Talking about past, painful or pleasant is a common habit we fall into. I am covering cancer stories with the reason where I can bind people’s past with their present.
In this story I talk about the fearful disease. Even after all here years, people have not quite accepted a lot about this disease.
Striking a chord with life and cancer is not easy, life itself is so hard.
I often wonder the reason behind it.
Is it a social stigma or is it a human weakness.
Here is a bit of the story excerpt of the cancer stories which came up proud and lived all along the journey:
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
I looked back, quite a handsome face stood tall behind me with a thin smile crossing his lips. I moved slightly away to catch a better glimpse of the bearded man. There he stood with a urine bag in his hand, in his hospital robes.
“Sorry, I did not get you.” I nodded my head sideways.
“The painting is a beautiful hamlet, isn’t it?” he spoke in a clear voice.
“Yes, indeed. I wonder who stays in such peace, someone who could paint such bliss.” I looked at the greens right in front of me. I had come to wash a few plates in the ward’s kitchen sink.
“Do you think our outward needs to be blissful to paint such lines?” He winked at me with a smile.
“Yeah, but who else can do so. I mean the way I am feeling, I won’t ever be painting anything good right now, or perhaps writing anything beautiful either.” I washed my plates as he stood beside a woman who had vomited just ten yards from us and was waiting for help. I was too concerned about hygiene and health and I was not sure if going around her vomit and pulling her up to her feet with the feeding plates in my hand was a good idea. I retraced my steps back.
“Scared to help her, your plates might catch her germs. Damn, I thought you’re a fearless young girl.” He nodded and was almost about to leave.