The Encounter with Death - Why blog?

Playing cat and mouse game with death is no great fun – even if , at the end of it, you emerge the victor. The feeling at the end of the game is not exactly like that of a world heavyweight champion after the decisive fight. Probably because it is an unevenly matched fight. And it's more serious. Deadly serious. It's a matter of life and death with no referee to blow the whistle at the sign of danger or foulplay.

So, how does one feel at the end of the game? Well, you are left with a desire to delete the whole episode completely from your memory. Permanently.

You try hard to make a perfect erasure. You physically put out of sight the items associated with the days you spent battling with the killer disease. You throw yourself into all sorts of activities which leave you with very little time for memories. But memories don't need time space to surface. Like Aladin's genie popping up at an accidental rub of the magic lamp, some bits of memory surface without any warning, and grin down at you saying gruffly 'heh heh, thought you could get away from me, eh? No way". And you are caught completely off guard.

You tell yourself there are heartwarming memories too - like that unexpected cool breeze on a hot, humid summer's day. But then they are constantly stalked by that menacing genie - or is it that one cannot exist without the other? like twins - not identical - born of the same womb?

It’s like a chequer board of nights and days where memory with me the pieces play (forgive me, Omar Khayam :D).

Ever since I regained my health, I’ve been engaged in this task of playing the catch-me-if-you-can game with that stalker genie. Then one day , Chinny, my friend came along.

Now, I had never let her into my secret and very personal battle with that monster. But she is a sharp one, and has this ever-active high and sensitive antennae that plumb human emotions instantly, very accurately. She saw through my bluff and bravado.

The way out is to write about it, she said. “Just write", she said. “As and when you feel like it. Don’t write to publish. Carry a diary with you, and write when you feel intensely”

I took her advice.

Has it done me any good?

Oh, yes. It has. I can now include oats in my diet without memories of chemotherapy triggering off a wave of nausea. I can now put on those clothes I had once put away for fear of resurrecting the ugly genie.

I think Chinny’s therapy worked.

And now, I have decided to blog my jottings. Some one suggested I publish. Initially I thought it was a good idea. Then doubts assailed me. Who on earth would want to read the not-so-pleasant stories of a nonentity who fought cancer, because she was left with no choice but to fight it?

Besides, publishing means a lot of hard work. It requires a perfection that blog does not require. Publishing is engaging with the public sphere whereas blog is essentially a private sphere, and optionally public. The difference is huge. Blogging makes no demands on me as a writer. It requires no chronology, no style sheet, no rules of grammar. It gives me the power to withdraw the whole or part as an afterthought.

So why take the risk and effort of publishing when I can be the lord of what I blog? (Should i have said 'lady of what i blog'?:D)

I have begun to post the story of my encounter with cancer under the blog name Rage to be, which can be accessed through ragetobe.blogspot.com or pareltank.blogspot.com.

My first post is on the doctor who treated/is treating me – Dr. V P Gangadharan. I chose to do this just to emphasise the truth that for a person suffering from the most dreaded disease of our times, it is important that the doctor who treats is both a competent professional and a sensitive human being.