When my time comes - the pre-will

Serendipity always seems to come my way though sometimes it is more like synchronicity! I had recently shared thoughts about the props and decor I would want when I have to play my last scene. Serendipitously the next day as I clicked on my iTunes, the song that played was A Mourir pour Mourir - To Die for dying - a song by the fabulous and haunting French singer Barbara who has been part of my life since my teens. In this song she opts for dying when she is still beautiful and still young! The lyrics once again brought to the fore the importance of dying on your own terms, more so in a world that has stolen that right from you. My uncle still lies in the ICU @ of 1K $ a day! The reason given by the medical authorities is that there is no room available! I wonder how long they will take to decide that it is time to fleece you a little less. And talking of serendipity(S) and synchronicity(S) my daughter called me this morning to tell me to expect a call from her best friend whose father had been diagnosed with advance stage cancer and does not want to go the 'conventional' way at his age. He is 80. I am so thrilled to know he exercised his right to chose and his family has accepted it. And the last touch of S&S came into the form of a link to an article about the man who discovered cancer way back in 193, its causes and hold your breath.. it's cure. The cure is astonishingly simple and inexpensive. His work is known as the 'Warburg Effect' or the 'Warburg Hypothesis' and has been carefully concealed by vested interests: the food and health nexus. Will write about it in another post. The only reason for mentioning it here is that this is the very nexus that has also stolen our right to die with dignity.

In my quest to retain my beloved husband's dignity, I have, in the past two years and as the true cartesian I am, delved deeply into studying cancer in all possible ways, giving every approach a fair chance. My litmus test was that whatever was proposed stood the test of common sense and reason. This research has been duly recorded in this very blog in over 300 posts! The sum of my analysis could be resumed in the wise maxim of the first healer - Hippocrates - who said: Let food be thy medicine! And this was the case till less than a century ago when the lure of money and the greed of vested interests took over our health: while one poisoned us the other healed us just enough to be poisoned again by the first: a true infernal spiral. Each perfected their art or science. While engineered food threw your natural defences in disarray, chemical compounds and radical surgery addressed the symptoms but never the cause. And as your natural immunity was destroyed you were at the mercy of the medical fraternity whose claim to success was a few months or days given to your loved ones at exorbitant costs and that came in the form of a body lying in what is known as an ICU where bleeping and humming machines kept your vitals going. A third player joined the game along the way - insurance - and you had a recipe for what I call disaster.

Where were the last words that you heard from a loved one? And what about the comfort of holding the hand of a loved one as you moved on to your next journey? All usurped by the greedy nexuses. You were to die alone in a space where even day and night had been taken away. And the meter kept running till your family was divested of everything they possessed. And to make sure that they did do what was required, a perfect drama is enacted mercilessly tugging at your heart strings and making you feel like a rat should you not conjure the required bag of gold. Mercifully the advent of the net and access to information has made some of us wiser. I think it is time to write what I call a pre-will, one that deals with the way you want to take your last bow. And just like any other will that deals with your belongings, this one too needs to be made stating that it is made in a sound state of mind and it is without any force, compulsion, or instigation from anyone else. Before it gains any legal status, and I hope it will some day, it needs to be shared with your loved ones.

Death is the only reality we can be sure of and is the end of one journey and maybe the beginning of another, so should be a celebration particularly if it happens at a ripe age. I guess I have reached that ripe age and have earned the right to chose my way of dying. I am not like Barbara who in her song wants to die with her beauty intact. Come to think of it I still find myself beautiful and provided I do not fall in the trap of modern medicine should remain so till the end. I feel I have lived a rich life and achieved more than I could have hoped for. I feel truly blessed. Project Why is my swan song or so I believe.

My forays into modern medicine have cured me of any misplaced desire of taking that course of action and mercifully I have a wonderful Tibetan Doctor who has been healing me for the past 10 years. I love that form of non invasive medicine where proffer your wrist and she checks your pulse and writes a prescription of pills you dutifully swallow. I do not even ask her what is wrong with me. I am also lucky to have a wonderful doctor, the kind they made decades ago who look at you as human beings and not objects and listen to what you have to say and do what you would accept to. I also have friends who are healers and help me eat right. I exercise and take care of my body as I know that it is a miraculous machine that does wonders.

I would like to go in my sleep but that is only a gift given to a few blessed souls, so I know that the day may come when I have some ailment or the other that requires attention and this is when choice should have its role to play.

I chose not to go to a hospital, at least not a super speciality one. I chose not to be hooked on any machine and have my loved ones come and stand helpless and lost. I chose not to waste money on a few extra moments on this planet and leave it to the my family to spend as they please. I chose not to be given any form of cut-burn-poison. I chose not to have to wear a backless ridiculous gown that robs me of my dignity. I do not want a tag attached on my hand that is only removed after bills are paid!

There are myriads of alternative ways and yes even a coffee enema is more acceptable than a blitz of radiation. I am willing to eat fruits and vegetables till they start growing out of my ears. I am willing to jump on the trampoline or go for endless walks. I will drink all the potions and brews no matter how bad they taste.

But I will do all that in my home, surrounded by the people I love. I want to be able to see all the things that have been silent witnesses to my wonderful life. I want to hear the songs of yore years, each having a memory tagged to it be it the first kiss or even the first heart break. I want to hug my family and friends and say the words I did not have time to say to them. I want to look out of the window and see the endless sky.

When my time comes....

Seeing my uncle lying helpless in an ICU brought to the fore the stark reality of hospitals and what goes by the name of medical care but is actually medical prolonging of life. This comes at a huge price, and I am not talking of the zeroes behind the initial number that seem to increase and decrease with the depth of your pocket or the number of zeroes in your policy. I refer to the price you and your loved ones are willing to pay and this price is not measures in zeroes.

If you succumb to the seduction of the medical fraternity then be ready to abdicate your dignity and above all your right to decide. You are no more a person but a 'case' or at best a 'patient', and never has the etymology of a word been more appropriate as patience is something you will need more than ever! You and your loved ones are made to feel like idiots or pesky beings to be dismissed as you would a fly.

I wonder who invented the backless gown that is the preferred garment of all hospitals. I am sure it was designed not only for convenience, and that too of the caretakers, but to relieve you of your last shred of dignity. Then you are easy meat for all the investigations and tests and needles and tubes that will be prodded into you with alacrity and impunity, each one dutifully registered on your bill. Your family stands helpless, nodding to everything that is barely suggested but rather commanded. And because they love you they nod their assent. Then you may be shifted into what is known as the ICU but is rather a fish bowl. It is a timeless space where you are again conned out of the comforting lull of night and day and deprived of the one element any hurting human craves for: silence. What you will hear, and hear you do even when supposedly comatose, are the bleeps and jarring sounds of the innumerable machines and monitors you are hooked on.

Your family watches powerless and hurting.

We all write wills to be read after our death but I feel we need to write one that deals with the way you want to be treated when your time comes.

When my time comes, I want to be in my home surrounded by all those I love and by all the objects that have lived alongside me. I want to know when the sun rises and when it sets. I want to wake up when I feel like, and maybe hear the call of the first bird. I want to hear the wind as it blows in the trees that I have seen grow and even planted. And above all I will not abdicate my right to silence. Silence has been my greatest friend. I want my alone time that I have earned after much toil. I want my lungs to breathe on their own, my heart to beat unaided and should they fail me then I would still say well done as they stood me fast for so long.

La Cabana and Shagoofa

I did not know what to title this post. The logical one would have been 'say a little prayer for him', but somehow it did not fit the personality of the person I write about! So I chose one that did. The reason will be elucidated as you read this post. Mama's youngest sibling is fighting for his life in an ICU. He had a cerebral attack and has been unconscious for 4 days now. I only came to know about this a few hours ago.

Tonton Lune as I affectionately called him - an approximate translation for Chand Mama - and I go a long way. To my mom he was more a son than a sibling and she loved him like one would a child. She cared for him deeply and even got him to Paris when we were posted there. He quickly embraced the French way be it in food and wine or dapper clothing. Come to think of it he loves everything that spells STYLE.

Before I go further let me point him out in this family portrait - something we sacrificed to the alter of digital photography - that I found while looking for a picture to illustrate this post. He is the handsome dude in the centre and by the way  am the oldest kid. The picture was taken in April 1962.

My fondest memories of him are of the days when he lived in South Extension way back in the late sixties. I was in my teens, rearing to see the world and he was my door to freedom. With him I could go to all the places I was normally not allowed to. Spending some time with him in his bachelor's pad was priceless. It meant we could go to La Cabana and Shagoofa two of the many restaurants of the sixties. For the uninitiated, Delhi had many restaurants that played live music in the afternoon and had dance floors and exotic names. To a kind of rebellious sixteen year old these places were as exciting as biting into the forbidden fruit and Tonton Lune was my key to them. And we even danced as the both of us loved dancing. In his home he had records that I could play and he always had cars that were different from the run of the mill ones, and riding in them was a super treat. And then there was Mocambo if I remember the name correctly where one could get and savour kebabs sitting in one's car. In those days those succulent and spicy morsels were heavenly and no one cared where the meat came from!

These are my fondest memories of the man fighting for his life as I write these words.

Sadly life takes unexpected turns and we lost sight of each other, meeting occasionally at family functions, more when mama was alive and then less and less. The complicity of yore years slowly faded away. However imagine my delight when he dropped in unexpectedly a few months ago to
 simply revisit almost forgotten memories. Promises were made to meet more often, but the recluse I have turned into remained rooted to her newfound and comforting solitude.

Yesterday when I met him my heart broke at the sight of this lively and fun loving man glued to a bed with tubes and more tubes, bleeping machines and all the paraphernalia that modern medicine has on offer. I was told that he did not react to any stimuli but pain. I refused to believe that and went on a spiel breaking all barriers: space and time, language et al. I talked and talked and he responded by raising an eyebrow or trying to open his eyes. I know he heard me and I know he was laughing in his heart. I also promised him that I would come to see him regularly when he came home and I intend keeping that promise.

So yes the title should have been 'say a little prayer for him' as I know that only prayers will conjure the miracle we seek. I cannot see him robbed of his dignity as this is the one thing modern medicine does to perfection. He has to come home.

La Cabana and Shagoofa do not exist anymore but we will find a place to go to and relive memories of days gone by.

Please say a little prayer for him.

Hubris or comfort zone

It is so easy to fall prey to hubris or sink into a comfort zone. This seems to have happened to Ranjan and I for some time now. He looked so well and had resumed his active live, jet setting far more then he ever had and playing golf in scorching heat and pelting rain. For my part I admit I slackened the pace of my regimen a little and gave in to too many demands be it Scottish water of Cuban smoke not to forget Sugar the sweet poison hidden in so many things. With the quantum leap taken by his travels, the almost vegan organic diet we try and eat with a few cheat days often goes AWOL and I really do not know what goes in his body. When he comes back, I try and get rid of the toxins in the best way possible but it does not always work. I succumb to his entreaties, how can I not, he is the man I feel in love with at first sight. And then he looks so well that I often find myself wondering why some people one meets occasionally ask about his well being with such concern. The new normal I once feared has become just normal! Remember it takes 66 days for things to become a habit and thus for you to sink into a comfort zone and slowly give way to hubris.

Two days ago Ranjan even came to the inauguration of our new project and wonders of wonders spent time with the children, even reading to a little one with such tenderness that my heart melted again. This was nothing short of a miracle. How could I know that a rude awakening lurked around the corner. The same evening Ranjan's best friend dropped by and the rounds of Scottish water abounded. We all went to sleep. At 3 am or so R woke me up. He was burning with fever. Hubris and comfort zones were gone in a jiffy irrespective of the multiples of 66 we had experienced. Memories tucked away in some dark corner jumped to the fore and I was terrified. Where had I gone wrong? Where had I not put my foot down with needed authority? One thing was certain in my mind: I was responsible for this setback. Do the Gods get angry when you fail to express your undying gratitude? Did I dismiss the enemy too early? You know how your mind works when you are a control freak!

The next day I spun like a top between doctors and screen trying to find answers. By the end of the day we knew he had an UTI but then again the questions. Was he not drinking enough water? Where could he have caught the bug and so on and so forth.

What bothered me most was the fact that he had recently had to deal with a huge blow of emotional toxins which in my opinion is the worst form of toxicity. Mr H was the result of one such extended blow. I was not having another come my way. Perhaps the fever was a rude reminder of the fact that emotional toxicity has to be dealt with head on and there are no powders or brews that do the trick.

I have pulled up my proverbial socks and donned all the hats imaginable from Florrie Nightingale to Freud to Spouse Idéale to Doctor Anou to Researcher Bakshi and am on the move. So help me God!

R is better. I guess he needed some pampering and I needed some downtime with him!

Everyone has Cancer!

Ranjan in a submarine March 2015

It has been long since I wrote on this blog as it is an actual case of 'no news is good news'! However I pick up my virtual pen again because of a very scary trend I am seeing around me that may become fashion and then routine as it suits vested interests and fills greedy pockets. I am talking about the second elective surgery that Angelina Jolie has undergone. After opting for double mastectomy, she has undergone surgery to remove her ovaries and fallopian tubes again to ward off a risk of getting ovarian cancer. This is something I cannot understand and accept. I speak with responsibility because after having lost my parents to cancer, and having my husband diagnosed for Stage II lymphoma, I have spent all my waking hours finding about what we know as cancer and the findings have demystified the rogue and turned the elephant in a room to at most a fly! What is even more disturbing is a medical advertisement on Indian TV propagating the option of elective prophylactic surgery to ward off cancer. When a celebrity endorses something, it catches the eye of predators who set to work. So if we were to take this idea to the absurd why not remove stomach, liver, lungs and anything else that may become home to cancer cells. And let me tell you something should any one of us take certain tests, we would all be detected with cancer, as each one of us has cancer cells in us and thus is predisposed to cancer. As conventional medicine has ensured that many of us are kept in the dark about alternative therapies that range from diet and lifestyle change to herbs and potions, we can be duped into taking extreme measures that will do us more harm than good.

Everyone literally has cancer! Our cells make mistakes and these mistakes make the cells look like cancer. Mercifully we have been gifted an extraordinary body that has the capacity of correcting its mistakes and cells are known to commit suicide when needed. Sometimes it does not happen and that is when cancer has we know it occurs.

What I discovered while dealing with Ranjan's cancer is that cancer is caused by lifestyle and deep emotional stress and thus can be reversed by changes in the these. Everyone of us has more than 3000 cancer cells growing in our body. Cancer need not be feared and our immune system, provided its is healthy and spot on, is the best arsenal to deal with these cells. We must ensure that our immune system is intact and change our diets and lifestyle. This blog is my journey with cancer and I think it is time I published it as a book so that others may benefit from my experience and not fall for absurd and dangerous options.

I am often asked about how Ranjan is feeling and find myself wondering why I am being asked this question over and over again. And then the penny drops: he had/has cancer. And cancer is the big C, the one everyone fears or is made to fear for rather dubious reasons. I too once feared the beast as it took away those I most love, my mama and papa and then had the audacity to strike again. But this time I was ready to meet it head on. I was not going to fall for all this fear business. The so called big C was no more than the big F (flu) or the big I (infection)! In order to that I had to arm myself if as much knowledge as I could lay my hands on, particularly the ones that are purposely hidden from us. Luck was on my side this time as the Internet had shattered all barriers to knowledge.

To the question how is Ranjan, the answer is great and he is in.....  fill in the blank! Rajan has never been travelling so much for business and pleasure. As I write these words he is with his best buddy in Melbourne ready to watch the World Cup Finals; he was in Mauritius last week when went on a submarine dive, in Thailand the week before playing Golf, and will be in Indonesia next month then in the US and then I have lost count.  It is impossible for a recluse like me to keep up with him. I am constantly packing his suitcase and medicine packets as he tends to be forgetful like all men are.

After the last chemo/petscan combo in January 2013, we opted out of the one size fit all protocol that is the best on offer by the medical fraternity who has arbitrarily decided that it takes 5 years for them to declare you cured. For five years you have to be subjected to scans and tests and to living in the state called 'remission'. Having cancer in my genes, I was offered this remission business 20 years ago when I was told to have check ups every year. I refused and here I am hale, hearty and kicking. The only thing I did 20 years ago is change my diet.

For me Ranjan is cured of whatever he had. We do occasional blood work to keep a check. He has his Tibetan medicine to keep his immune system spot on, we eat healthy and almost vegan and have some supplements. That is it.

I just wanted to share this as I think it is time we realised what is causing our immune system to break down and avoiding the possible causes. Most of them are related to the food industry and the chemical load we ingest. Add to this lack of exercise and you have a recipe for disaster. Stay away from them and you are on the road to good health.

Lorsque l'enfant parait

Six years ago to the day, a little bundle of joy came into my life and turned its on its head! Six years ago to the day I became a grandmother to Agastya. It is uncanny how you fall in love the moment you hold the tiny bundle and feel his warmth. Suddenly, a huge hole you did not even know existed in your heart gets filled to the brim and you realise that there was a part if you missing till that blessed moment. And the magic does not end there as each day after that moment is more wondrous than the previous and you wonder whether your heart is big enough for all the joy that comes your way. But you soon realise it is as I guess granny's hearts are bottomless pits, or at least grow with quantum leaps as long as they can beat.

It would take me reams and reams of paper to convey all that I have experienced in the last 2190 days. What I can say though is that I never could have imagined what a grandchild brings in your life. His little smile can lift the old biddy out of the deepest blues, his hugs add a spring to her walk and work magic on the aching knees that no pill could. Grannies are a little dotty I know, so please be indulgent.

I just hope God grants me enough days to see him a grow a little more.

There is a touching poem written by Victor Hugo and entitled Lorsque l'enfant parait ( when the child appears). I do not know why, I remembered it today.

The English title is Infantile Influence.

The child comes toddling in, and young and old

With smiling eyes its smiling eyes behold,

And artless, babyish joy;

A playful welcome greets it through the room,

The saddest brow unfolds its wrinkled gloom,

To greet the happy boy.

If June with flowers has spangled all the ground,

Or winter bleak the flickering hearth around

Draws close the circling seat;

The child still sheds a never-failing light;

We call; Mamma with mingled joy and fright

Watches its tottering feet.

Perhaps at eve as round the fire we draw,

We speak of heaven, or poetry, or law,

Or politics, or prayer;

The child comes in, 'tis now all smiles and play,

Farewell to grave discourse and poet's lay,

Philosophy and care.

When fancy wakes, but sense in heaviest sleep

Lies steeped, and like the sobs of them that weep

The dark stream sinks and swells,

The dawn, like Pharos gleaming o'er the sea,

Bursts forth, and sudden wakes the minstrelsy

Of birds and chiming bells;

Thou art my dawn; my soul is as the field,

Where sweetest flowers their balmy perfumes yield

When breathed upon by thee,

Of forest, where thy voice like zephyr plays,

And morn pours out its flood of golden rays,

When thy sweet smile I see.

Oh, sweetest eyes, like founts of liquid blue;

And little hands that evil never knew,

Pure as the new-formed snow;

Thy feet are still unstained by this world's mire,

Thy golden locks like aureole of fire

Circle thy cherub brow!

Dove of our ark, thine angel spirit flies

On azure wings forth from thy beaming eyes.

Though weak thine infant feet,

What strange amaze this new and strange world gives

To thy sweet virgin soul, that spotless lives

In virgin body sweet.

Oh, gentle face, radiant with happy smile,

And eager prattling tongue that knows no guile,

Quick changing tears and bliss;

Thy soul expands to catch this new world's light,

Thy mazed eyes to drink each wondrous sight,

Thy lips to taste the kiss.

Oh, God! bless me and mine, and these I love,

And e'en my foes that still triumphant prove

Victors by force or guile;

A flowerless summer may we never see,

Or nest of bird bereft, or hive of bee,

Or home of infant's smile.

Blessed

You may wonder what makes a seemingly intelligent, reasonable and sensible person perform an act that would be deemed demeaning and even repulsive to some. And yet despite the Cartesian principles I live by, I crawled yesterday from the entrance of the Kalkaji temple to the shrine. For those of you who have never been to this temple, the half a mile or so walk is along an oft crowded path littered with every kind of dirt and muck that man and beast can create. To the scientific mind this stretch of partly cemented partly tiled expanse would be home to every bacteria, germs, bacilli and pathogens under the sun. People walk on it, spit on it, dogs poo and pee on it and I presume children too! It is supposedly cleaned twice a day but in a perfunctory manner. And yet I crawled all the way, to the feet of Goddess Kalka to redeem a pledge I had made in July 2013 when I performed a 'challis' which means going for 40 days to the shrine. You maybe wondering why!

That was the time when Ranjan was very sick and we had not been able to get a diagnosis. His blood counts were taking a free fall, he was melting away and I was helpless and powerless. Everything that I could have done, had been done. Every test and investigation had been performed and gave no incline. I had knocked at the door of every kind of doctor possible and come empty handed. I had prayed and prayed but God remained mute. But one thing I did not lose was my Faith. And it those times of despair, it was the only rock I could hold on to. I knew my faith was being tested and I was ready for the test.

One the last day of my 40 day pilgrimage, I had pledged that I would come crawling to the Goddess is she were to show me the way and the day Ranjan's haemoglobin would touch 13. Actually the reason I knew about this 40 day pilgrimage and the crawling pledge was because many in the slums perform it. I guess on the other side of the fence it remains unknown! On that side God is propitiated in lavish ways that can be bought through money. Not so with the poor.

When I took that pledge, I was in the deepest of despair and this pledge was my way of accepting defeat in front of God. It was the undoing of all my hubris, and megalomania as well as my firm belief that God would not let me down. I simply needed to find what God wanted from me any how far I was prepared to go to save Ranjan. The pact was sealed. The fact that I had been heard was revealed a few days later when we got a diagnosis and I felt in charge again.

It would take 17 months for the haemoglobin to cross the 13 mark. It did last week and I wads ready to fulfil my part. I must admit that I was a little scared as the ritual requires you standing than lying and extending your hands and that standing again from the point your hands were and lying again to be repeated for the whole distance. At 62, with ageing knees and stiff back it is no mean task. Add to it the filth, the damp and even wet patches makes it even harder.

I did it yesterday, and it went like a dream. The filth did not matter, it was as if it did not exist. Once I began, it was as if I was transposed to another realm and that the God I held on to was by my side all the time. I did the run in 15 minutes and for those 15 minutes I felt in deep communion with my God.

It was a humbling and yet uplifting experience that filled me with hope and joy.

I felt blessed.