how to survive an art gallery if you want to drink the free wine

"Use the word juxtapose. For example if you are looking at a painting of a horse say - I love how the colours of the horse are juxtaposed against the background of the field. Or if you are looking at modern art, just say - I love how the hues of this painting are juxtaposed against each other on the canvass."
-- Abir

love, brains & magic

"You are really stupid when you are in early love. Your IQ drops by several levels."

- My Green Tea Friend

remission

What happens on the day when you finish all your prescribed cycles of chemotherapy and you are still alive?

Does it mean you have been cured?

I wish it was that simple.

Sometimes, cancers return. 

How do you know if the chemotherapy has worked?

It has worked if you are cancer free for x number of years.

X = number of years as declared by your doctor. This number seems to vary with cancer type as far as I can tell.

So we've been told 5 years from today.

In popular cancer language, this waiting game is called - "Remission".

Sounds like a video game, right?

****

And so while you are wondering about that, let me leave you with an incredibly courageous and wonderfully well compiled set of gifs on what a typical chemotherapy day looks like.

Go on, paste this link into your browser's address bar. No pain. No gain. http://thoughtcatalog.com/michelle-lamont/2013/05/super-fun-gif-guide-to-surviving-a-day-of-chemotherapy/

the monk who had cancer

Last week at the chemotherapy day care centre, there was a monk who had come in for treatment.

You can retreat from this material world, you can give up breathing its toxins.

You can live a stress free lifestyle, you can meditate.

You can pray.

But still.

Cancer.

Makes you realise the true extent of the random nature of this universe. Makes you realise that even if you control your mind, even if you control your emotions, there is very little else that you can control.
 
And sometimes, a life of prayer can control nothing at all. 
 

space craft

Between the dialysis and the chemotherapy is a surreal space where I work hard, plan ahead, think positive and pretend to control the future.

cancer and charity

My actions are so complicated sometimes, it boggles the mind. My mind.

Yesterday, on my way back home, I saw two people standing outside the metro station holding a banner and a box. Donation box. For cancer patients.

I gave a hundred rupees.

I will now openly say, this is the LEAST amount I have donated towards a cancer charity.

Least.

Ask me why. Actually, don't ask me why. Let me just tell you that these guys and their box reminded me of something very similar that occurred about 8 months ago.

I was exiting the metro station one evening 8 months ago when I saw 2 people with a banner and a box. Donation box for cancer patients.

That evening, I had dropped in a thousand rupees. Ten times more than what I dropped in yesterday.

But my life was so different 8 months ago.

8 months ago, this blog had nothing to do with cancer. Now, I have so much to say. So much to say and so much that I choose to leave unsaid.

Asking me to donate for cancer patients is like - I don't know what it is like, okay? There is nothing like it. You don't have to ask. I just do it anyway.

Maybe now a hundred rupees to me means what a thousand rupees meant to me then.

Expensive stuff.

Let me just tell you that knowing cancer in the way that I have come to know it over the past few months has left me battling with my finances.

Let me tell you that being borderline broke helps nothing.
 
Having emotions can be so expensive.

little boy

Yesterday, I saw the little boy again at the chemotherapy day care centre. He was there again with his father, who sat facing him and didn't say a word.

I tried not to stare at them. I distracted myself with tea and a magazine. But tea and magazines are no match for a seven year old on chemotherapy. 

When I sneaked a glance in their direction again, I noticed that the little boy had disappeared for a bathroom break. His father remained seated in the chair, staring off into space.

Then I saw the little boy return. I saw him come up to his father's chair from behind. I saw him put his small arms around his father's shoulders. I saw him squeeze his father in a hug.

************** 

Little boy, you inspire me so much. You make me feel curious. You make me feel amazed. You make me feel happiness and sadness and hope and madness all at once. You make me want to walk up to you, you make me want to talk to you, you make me want to be your friend.

Little boy, you leave me tongue-tied.