks like the end of the world and gazing at the endless sky and calm seas. Just looking at the picture makes me travel as I am probably the most enthusiastic armchair traveller. Life as a nomad in my childhood and teen years, and then in part of my married existence have taken away my desire to travel or even go out if not needed. And this time again the Gods had a plan as they gave the one who wanted to travel in space or at least be a pilot at age 10 after meeting Valentina Tereshkova, not just a fear but a terror of flying. A wicked ploy as one still has free tickets courtesy Ranjan's days in Air India. It does not end there. By making me a control freak who leads a life planned to the last second, travelling was anthema. Will you believe me if I told you I eat the same thing every day. I must one day share my schedule. It will astonish you. I guess I must have some sort of obsessive compulsive disorder so to my friends who beseech me to sleep longer, I need to say I just cannot. as if I try even an extra 15 minutes makes me edgy!

I am so grateful for the picture they sent me as looking at it makes me fly off and be elsewhere for sometime at least. As I loose myself in the immensity of the sea under what could be called a marmalade sky, I am filled with a sense of peace and gratitude. I am sitting on Noah's rock and my thoughts begin to wander. I hold them for a second as I would like them to drift in the right direction as today I need a clear head with the ability to  break out of the symphony in (C)ancer major and look at life beyond. The eureka moment was triggered by a conversation I a with a dear uncle who is playing the same symphony for almost a decade. When I shared Ranjan's mood over the week end which bordered on giving up, my uncle simply told me that what sees you through is the will to live to fulfil the unfinished tasks. I shared this with Ranjan and this morning we sat down and made our bucket list.

The one thing that is crucial and is on both our lists is making sure that Shamika is settled and empowered before our final movement. There are many options we need to discuss and we will now. I remember writing Dear Popples when the child lost his home and went to boarding school at age 4. For me it was the right moment to share what I wanted to with him. I would like to quote a few lines from the first letter in the book: As I sat down to write about you today, I sensed something had changed and that I needed to write to you and not about you. I realised that there were scads of things I wanted you to know but had not told you because there was no time, or because I thought there was still so much time; because you were too young to understand or simply because I was to tired to explain. I feel the same today. Sending Popples to school was a heart wrenching experience. Ranjan's cancer is a heart and soul breaking one.

So Ranjan and I have to make our bucket lists. The common one is to settle Shamika, make our wills wherein we protect the girls interests and make walking in our shoes easy for them. We may have demons to deal with and it is time we did it. I guess we both need to follow the Alcoholic Anonymous Steps 8 and 9 even if it is traumatic: Make a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all and  make direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others. This is the toughie.

Ranjan has only a family and some dear friends and colleagues. But for me it is a different game all together because I have another family, one I created myself and who have entrusted their dreams in me. It is easy to start an NGO and many do so because it is the in the thing to do, almost a page 3 sine qua non. I am not page 3 and  do not aspire to that 'honour'. I created Project Why to fill a deep void I had sunk in after my parents death. It took me 6 long years of emotional loss to find the way to live a full life again. Project Why was created to honour their memory and leave a trace of our little menage a trois that would disappear after me. I know that here again the Gods ha a plan for me and that is why Project Why defies any definition and cannot be contained in a  box!

Two Angels landed in my life and changed it forever. Manu who showed me the way when I was lost passed away gently having completed the reason he came to this planet. Utpal on the other hand is here to stay and has broken all the seemingly well planned scenarios one crafted for him. Today he is part of our home as he is no body's child, a fate worse than an orphan as his mom just walked away. As he grows questions crop in his mind and we have weak answers if any. Today he is bullied and beaten in school and we need to find another school that will understand him and give him an enabling environment to grow. Then he will need mentors and a surrogate family, a network of friends and the skills to make his future. Utpal always remind me of the Little Prince where we are the rose that he is responsible for. I can never forget the words of the fox: “People have forgotten this truth, but you mustn’t forget it. You become responsible forever for what you’ve tamed. You’re responsible for your rose. So Utpal new school and above all a trust fund that is well managed and that will take care of his needs till he can do it himself.

But there is more on my bucket list and that is Project Why. Before I sing my finale, I want to build a small centre near the place where we run our women centre as it has a legal resettlement colony teeming with children. I need to sell the land we have and buy a smaller plot and build with the money left. Till now the money we raised was because of my writing and communicating skills. This is something I cannot pass on so we will need to make a corpus and trim the project to the size of the interest. Here I need a miracle. An Angel who would be willing to place a corpus that will not be ours, and leave the interest for us. But where do I find such an Angel? I know the trimmed project will not reach out to as many as we do now, but there are some staff who have give me their heart and soul and I need to leave them a sustainable project.

Then there is dear Popples II, the project why story which needs to be told as it is a portrait of a brave India no one is aware of. It is the lives of millions we just pass by but who battle every day to make their morrows better.

Maybe after all this is done, God will take my fear of flying away and free me of my  prison like schedule and allow me to fly with my fondest friends and actually sit on that rock under a marmalade sky!

To be trusted is a greater compliment than being loved

To be trusted is a greater compliment than being loved wrote  George MacDonald. On October 20th 1974 Ranjan and I 'formalised' our love officially though our journey together had begun a long time ago. We both knew that love had to be based on trust  but in those days and even later the word trust was not put to test. It was understood, may have been relegated to some corner of ones mind waiting to be called upon. It is only yesterday that I felt the true tenor of this aspect of the relationship you share with someone.

It has been a difficult weekend as Ranjan took longer than usual to 'bounce' back and the (in)famous side effects of chemotherapy weighed upon both of us. Till date the happy potions and brews I concocted were spot on and we had kept side effects almost at bay. However this time it was different. I could sense Ranjan starting to feel fed up of this legal poisoning. We discussed options and tried to lighten the mood and chase the negative vibes that seemed to be more active than usual. Or was it that both of us were getting weary of this life in 15 days movements. I do not know. The famous PET scan is still 20 long days away. And that is when we may have to take decisions. We both know that! But my darling man has found the easy way out. He simply said: I trust you implicitly! Voila! It was done. The ball was in my court and I had to find and be responsible for every decision henceforth. Easy peasy for Ranjan but a play in several acts and one protagonist for me.

To be trusted is a greater compliment than being loved. I feel humbled and scared. Never are such words more poignant than in times like the one I am going through. When me made a pledge, or rather many on that day almost 4 decades ago, we were young and in love and our world looked more like the one imagined by the Beatles in their song Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds! We were sailing in a boat on a river with tangerine trees and marmalade skies. Nothing could mar our happiness and love. We were young and our dreams were fresh and immature. We could conquer the world if we wanted. And to make us believe this ludicrous chimera, everyone was on best behaviour, even those who later would try their utmost to hijack our love.

We had our turbulent times, our grey skies and bare trees. Spurred by others we even mouthed hurtful things to each other and banged many doors. But somewhere, the spark of love that had flared when we first met remained alight, even if at times it was a bare flicker. Lover conquers all it is said, and in our case it did. We had our share of elephants in the room and had to learn to live with them as best we could holding on to our love, even if at times it seemed impossible. But the Gods having tested us in their own inimitable way had mercy on us and the elephants vanished. Some mice are left but they are easy to deal with. But being together again came at a price. Today I have my man. Seems the Gods are testing me again. In the twilight of our love, I have been entrusted with his life and a host of difficult decisions the results of which are nothing short of frightening.

I wish I could be the girl in the picture. But that smile is only for young love. Mature and mellowed love is another thing altogether. The smile you give now bears the traces of every moment you have lived and may look jaded. Far from that, it is the smile of 40 years of loving and caring in spite of everything thrown at you. And when the one you smile at tells you he trusts you with his life, then you know that your love is of the kind that conquers all.

My new alphabet: ABVDBEACOPP

Chemo 5 is over but with it have come a series of questions that we may have to address at a given time. As a 'control freak' - that is what my elder one calls me - or an organised person - as I would like to call myself - I like being prepared for any eventuality, however bad. First of all let me bring you up to date. Chemo 5 was a an eye opener in more ways than one and also a glimpse on what awaits us. The stars have foretold a bad patch starting October and I have been scratching my brain trying to figure out what it could be. Well chemo 5 gave me a lead. Chemo 1 was bad because of the steroid in his pre meds, but 2,3 and 4 were not too bad. He came out of them after a good night's sleep. We had of course removed the steroid. Now chemo 5 has been strange. It has been more than 48 hours and Ranjan has not really  come out of it yet. Poor appetite, lethargy and what is scaring me is his dark mood. I hope it is not another depression setting in. he has been telling everyone who called that this chemo has got the better of him. Not a  good sign. Will call his therapist and see if he does not need some sessions.

But that is not all. As we are reaching midway if it is 12 and three quarter way if it is 8 chemos, I wanted to know from the doctor what we could expect. I like knowing my best case scenario and worst case scenario in all situations as a good control freak! A PET Scan is scheduled after chemo 6 and will reveal all. So if things are super better we stop at 6, if things are better but not as much as one would have wanted we go on to 12, and if things have not improved then we need to change protocols so from ABVD we move to BEACCOP. In other terms from a cocktail of 4 lethal drugs to one having 7! Phew! Now when you read: Until now, the advantage shown for the BEACOPP regimen was improved disease control, with better progression-free survival (PFS) than is seen with ABDV. However, this came at the expense of more toxicity, including a suggestion that there may be an increased risk for secondary cancers, in a serious medical article your blood runs cold. The article is disturbing as it does not give a clear cut answer but then it is in sync with chemotherapy as a whole where people talk of remission and survival in months and days, and where 15 days of extra life devoid of any quality is a statistic to celebrate. In an answer to the authors of the above article, Dr Longo in the Journal of Clinical Oncology states: it is my understanding that escalated BEACOPP is sufficiently toxic that patients older than 60 years are considered too old to tolerate it. Dr Longo ends his article by saying:  patients need to be fully informed of the various pathways to cure, their likelihood of success, and short- and long-term toxicity costs of each approach. A well-informed patient can participate fully in the decision about which path to choose. Sadly that is not always the case.

To many it may seem premature to already think so much in advance. But I have my reasons. First of all I know that as soon as the results of the scan are out there will be immense pressure to take a decision as we are in the middle of a chemo protocol and would have to decide in a matter of days. I also know that the oncologist will be pushing us to accept a change of protocol based on facts and figures. But we are not talking of a patient amongst others, but of Ranjan. What makes it terrible for me is that he trusts me implicitly. I need to be worthy of his trust.

For the past two days, after his last chemo he has been feeling low and somehow the change of colour in his nails has been a watershed moment for him as he can see the toxicity of the chemo drugs. He has been looking at his fingers and toes over and over again and been feeling upset and down. Now the BEACOPP has far worst side effects than ABVD and I do not know if my brews and potions will keep him away from the side effects. I do not think he will be able to cope with those without sinking into depression.

Mama refused chemotherapy because she did not want the side effects or the short remission(s). She wanted to live life on her terms and though she suffered in the last month of her life, she enjoyed her last year and papa's pampering. Papa trusted me and I trusted the doctors who told me he will be up and about in a matter of weeks. He died in a matter of weeks robbed of his dignity.

I was seduced then, and was seduced in July 2013 when I accepted chemo because people I trusted told me it would work. They only told me one chapter of the story. I was not given a chance to try the alternative therapies that seem far more humane and stand to reason.

I do not like the Ranjan I have seen for the last 2 days! I do not want his life to be reduced to ghastly side effects which he cannot tolerate. Anyway, if I am to believe Dr Longo writes, then BEACOPP is not good for anyone above 60 and he is 64!

I do not want to be seduced again and take a decision that I may regret and that will make Ranjan suffer. If ABVD has not given the results that one hoped for, then I would like to stop chemo at no 8 and try alternative therapies full on. Most of all I would want to get out of this symphony of life in slabs of fifteen days from chemo to chemo. I would like to see his immunity go up and get out of the house and enjoy the time we have left as. That time period is only known by the one upstairs. The only thing that would change is that Ranjan and I would live every day of the remainder of our lives as if it was the last day. What a ball it will be. And the only alphabet I want to use is God's Alphabet. The only way I want to see Ranjan is with a smile.

Chemo five a psychedelic trip

This picture was taken at 7.30 am at the counter of the oncology ward of Max hospital. Ranjan is looking very dapper in his jeans and black T shirt not to forget the trim silhouette. Could break hearts or so I would like to believe. Still has mine! Sadly that is not the way he looked when we left at 2 pm. I did not have the heart to take a snap. The seven hours turned out to be a real psychedelic trip where the letters LSD (illegal) were replaced by ABVD (legal). Just to give you a picture ABV are preceded by what is called premeds after the painful moment when the needle is placed in the port. However this morning the needle did not hurt as much as the last time and everyone was happy and hoped the trip would be a good one. We had arrived, Ranjan, Dharmendra (who has been a rock) and self with our big red ice box stuffed with ice and two bags of frozen pears, my big bag with carefully concealed peanut butter sandwiches, the iPad and the book Ranjan was reading.
The premeds were given and we were waiting for the pharmacist who makes the deadly cocktail. Ranjan who had had his normal breakfast stated he was hungry and wolfed the first sandwich. I decided to come home as all seemed spot on and have a break and get him some lunch. Got a call informing me that the A had begun and the doctor was expected so rushed back with two egg paranthas hidden in my bag hoping that the smell would not attract the attention of the grim security guard. A was still on and Ranjan wanted sandwich number two! I was happy. It looked like we would have a happy trip.

The Doctor came and we had a nice chat and he found everything in order. A was over and it was time for B. I filled a glass with ice and Ranjan decided to watch and episode of his favourite 50s sitcom: The Honeymooners. Dharmendra and I had some project matters to discuss and we did while keeping and eye on the drip. It must have been past 11 am. Ranjan stopped watching for a bit and wanted his lunch. So we gave him one parantha. Soon it was time for drug V before a short toilet break. We all resumed our positions, Ranjan with his movie, and Dharmendra and I with our discussion. Eyes of course were on the drip. Around 12 15 or so it was time for yet another change V to D. D is the dreaded one as it is the longest: almost two hours. But all seemed well as we tripped along. Parantha two was also consumed. We were hoping against hope that it would be a good trip. The episode ended and instead of putting on a new one, Ranjan put the iPad away and started looking different. No smile. That is when I remembered the peas that were meant to be put on his hand to keep the nails from turning blue.

I got them out and thought it would make smile if not laugh but he refused to put his hand and did after a lot of coaxing. That is when we realised that this was turning into a bad trip. The next 90 minutes were difficult. As D dripped into his veins, I could see his body language changing and his face contorting. Every question was answered in a brusque manner if at all. He refused the ice, the peas and even my poor jokes. I just watched him helpless, looking at the big bottle filled with the V and willing the drops to move faster. But it was a losing battle. Dharmendra and I watched helplessly. Our attempts at conversation with Ranjan were futile. Time took a Bergsonian perception and hung heavy on our heads. I asked Dharmendra to complete all the formalities so that we could leave as soon as D was over and head home. Ranjan started feeling nauseous so I gave him a medicine I was carrying in my bag. We managed to be out by 2 pm and blissfully there was little traffic and we were home in 20 minutes. Ranjan was miserable and just lay down. I lay quietly beside him, watching his disturbed sleep. When I felt him he was hot. His temperature was 100.7. I called the doctor. He told me not to worry and to give him paracetamol. I did. I just hope he feels better and has something to eat and a sound sleep.

Tomorrow is another day!

Chemo five...and the big red ice box

Today is chemo five day and as always I find myself not sleeping and up well before dawn cracks over the city, even before the early bird chirps. This has been the case each and every time. One would have thought one would get used to it, but nada, not me! Actually what I would call chemo stress (CS) begins a day before. Actually of all the about 10 days since we discovered the presence of Mr Hodgkin confirmed and reconfirmed chemo days have been the worst for Ranjan and every time I have tried to do my very best to try and alleviate issues. The first after chemo hours were terrible as Ranjan had reacted to the steroid they injected.

We can now laugh about his time and space travel, but believe you me, it was scary to see him insisting we were in 1972 and he had had lunch with his pals at the Golf club particularly as he was aggressive, something Ranjan never is. We discovered the culprit and made sure it was eliminated the medicine from his premeds shot. I forgot one thing. On chemo 1 we got caught in the 'recliner' game. You see the day care has a certain amount of beds and the rest is what the hospital calls recliners, but I call back breaker. For almost 4 hours if not more, poor Ranjan and his bad back were plonked in a recliner which is a badly designed seating contraption that kills your back. We did manage a bed for the last 2 hours but the recliner had taken its toll. So we set out to find how to get a 'bed' and have been successful for the past 3 chemos and hope we make it today. It means getting there before anyone else and going through the tedious paperwork in time. Maybe that us why my body clock wakes me so early!

The let us talk food. The food in the hospital is inedible. Period! One would have expected a hospital to have at least edible and healthy food but no. Their motto is save, save, save and charge, charge, charge! So be it breakfast - the worst bread - or lunch - strange looking slush and chewy rotis - you better stat away. The problem is that you are not allowed to bring food from home. You could buy food from the multi outlets they have, but they are all fast food joints. This beats me as I would think fast food would be a no no in a hospital. Money again.

So for the past 4 chemos Ranjan ate either the hospital food or the counter bought food and was sick. I presume eating organic for months now makes your body react to chemicals. So he has been nauseous and chemo days have been no eating days for Ranjan as he refuses any food when he comes back home. So this time I am smuggling  organic peanut butter sandwiches made with organic bread and egg sandwiches made with organic eggs!

After chemo 3, Ranjan got a few blisters in spite of all my voodoo. I found out that making him such ice while the chemo was on could sort the problem so went to chemo 4 with ice and lo and behold it worked.

Post chemo 4 we saw his nails getting bluish. Search, search, search! Now they have something called cold gloves on the net but could not find any in India so am taking two bags of frozen peas in an ice box and will apply them on his hands while the 3 drugs that could have that side effect are forced into his system. Let us hope I get passed the security guy with my big red ice box!

8 to go....

When Agastya and Utpal, my two boys were home this summer, Utpal, who is quite a skating star, participated in a skating race and his pal and bro Agastya went to cheer him and root for him. This picture was taken just before the race and both boys are in deep concentration, just like any athlete and his loudest supporter. Utpal won the race and got his gold, Agastya clapped the loudest. But this is not the point of this post! The race was organised by a small club and the MC was a funny man with sort of orange hair and a sing song way of speaking. The track being small, the contestants had a certain amount of rounds to take, that varied according to the age. The funny MC use to shout or rather sing these numbers that could go from 7 to go to none to go. Both the boys found that very amusing and for the remaining days of their stay with me used the 4 to go with glee for almost anything they did.

I find myself in a similar position though I am totally at sea about the number of rounds I need to take before I can hear the one to go or better the none to go. And I do not how many falls I will have before the last round of this race which is actually very close to a roller skate race as you need to be a master in balance to survive! If we go by the oncologist then we have 8 to go as of today and 7 to go after tomorrow's chemo! I must admit that the last 4 have been long haul and just the thought of two times that is nothing short of daunting. But does one have a choice?

After chemo 6 there will a PET Scan to assess how well it has all gone.

Today's news is another side effect: nails! Ranjan's are turning blue. A quick search on the net said it was 'normal'. Nails may not only change colour but become brittle and can also become a source of the much dreaded infections. The only solution offered is something called 'cooling gloves' but I cannot find any in India so maybe will carry a few bags of frozen peas in an ice box and put them on his hand during chemo. I do not care about his nails becoming blue or red or whatever colour, but the infection is a no no. The last time I made him such on ice throughout the chemo and he did not get any blisters or mouth sores. So let us hope the frozen peas helps with the nails.

Gosh I hate chemo. I hate the idea of a poison been poured legally into a human body. I hate the idea of having to kill good cells to be able to destroy the cancer ones. The scan better show me some darned good results to make me accept its terrible side effects. Apologies to all those who swear by chemo but the intense research I have done on line has revealed many options that have proved to be successful. In Ranjan's case the decision was difficult as everyone, even my Tibetan doc, approved of chemo for Hodgkin's. But if I were ever to contract this disease I would stay away from all this poison and go for alternative therapy. And I would be as stubborn as Ma!

But I am playing the game by the rules for Ranjan. And it d***** well work or there will be hell to pay!

Busy being grateful

The last few days have been peaceful. Blissfully so. Ranjan has been well and except for his wincing during his booster shot today which seemed more painful than usual, he has been in good spirits and almost looking life his old self.The only difference is that there is an elephant in the room, however much we would want to ignore it, and we are all in our own way waiting for chemo 6 as it is only after that that a scan will be done to see if things have improved. But though it is chemo week, we have sort of fallen into a routine, and if there are no bolts out of the blue, the ship is cruising on calm waters. However there is no way of jumping back into your old routine as one would have imagined, as till the ship lands on safe shore these lulls will have to be filled in novel ways.

So for the past two days I have been in deep thinking mode. Somehow at moments like these you tend to look at things with bright new eyes. I am quite amazed at the fact that my reaction to this 'terrible' occurrence in our lives has been quite mind blowing for all the good reasons. I would have expected tears, anger, recriminations and self pity. The why me syndrome. But what did happen was the exact opposite. For some time I had thought I had frozen my tears and put them on hold for some time but the some time seems to be everlasting making me believe that this is it, and there will be no tears as this time I have chosen my individual way of handling the situation. This zen like attitude is totally the opposite of who I have been for the first six decades of my life: mercurial, moody, banging doors and shedding tears - the only child syndrome. So what has changed?

If I look deeply at things and at lessons from the past, it seems that I have finally understood and accepted papa's gratitude approach. For years I could not truly understand what he meant when I said in prayer : I am grateful for the bad things you have sent my way and know you will steer me out in the best way possible. Would you believe me if I said: I am grateful for Mr Hodgkin's temporary stopover. But as I write these words I am truly grateful and accepting. I know he will drive Mr. H away. I also know that He sent him for a reason. So today let us forget the bad side effects like losing hair and tumbling blood counts and look at all the things I am busy being grateful for.

To begin with, this is the FIRST in four decades that Ranjan and I have had time together, even more than in our courting days. The courting days were filled with the passion and exuberance of the young; these are gentle and tranquil ones, when words are not needed and just holding hands is sufficient to say it all. This is also the first time we have shared the hurt and pain we inflicted on each other and begged for forgiveness that was given without a word. What was tragic is that this hurt was not because our love had diminished, but because of others who demanded their pound of flesh creating an unnecessary and hurtful action reaction situation. How foolish we were. But then we also realised that it was time to bury the past and look at the twilight of our lives hoping it will be a summer one. I guess without Mr H this may not have happened or happened to late. For this I am ever grateful.

The other wonderful side effect of this unwanted guest had been discovering friends that one had not bothered to keep in touch with, because we did not have the time, or felt there was still so much of it (time) left. Today there are people I wake up at 5 am or even before, people who unlike me like to sleep late. And if by a case of force majeure - no Internet, no electricity- the mail does not go, I guess a SMS asking what happened. One of the most precious side effect of Mr H has been forging a new bond with someone I had met long ago and immediately warmed up to. But life took over and we lost touch though we lived barely a mile away. Today we exchange mails and SMSs at the drop of a hat and meet for our weekly cuppa of cha. Never mind if it is at noon! It makes it unique.

Mr H has also made me aware of the innumerable number of people who have reached out to me once they knew of my present plight. Some I have never met and yet I get comments to my posts (I really appreciate them and they are a lifeline) and an abundance of hugs, virtual ones, but nonetheless hugs! I never knew there was some such goodwill in the universe. I again feel humble and grateful.

But there is more. Mr H has made me stop and take a pause from my earlier life, much of which was crafted to meet emotional needs that had slowly disappeared leaving earlier defence mechanisms and coping strategies in place. One is a creature of habits. I now realised they were obsolete. I did not need to slink down stairwells or lock myself in my little office that had become the only space I could call mine in my own home! How ludicrous it sounds but it was true for more years than one could imagine. It is a friend who looking beyond faces to the wall behind made me aware of my much lived in, slightly worn,  with each piece with a story to share. I cannot begin to tell you what this meant. I felt like a caged bird whose door had been opened and who could now fly free from room to room and look with her heart at all that she had obliterated for so long. This was a precious gift not only for me but for my progeny as otherwise all the stories would have been burnt on my funeral pyre. I am deeply grateful for this serendipitous freedom.

Among all this Mr H looks more like an ant than an elephant in the room. An ant that will die its natural death sooner than one imagines! But it brought with it so many wonderful side effects that I find myself having to say that I am grateful for his coming as otherwise the best part of my life would have never happened and I would have remained locked behind the almost impregnable walls I had built to protect myself against foes that had vanished long ago.

So I can I not be busy being grateful!

That can scarcely be controlled.

For the past days an old forgotten song by Simon and Garfunkel has been ringing in my ears. I do not know how much of you remember Patterns.

The closing lines are :

My life is made of patterns

That can scarcely be controlled.

That is exactly the way I feel. The orderly, well planned life of a control freak has surreptitiously mutated into a maze full of surprises, some good, some not so good and some frankly manic. Every time the control freak in me heaves a sigh of relief and dares to think that things have fallen into place, a vicious little troll who seems to have made it its life mission to ensure I do not have a moment of rest springs up from his dark cave with another dare. I can almost see him laughing away at my discomfiture as I run helter skelter picking up the pieces of my still tenuous new seemingly orderly life and fitting then back in the boxes I have created whilst thinking of new boxes to contain the new challenge.

As if Mr Hodgkin was not enough we have Ms Dengue to please. No it is not Ranjan who has the crazy fever but a lovely young volunteer who is staying with us at home. My heart goes out to this child who came to volunteer with our kids at pwhy and finds herself in bed with this ghastly ailment. So more blood test for this child, more googling to find ways to make it easier and of course the fear that it may affect Ranjan. So tons of mosquito repellent were bought and Ranjan is now smelling like a citronella garden!

As I key in these words I am wondering what my little troll is planning to startle me with next. The only way to deal with all this is to laugh because otherwise I would be ready to jump without a chute and see if I have the wings to fly.

What the stars have foretold

Some of you may or may not believe in astrology. I did not for a long time and even found it ludicrous when my mom dared suggest Ranjan and I get our astrological charts matched. It is one the rare times I must have told Ma to shut up and sand leave alone. I had decided to marry someone because I had fallen in love and no stars would make me change my time. When my elder child was born she fell extremely ill and we feared for her life. I think Ma must have surreptitiously gone to her pet astrologer and found out that all would be well, it was just a bad moment that would pass. Then I forgot all about as(s)trology as it never concerned me and anyway in mind it was akin to mumbo jumbo. But then, I think something happened. I don't quite remember what and I was extremely worried. A friend suggested I go and see her 'astrologer'. When she saw my reaction she quickly added: he is just a regular guy like us!

I did go and meet him and almost fell of my chair when I saw one of the most handsome men I have come across wearing a pair of jeans and a Tshirt. I think I had expected a dhoti clad person with a turban! This 'astrologer' had studied at St Stephens, got umpteen gold medals and then studied Sanskrit and Astrology in Benares (no one says Varanasi anymore). He could quote Baudelaire and Rimbaud, and was engaged to a lovely French girl. He spent a lot of time explaining that astrology was a science and if one was able to draw someones chart, then one could predict anything, even as trivial as a car breakdown! But for this you had to view the 'astrologer' as a doctor and be willing to ask answer precise questions. Many viewed astrologers as 'magicians' or 'star gazers' and wanted to be dazzled. So this young man, he must be a couple of years younger than me, worked out my chart and calmed my worries. I would meet him years later in Paris when I was again going through a very bad patch after my parent's deaths and he again told me how long it would take to get out of the dark. Somehow when you know that your worries are for a limited time, even a longish one, you have something to look forward to. That is the way my friend looks at astrology. He does not prescribe 'remedies' like many do, at best a mantra to be chanted or a small puja performed. Since, whenever we have been going through rough patches and thanks to the Internet, I have always been in touch and got my worries allayed.

So you will not be surprised if I told you that when Ranjan became sick I got in touch with him. He has never sugar coated anything and this time he told me that Ranjan was going through a very bad patch but would come out of it. I was relieved but what still worries me is that according to him, the worst months are October to December 2013. When I asked him what to do, he told me to try and build up Ranjan's immunity to the maximum before October.

So even as I marvelled at the fact that Ranjan is doing great, the next three months loom large and I am truly worried. So much can go wrong, a simple infection, a flu, anything can come our way and how on earth does one keep these at bay. What the stars have foretold is not what I would have prayed for, but I also know that it is only a matter of three months and the sun will shine again, bright and warm. It is just a matter of taking it one day at a time, one week at a time and we will see the light and what looks today like a very long dark tunnel.

I also know that there is a Little prince who lives on a star and sees with his heart, who will sprinkle his magic dust and conjure a miracle.

It had to be told

I met someone today, an acquaintance of sorts. I had not met her for a long time and of course in the course of conversation I told her about old Mr Hodgkin. Imagine my utter surprise when her whole demeanour changed and she held both my hands and with almost teary years told me how sorry she was. It was almost as she was presenting her condolences. I beat a quick retreat! Gosh it was eerie! On the way back in my famous three wheeler I did not pick my book up as usual but let my thoughts run wild. Why is it that certain medical conditions entail almost bizarre reactions. If you say cancer people think death; id you say AIDS people think loose character.  Such are social stigmasI refuse this kind of reactions and will shun anyone who proffers them. I do get phone calls when I realise people are surprised at the matter of factness with which I answer as I would if Ranjan had had flu or any other ailment. This I know is the only way we will come out of it. Whatever the outcome, I want our lives to be flooded with good energies and laughter! Anything else is verboten!

As I have promised to be honest to a fault in this blog, I have to share something that happened to me a few years back. I think catharsis is needed here if I truly want to walk the talk. This must have been around 2007. I found a white patch of my inner arm and showed it to my doc who initially thought it was some fungus kind of a thing and gave me some ointment to apply. But the patch refused to go away. Finally my doc persuaded me to have a biopsy and it turned out to be Hansen's disease better known as leprosy. I was mortified. I had visions of the Middle Ages and bells and white crosses. I refused to share it with anyone and withdrew in a shell till I got an all clear 8 months later. What a great and relieving feeling to have it our in the open. A true cleansing process for me. I am sure that if I had taken it in my stride, as leprosy is a bacteria much like TB I would saved myself and my family a lot of pain and maybe we would have healed quicker as I would have been free of negativity.

One cannot expect to have a life free of any problem. Time and again certain diseases are given a larger than life status that they do not deserve. Is it the medical fraternity who is to blame or the society. A question that begs to be answered. But one thing is certain: a positive attitude that minimises any problem is bound to help in healing.

That is the way I want to look at Ranjan's cancer. A minor irritant that has come our way and that we will deal with as best we can. And rather then zeroing on the negative effects we will count the positive ones and there are many. The biggest one is the bonding of us as a couple and as a family. Next is the abundance of love we have got from the world over. Then comes friendships that have been cemented, friendships that would have just passed us by had this fellow not landed in our lives. Come to think of it there has been far more good things than bad ones!

The ugly little cat and the budding artist's nature morte

If you look carefully at this picture you will see in the forefront a strange object in grey and brown. It is actually a cat - I call it ugly - but to my parents it was the most precious of their possession and always had a place of honour in the drawing rooms of all the grand homes we lived in till it landed in its final resting place on the wall display of the drawing room of this house. The mystery is that it is the first piece of pottery I made when I was five years old. When they passed away I did not have the heart to put it away. Somehow I feel it to be the most poignant reminder of how much mama and papa loved me. When I look at it, I remember the extent of their love and feel their comforting presence around me. Strange how those who love you express their feelings in unique ways. This all you have left when they leave. I wish one had the ability of understanding this when they were still around and giving them the biggest hug I could. But all you have left are memories, and it is impossible to keep those alive in anyway you can. I guess my kids will throw this ugly cat when I am gone! This cat came to life in 1956 in Paris

Fats forward to 2013 St Louis, Missouri. A child made a painting or drawing for his nanou and nani and the painting was mailed all the way to Delhi. If you look at the wall behind Ranjan you will see it. It is the work of art of my darling Agstya and is a nature morte. The theme is a plate of food. We went gaga over it when it came and it took me no time to get it framed. I then removed what was hanging at that place and hung this treasure worth all the Picasso and Monet in the universe. We look at it Ranjan and I when we miss the little bloke though thanks to the magic of Skype we see him often. But I know that it will remain hung there till we breathe our last. I also suspect that many other paintings will be removed from the walls of this house and to be replaced by Agastya's masterpieces much to the horror of his mom. It is all again a matter of seeing with your heart and I am a master at that.

The obsessive compulsory planner and the tumbling numbers

I asked Ranjan to 'smile' to take his picture a little while ago and this is what I got! Anyway I thought many of you would want to see what Ranjan looks like after 4 chemos so here he is:) He is doing great and I just pray it continues like this. Scared to say more lest the Gods get jealous again. I am simply busy being grateful!

Now let us carry on. I wrote to a dear dear soul,and one who knows me almost better than I know myself that I had sort of settled into a pattern and she wrote back saying that as an obsessive compulsive planner and scheduler, I am happy to hear that you have found a rhythm, it must make the difficult tasks a little easier. She did hit the nail on its head. It has been two months and 7 days since we came to know about Ranjan's cancer. The previous 12 months had been running like a chicken without a head trying to figure out what was wrong and that was exhausting as there was no way even a planner like me could conjure any kind of pattern or structure. I guess the reason why I was so drained out was that for those 12 months I had to live out of the box.

But now since treatment has begun I have finally managed to conjure a kind of structure in my life though its is tenuous and somewhat erratic. My life moves in segments of 15 days. If day one is chemo this is how it goes: day 1 chemo each one has had different side effects so one has to be prepared for every thing possible (rambling, fever, nausea etc), day 2 to 5 are quieter and we follow the time table I have worked out (see pic) that starts from 6 am and ends at 9 pm. We follow this to the T as it seems to be working. My only role is to ensure that all elements and ingredients are available. Gives me a break as it takes me out of the house. This of course is followed from day 1 to 14 So I do not really mind if the staff 'forgets' to tell me something is missing. Day 6 is blood test and playing the tumbling number games that requires you to wait the whole day to get the results of the blood counts. These are often scary. In the last case the WBC which were at 19000 one day before chemo tumbled to 3800 yesterday evening. So you know that immunity is at its nadir. We have even had them at 1400! Day 7, 8, 9 are back to the time table. Day 11, 12 , 13 are the ones where the boosting injections have to be given and on day 14 we have the blood tests and the day long wait for the numbers. Day 15 is chemo again! And every day there is the constant vigil: touching the head to see if there is no fever, asking questions and more questions. And in between all this I have to fit in scraps of my old life.

Memories aren't stored in the heart or the head

Memories aren't stored in the heart or the head or even the soul, if you ask me, but in the spaces between any given two people wrote Jodi Picoult. I guess this is the very first time in my life I have been housebound in my home with my loved one. I told you cancer has its good 'side effects'! I never spent so much time ambling around rooms and actually looking at things that have lived in this space for decades. Somehow the house talks to me and I listen and write everything down as I know this is a one time experience.

This is our dining room. I think it is grand enough to be called that. Actually it became our dining space circa 1994 when we remodelled the house after my parents' demises. Today it is the place where we sit every evening to share a meal. The room is again an eclectic mix of objects and things gathered during many lifetimes and put together as best possible. From mama's larger than usual dining table, to her old sideboard (bought circa 1969 when we had little money and sun mica was in flavour of the time; but the dining table has a story to tell and it will be told in another blog); from Ranjan's two precious antique cabinets to his almost regal chandelier; from family pictures to paintings bought in Cambodia circa 1962; from a Meissen fruit bowl to golf shaped salt and pepper cellars; from Prague crystal objects to poor quality candles that did not withstand the Delhi summer and look more like a Dali creation then regular candles in an antique silver candle stand, this space has it all. The cabinet also has our wedding picture (not see clearly) where I look so different that someone even asked once if it it was R's fist wife!

But when the house was just built or I should say completed after a long protracted set of problems, this space was an open terrace and did remain one for quite some time. Before my marriage, we often slept on the terrace in summers and it was a unique experience that one has had to give up. Every evening the terrace was watered (there was no water shortage then) to cool it and then beds were place dorm style with one standing fan to blow some air should the night become too still. My cousin sisters use to live with us and we were quite a merry lot. Papa preferred sleeping indoors. He was quite 'formal' in certain ways. Would you believe me if I told you that it took Mama and I years to convince him that Delhi summer was not quite the place to wear a three piece suit and a bowler hat. If anyone dropped by to visit, Papa would immediately rush to his room and don his suit that always hung on his dump butler. Slowly he would graduate to the then in fashion safari suits and kurta pajamas. So sleeping out was a no no even if it was scorching in the room. At that time coolers did not exist and we did not own an AC as they had all been sold to complete the house.

But the rest of us girls loved our night under the stars. We would have our transistors (no walkmans or MP3s those days) and tune it to our favourite programmes. Mondays and Fridays were the two nights when All India Radio aired western pop music request programmes which were my favourites, otherwise it was Vivid Bharati and Radio Ceylon. In the morning it was the flies that woke you up and you would get off the cot and rush to your respective room to finish the night. Those were some days!

Then came my wedding which happened in this very house. You would not believe me if I told you that Ranjan spent the first night after our wedding ceremony sleeping on this very terrace with Ma, as the bidai (the ceremony when you officially leave your parental home) was scheduled for the next morning. I slept with my friend in my room. Ranjan always love telling this story. After marriage Ranjan and I lived on the first floor of the house and the terrace saw many merry moments when friends dropped in or we had a party. Ranjan had is hole in one party here! But then we moved out after Parul was born as the flat was too small.

Some years later, Papa build us two extra rooms and we moved back after Shamika was born. The girls has a great time splashing in their inflatable pool. Th terrace remained one till we came back from our posting in Prague. That is when Ranjan decided to cover the terrace with a slanting roof and have a circular wooden staircase climbing up to a TV come music room. It was very beautiful but somehow the energies did not feel right and I was never comfortable and happy in those days. Ranjan must have cursed the day when I met someone who told me about Vastu and fell hook line and sinker for this ancient science. The slanted roof had to be broken and the spiral staircase removed. That is when the terrace took its final shape and an extra room was added upstairs. I felt better but Ranjan took a long time forgiving me for my idiosyncrasy. There would be more alterations after Papa's death but those were needed. The once open terrace became our dining room! Space does not change per se but time gives it life and thus memories.

There was a time when this space got invaded and I found myself consigned to the tiniest corner possible. The house lost its heart and I  found myself roaming aimlessly, avoiding certain spaces and feeling an outsider. I think that for those few years even my parents' souls took leave of absence. I will not delve on the reason at this moment. The hurt is not healed enough to write about it dispassionately. I left it to the one upstairs to set things right because I had given up.

He or She heard the unsaid prayer or petition and the trespassers left and slowly the house smiled again. But it would take a terrible blow or should I say another intruder a.k.a Mr Hodgkin to open my eyes and soul to the poignant and moving memories every corner of the house concealed, memories that needed to be told as my legacy to my children.

When I look at the dining space today, I realise that there not a single object that I have bought and placed. Everything is either my parents' or chosen by Ranjan or a gift. Ranjan asked me recently why I had never added my imprint on the house and I had no answer. But I have one today. My trace is impregnated in each brick of the house, and is not any physical object but an almost ethereal bouquet of feelings that can only be sensed by those who see with their hearts.

After the silence....is music

After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music wrote  Huxley. Imagine my delight when I heard the sound of the piano waft through the house yesterday late afternoon. Thiugh the notes were a little hesitant the touch was Ranjan's undoubtedly. He had had a visitor during his visiting hours (5 to 7pm) and I was discussing some office work with the girls downstairs. After his visitor left he decided to sit at his piano and play. I ran up not believing my ears. But there he was struggling with one his favourite tunes. I was overjoyed as he had not touched the piano for many months. It was nothing short of a miracle for me.

Music has always been part of our lives, the only bone of contention being how loud it should be played! But yesterday nothing mattered but the fact that Ranjan was playing again. There was a time when you could not stop Ranjan playing. I sheepishly recall the times when I almost resented it. How foolish I was. I only understood this when he stopped playing and the silence in the house was eerie particularly in the hours he normally played. In the morning before setting out to work and in the evenings. The hesitant yet magical notes that floated throughout the house expressed everything I wanted to hear.

One thing is certain: I will never stop Ranjan playing his beloved Piano!

Celebrating Ganesh

Every morning I sit at the small alter outside my room to say my prayers. The alter is the same one my parents prayed at. It is an eclectic mix of idols that have grown over time, each one of us adding their own. If you look carefully you would also realise that some are of different faiths. Among them, and maybe one of the oldest ones is the Ganesha you see in this picture. This morning it being Ganesh Chaturthi, I chanted a special prayer to this idol. It is only much later in the day that I realised that this idol and I shared a 'birthday'. It is strange how memories are coming back these days. Though I prayed everyday in front of this idol, I had completely forgotten how we were linked and how special he was in my life. I would like to share this story.

When Mama was pregnant of me, things were very tense as two years earlier Mama had lost her first born, my brother. She had a special statue of Goddess Parvati and use to pray to it every day and every evening. A day or so before my birth, when she went to touch the feet of the statue it fell apart. probably a maid had broken it and just put it back together. But for mama it was a bad omen and she was in tears and devastated. Papa did not know what to do. We were in communist Prague and finding a Hindu idol was not the easiest of things. But his love for mama was so intense and irrational that he promised to find her a Parvati before the end of the day.

Papa went from antiquary to antiquary looking for the Goddess. After a very long search he found this Ganesh in the back room of a small shop, lying on the floor and covered with dust. He brought it back and told my mother that he could not find Parvati but found her son and that he would protect the unborn child.

I was born some hours later and though there were some problems, both Ma and I survived. Mama placed a small coral pendant of Ganesh around my neck and I wore one for many years. I was simply told he was my brother and would protect me always.

Today, after many years I remembered this link. Serendipity at work again! I must admit that I had forgotten it as life took its course. I would like to believe remembering my Ganesh Bhaiya on this blessed day is a sign that all will be well.

Pink happy glasses

I need pink glasses. These are fabulous. Wonder where I could find a pair! They are glasses that hide a pen! So you put them on, take the pen out and write happy thoughts. In these difficult times I would like to have a pair of such glasses that I could put on each time things felt a little too much to handle. So rather than brooding one would just perch the glasses on ones nose and think happy thoughts. But all this is chimera and these glasses are out of reach so one has to invent ones' own happy pink glasses. That is what I am trying to do.

Life is a blend of good and not so good - do not want to use the word bad - occurrences. The good ones we accept as our due, but the not so good ones trigger off a slew of negative feelings: hurt, disappointment, anger and even resentment. This happens all along our lives. It could a childish whim not fulfilled, poor marks in an exam, a love story gone wrong, an unfair dressing down is at work, a friend's betrayal, a loved ones health : the list is endless. We feel upset and let down.

Each of us have our own coping strategies which can vary from time to time. When I use to get hurt a s a child and even later, my father always recalled his 'big picture' theory. Life was a big picture full of hues some dark and some bright and colourful. Only God, whoever that was, saw the picture in its entity; we only saw little pieces of it and sometimes those bits were the dark blotches. One simply had to remember that life was movement and that these dark patches would pass. He would also sometimes add that even the dark speckles had a reason we could not see or know so we had to accept them with the same gratitude as we accepted the colourful ones. It was a bit difficult for a child to things of having to than someone for unhappiness but somehow papa's words were soothing and always made things better. I must admit that I have often resorted to the big picture theory it times of strife.

One other coping strategy I have adopted sometimes is trying to imagine the worst case scenario and ask myself if I have the strength to withstand it. If I do, then the rest becomes easy. It has worked many times for me in the past and got me out of difficult impasses.

Happy pink glasses are not glasses that make you see life in a rosy hue, but ways of making things easier knowing that nothing is static. Life is a dynamic process where each experience makes you a better and perhaps wiser being.

The past days, months and even more than a year must be an enormous dark smear on my big picture, one that I still cannot see the end off, though I must admit that it has cleared a little bit since we have been able to identify the cause of Ranjan's ill health. And even with all odds on our side, it will still be a while till we can see the sun shine again in our lives. As for the words scenario theory, I will not venture in that direction this time.

My happy pink glasses simply show me the day we would have moved out of the dark into the light.

White (k)night

A white night next to my white knight! Sounds terrible but at 3 am the brain does not work as one would like it to and I needed something' brilliant' to begin this post! It is 3.30 am and yes you guessed right I have not slept a wink. Kept vigil on my knight as he has fever and the rather forbidding discharge papers given to you post every chemo in an ugly green cardboard file (what a waste of paper and trees. I have six such files) states that if the fever goes above 101 then you need to press the panic button. It is hovering around 100 and may it stay like that. But how can one not think dark thoughts in the dead of night when one lies awake and time takes on a Bergsonian quality and slows down in sync with your mood. The mind follows suit and imagination goes wild.

I kept vigil on the fever and dread could not be kept bay. The 'what ifs' were numerous and terrifying. What if it is the flu, or dengue or an infection. True as a friend said this is a race with many unknown obstacles that you have to overcome and yes I will, but how can I not worry.

As the night progressed with leaden steps, I almost savoured the slow hours as I lay next to my knight who had temporary lost his shining armour. The mood mellowed as a host of memories meandered by, each one bringing warmth and comfort and making me realise how much the man lying next to me meant to me, and how incomplete I was without him. Every thing I achieved in the last four decades were because he stood in his shining armour behind me making sure I never fall. He fulfilled all my caprices and idiosyncrasies and there were many, believe you me. He ensured I never fall and loved me without conditions. True he is a man of few words and I missed the meaningless 'I love you' or holding hands, but tonight as I travelled our love story I heard all the unsaid I love you and felt his hand on me at ever step.

I cannot see him like this. I want my knight in shining armour back as he was. I will settle for nothing else.