Once a Cancer patient—now a proud CanSaarthi, a grateful CanSahyogi, and above all, a believer in the power of healing, hope, and human connection.

From a Cancer Warrior to a CanSahyogi — My Journey of Purpose and Healing

My name is Meena Sharma, and just a few years ago, I was lying on a hospital bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, wondering if my life would ever be normal again. I had just been diagnosed with breast cancer. The word cancer hit me like a thunderbolt. I felt my world collapsing. My family was shattered, my mind was numb, and my body—weak and trembling—had already begun to give up.

Those early days were the darkest phase of my life. The fear of death, the uncertainty of tomorrow, and the physical pain from chemotherapy broke me from within. I used to sit silently in hospital corridors, watching other patients, each one lost in their own battle. I often asked myself—Why me? What had I done to deserve this?

It was during one of those hospital visits that I first met the smiling faces of the Sanjeevani Life Beyond Cancer team. They were cheerful, warm, and full of compassion—something that seemed missing in the sterile hospital environment. One of them sat beside me and spoke to me softly, not as a patient but as a person. She told me she too had once been in my place, fighting cancer. She was now a CanSahyogi—a trained support resource helping other patients walk through their cancer journey with courage and hope.

That conversation changed something deep inside me. For the first time, I saw a glimpse of life beyond cancer. I saw the possibility of healing not just the body but also the mind and spirit.

Months later, after completing my treatment, I was invited by Sanjeevani to attend their CanSaarthi Course—a specialized training program designed for cancer survivors, caregivers, and compassionate individuals who wished to work in the field of integrative cancer care. I wasn’t sure if I was ready. My confidence was shattered. I was still dealing with the side effects of treatment, both physically and emotionally. But something inside me whispered—maybe this is your second chance.

And so, with trembling hands and a nervous heart, I joined the CanSaarthi course.

The first day of the training was a revelation. I walked into a room filled with people like me—warriors who had fought and survived. There were caregivers who had selflessly supported their loved ones, and people who had simply felt called to make a difference. The trainers from Sanjeevani welcomed us not as students but as family.

The course was unlike anything I had ever experienced. We weren’t just taught about cancer as a disease—we learned about healing as a process. We were taught how to understand patients’ emotional states, how to communicate with empathy, and how to handhold them through treatment. We learned about nutrition, yoga, emotional well-being, and the importance of integrative care that looks at the person beyond the illness.

Each module of the CanSaarthi program opened new dimensions for me. I began to understand my own journey more deeply. I learned how emotional distress can affect recovery, and how a kind word or a reassuring hand can bring hope to someone on the verge of giving up.

The sessions on mind–body wellness were particularly powerful. Through guided meditation and self-reflection exercises, I began to rebuild my self-esteem. I learned to forgive my own body and to thank it for surviving. I learned that healing begins when we accept our scars as symbols of strength.

As the weeks passed, I found myself growing stronger—not just in knowledge but in spirit. The course helped me transform my pain into purpose. The thought that I could use my experience to help others filled me with renewed energy. I was no longer just a cancer survivor; I was becoming a CanSaarthi—a torchbearer of hope and healing.

After successfully completing the course, Sanjeevani offered me the opportunity to work as a CanSahyogi in the same hospital where I had once been a patient. When I walked into that hospital as part of the Sanjeevani team for the first time, tears filled my eyes. The same corridors that once echoed with my fear now resonated with my strength.

My role as a CanSahyogi is to connect with patients—especially those who are newly diagnosed—and guide them through their journey. Every morning, I walk into the oncology ward, greet the patients with a smile, and sit beside them, listening to their worries. Sometimes, I share my own story to give them courage. Other times, I just hold their hand in silence. I explain to them the importance of nutrition, exercise, and maintaining a positive mindset. I connect them with Sanjeevani’s wellness programs like CanAhaar, Aham Sanjeevani, and Satori.

Over time, patients begin to trust me. They open up about their fears, their family pressures, their pain. And every time I am able to make someone smile through tears, I silently thank Sanjeevani for giving me this purpose.

Today, when I look at my life, I realize how far I’ve come—from being a frightened patient to becoming a beacon of strength for others. My work as a CanSahyogi has not only given me emotional healing but also financial independence. The honorarium I receive allows me to contribute to my household again, restoring a sense of dignity that cancer had momentarily taken away.

More than anything else, I feel proud that I am part of a movement—a revolution in compassionate cancer care that Sanjeevani Life Beyond Cancer is leading. Every day, I witness miracles of courage. I see patients who begin their journey with fear and end it with faith. I see families who rediscover hope. I see lives being transformed—not just through medicine, but through empathy and human connection.

The CanSaarthi course did not just teach me to help others—it healed me from within. It helped me find meaning in my suffering and joy in service. It made me realize that healing is not a destination but a journey we can walk together.

When patients ask me how I stay so positive, I smile and tell them—because I am living proof that there is life beyond cancer.

Sometimes, after a long day, when I sit quietly reflecting on the many faces I’ve met, I feel an immense sense of gratitude. Gratitude towards life, towards Sanjeevani, and towards every patient who allows me to be part of their healing journey. They remind me, every single day, that strength lies not in avoiding pain but in transforming it into purpose.

If someone had told me years ago that cancer would one day give my life a deeper meaning, I would have laughed in disbelief. But today, I understand. Cancer broke me open so that I could rebuild myself stronger, wiser, and more compassionate.

I am Meena Sharma—a proud CanSaarthi, a grateful CanSahyogi, and above all, a believer in the power of healing, hope, and human connection.

(As narrated to me by one our students. Name changed. Pic withheld) 

Building the nation - one healed life at a time - Sanjeevani Life Beyond Cancer is more than a cancer care organisation — it is an engine of social rebuilding.

Sanjeevani Life Beyond Cancer: Building the Nation Through Healing, Skill and Service

Cancer is not only a medical diagnosis; it is a social, economic and human challenge. 

In India — a nation of vast diversity, deep inequalities and extraordinary resilience — the work of civil society organisations that treat cancer as a whole-person problem is an essential complement to clinical care.

Sanjeevani Life Beyond Cancer is one such organisation. 

Over the past years it has grown from a compassionate response to the deadly disease to a sustained movement: providing direct patient support, healing patients through comprehensive cancer care therapies, creating livelihood and rehabilitation pathways for survivors, strengthening community capacity, and influencing the public conversation about cancer care and survivorship. 

Taken together, these contributions are building the nation in ways that go far beyond measured clinical outcomes — restoring dignity to individuals, strengthening families and communities, reducing economic burden, and ultimately contributing to a healthier, more productive India.

A multi-dimensional response to a complex problem

Sanjeevani understands cancer as a condition that impacts physical health, mental wellbeing, economic security and social identity. Its programs do not stop at hospital doors.

Instead, they travel with the patient through diagnosis, treatment and recovery — and beyond. This integrative approach is essential in a country where medical costs, loss of livelihood, stigma and lack of information often turn a treatable condition into a life-altering catastrophe.

By addressing nutrition, mental health, rehabilitation, skill-building and social reintegration alongside clinical treatment, Sanjeevani reduces the hidden costs of cancer.

That integrated model is itself nation-building: healthier citizens are more likely to remain economically productive, to sustain families, to contribute to community life, and to participate in social and civic institutions. In short, Sanjeevani’s work protects human capital.

Reaching scale: impact on millions of lives

One of the most striking markers of Sanjeevani’s contribution is its scale. 

The organisation has touched the lives of over 1.3 million people through its programs, collaborations and outreach.  

At this scale matters for two reasons. First, it demonstrates that compassionate, holistic care can be delivered beyond boutique settings and scaled to serve diverse populations. Second, scale enables systemic change — by showing funders, hospitals and policy-makers that non-clinical interventions (nutrition, psycho-social support, vocational training) are feasible, effective and necessary.

When a single organisation catalyses change for over a million people, it ripples into workplaces, schools, neighbourhoods and local economies. 

- Survivors who regain confidence return to work or start micro-enterprises; 

- Families saved from catastrophic health expenditure can invest in education or housing; 

- Communities that host support groups become hubs for health awareness. 

In aggregate, these effects strengthen the nation’s social fabric.

Restoring dignity: psychosocial support and rehabilitation

A central pillar of Sanjeevani’s work is psychosocial support. 

Cancer treatment is physically gruelling — but the psychological burden is often invisible and ignored. Sanjeevani’s counselors, peer-support programs and community leaders provide emotional scaffolding for patients and caregivers. 

Such support reduces depression, improves treatment adherence and speeds functional recovery. Importantly, it restores dignity to people who might otherwise be marginalised because of visible treatment side-effects or persistent stigma.

Rehabilitation and physiotherapy services help survivors reclaim bodily autonomy. Programs for body-image support, hair prostheses, and cosmetic rehabilitation reduce social isolation and make public life, employment and family roles attainable again. These interventions re-integrate citizens, enabling them to contribute to school, work and community life — an understated yet profound contribution to nation-building.

Nutrition and health-security: preventing impoverishment

Medical costs are a leading cause of impoverishment in India. 

Sanjeevani’s nutrition programs — including initiatives such as CanAhaar — ensure that patients receive the caloric and micronutrient support they need to complete treatment. Proper nutrition reduces complications, shortens hospital stays and improves treatment outcomes. The practical effect is that more patients complete therapy successfully.

Beyond the direct health benefits, food security for patients preserves family savings and reduces the need for distress sales of assets. This has long-term economic benefits for communities and helps interrupt the cycle of illness-induced poverty. In a country where millions live at the margins of economic security, that interruption matters.

Building human resources: training and skill development

Sanjeevani’s investment in training and capacity-building creates a multiplier effect. Programs such as the Skill Development (conceptualised to train survivors, caregivers and social workers as trained cancer caregivers) and courses like CanSaarthi and CanSahyogi do more than provide vocational skills: they create new professions and strengthen the health ecosystem.

Trained community volunteers and peer leaders extend the reach of formal health services into neighbourhoods and public hospitals, filling gaps in counselling, navigation and follow-up care. Survivors trained as care-coordinators or Community Cancer Leaders become economic actors — earning honoraria, finding employment and inspiring other survivors. 

This conversion of beneficiaries into providers is a powerful model of social inclusion and sustainable livelihoods.

The skills imparted are often transferable: communication, counselling, office management, community mobilisation and basic caregiving are valuable in a wide range of employment settings. By equipping people with these competencies, Sanjeevani contributes to workforce development at the grassroots.

Strengthening public health systems through partnerships

Sanjeevani’s impact multiplies when it partners with hospitals, government schemes and other NGOs. By embedding its interventions into hospital settings — for instance, through CanSahyogi teams — the organisation helps hospitals deliver more humane, patient-centered care without absorbing all incremental costs. These partnerships improve hospital throughput, reduce default rates and create better patient experiences.

On a systemic level, Sanjeevani’s models offer replicable blueprints for public policy. When the organisation demonstrates measurable benefits — improved adherence, reduced complications, fewer out-of-pocket expenditures — it makes a persuasive case for policy-makers to adopt similar interventions across government health systems. This is how local innovation becomes national practice.

Advocacy, awareness and destigmatization

Public awareness and social attitudes are fundamental to cancer outcomes. Stigma, fatalism and misinformation delay diagnosis and isolate survivors. Sanjeevani’s outreach, awareness campaigns and community events normalize conversations about cancer, emphasize early detection and provide practical information about treatment and rights.

Through patient stories, survivor networks and community ambassadors, the organisation reframes cancer from a private shame to a public health issue that deserves collective action. 

In doing so, Sanjeevani strengthens the civic culture — encouraging prevention, compassion and health-seeking behavior that benefit the entire nation.

Research, documentation and evidence creation

To influence policy and scale best practices, NGOs must document impact. Sanjeevani’s work in monitoring, evaluation and documentation — including program reports, course outcomes and testimonials — converts lived experience into evidence that funders, hospitals and policy-makers can act upon. This culture of evidence strengthens the broader health sector by distinguishing programs that are effective and scalable.

When NGOs like Sanjeevani publish findings or contribute to collaborative research, they enrich national understanding of survivorship care, community rehabilitation, and cost-effective interventions. These insights inform training curricula, hospital practices and state-level programs — a clear pathway from grassroots action to system-level reform.

Economic contribution: reducing indirect costs and creating opportunities

The economic value of Sanjeevani’s work is multifaceted. 

- On the cost-saving side, improved adherence and nutrition reduce complications and hospital readmissions, saving institutional and household expenses. 

- On the opportunity-creation side, vocational training, micro-enterprise support and honoraria create income streams for survivors and caregivers.

These economic effects are not trivial. 

- Families spared catastrophic health expenditure can re-invest in education and enterprise; 

- Survivors who return to work contribute taxes, consumption and community welfare. 

In aggregate, these benefits strengthen local economies and reduce the fiscal pressure on social safety nets.

Community resilience and social capital

Sanjeevani’s programs build social capital — the networks of mutual aid, trust and shared purpose that allow communities to withstand shocks. 

Support groups, survivor networks and community leaders form durable relationships that persist beyond any single illness episode. This social infrastructure is critical in crises: it enables rapid dissemination of health information, mobilizes local resources and sustains communal care.

In rural and semi-urban areas especially, these networks function as front-line support for health and social problems, relieving pressure on formal institutions and creating localized resilience. 

Over time, communities with strong social capital are healthier, more cohesive and more productive — essential ingredients for national development.

Empowering women, preserving families

Cancer disproportionately affects women in ways that ripple across families. 

Sanjeevani’s services often focus on women — not only as patients but as caregivers, breadwinners and community anchors. By supporting women through nutrition, rehabilitation and skill training, the organisation helps preserve family stability and protects the wellbeing of children who depend on their mothers.

Empowered women are more likely to reinvest in family health and education. When survivors regain autonomy and work, they influence intergenerational health and human capital — an investment in the nation’s future.

Stories of transformation: from beneficiary to leader

Beyond statistics, Sanjeevani’s most persuasive contribution is the human story: 

- survivors who become peer leaders, 

-volunteers who become trainers, and 

- families who become advocates. 

These transformations demonstrate an ethic of agency: those helped by the organisation often become its strongest ambassadors and most effective change-makers.

When a patient becomes a community educator, or a caregiver becomes a paid community health worker, the model becomes self-replicating. This circulation of agency is a powerful form of nation-building — creating citizens who lead, teach and mobilize for the common good.

Challenges and the road ahead

No social endeavour is without challenge. Sustainable funding, geographic reach, quality assurance and integration with formal health systems are ongoing hurdles. Yet these challenges also point to the organisation’s maturity: they are the questions that arise when an NGO moves from compassionate outreach to systemic change.

Addressing these challenges requires continued partnerships with government, private sector philanthropy, academic institutions and community stakeholders. Strengthening monitoring and evaluation, scaling training institutes, and advocating for survivorship services in national health policy will amplify Sanjeevani’s contributions.

Conclusion: building the nation one healed life at a time

Sanjeevani Life Beyond Cancer is more than a support organisation for patients — it is an engine of social rebuilding. 

Through large-scale patient support, nutrition and rehabilitation programs, skill development, hospital partnerships, and advocacy, it protects human capital, generates livelihoods, reduces poverty risk, and strengthens community resilience. These are not peripheral benefits; they are central contributions to nation-building.

A nation’s strength is measured not only by its GDP or infrastructure but by how it cares for its most vulnerable citizens and enables them to return to productive, dignified lives. 

By restoring health, dignity and opportunity to hundreds of thousands — and by catalysing social structures that sustain those gains — Sanjeevani is contributing to a healthier, fairer and more resilient India. Its work shows that healing people also heals communities, and healing communities builds the nation.

From Cancer Patient to Trained CanSahyogi - A new lease of life.

“They Held My Hand When I Had Lost All Hope” — My Journey with Sanjeevani’s CanSahyogi Team

My name is Savita (name changed) . I come from a small village near Nagpur. My husband works as a daily wage laborer, and we live a simple life. Two years ago, I started feeling a lump in my breast. At first, I ignored it. I thought maybe it was just some swelling that would go away. But slowly, it started hurting.

One day, the pain became so bad that I couldn’t even lift my arm. We went to the Tata Hospital at Mumbai and after many tests, the doctor told me — “You have cancer.”

Those three words broke me. My ears stopped hearing, my mind stopped working. I looked at my husband, and both of us started crying. We didn’t even understand what to do next. 

Cancer sounded like a death sentence to us.

The doctor told us I would need chemotherapy and surgery. We had no idea what that meant. I remember sitting outside the hospital corridor, shivering with fear and confusion. There were so many people, so many machines, so many forms to fill… and I could barely read or write. I thought, “How will I ever manage this?”

That was the day an angel walked into my life — my CanSahyogi Didi from Sanjeevani Life Beyond Cancer. 

A Stranger Who Became My Strength

She came and sat beside me. I still remember her smile — warm, calm, full of kindness. She asked softly, “How are you feeling?”

No one had asked me that question in days. I just started crying. She held my hand and said, “Don’t be scared. You are not alone. We are with you.”

She told me that she was a cancer survivor herself and that she now works with an organization called Sanjeevani Life Beyond Cancer, helping patients like me through something called the CanSahyogi program.

That day, she explained everything to me in simple words — what chemotherapy is, why my hair might fall, what side effects might come, how to eat during treatment, and how to keep myself strong.

I cannot explain what it meant to me. Until then, no one had taken the time to explain things slowly, with patience and love. For the first time since my diagnosis, I felt I could breathe again.

Guiding Me Through the Chaos

From that day onward, my CanSahyogi Didi became my guide. Every time I came to the hospital for treatment, she was there — smiling, encouraging, sometimes even scolding me lovingly when I got too scared.

She helped me get my hospital registration done, guided me about free medicine schemes, and even helped me fill out forms for government support. I used to get so confused in those long queues and complex counters, but she walked with me everywhere.

Once, when my husband had to go back to the village for work, I came alone for my chemo. I was so frightened. But my Didi sat with me the whole time. She held my hand while the nurse inserted the needle. She kept talking to me, telling me stories of her own treatment days — how she lost her hair, how she got better, how she now helps others.

I remember she said, “Savita, this is not the end. You will get through this. Just believe.”

That sentence became my lifeline.

Healing Beyond Medicines

Chemotherapy was painful. I felt weak all the time. My hair fell out. Some days I couldn’t even look at myself in the mirror. I used to cry alone in the hospital washroom.

But every time my CanSahyogi Didi saw me, she brought back my smile. She would say, “Tum sundar ho, Savita. You are beautiful — because you are fighting.”

She started teaching me small breathing exercises, telling me to sit quietly, close my eyes, and imagine light filling my body. She said this helps calm the mind and gives strength. She also told me about eating light food — vegetables, fruits, and lots of water.

Once a week, the Sanjeevani team held small group sessions in the hospital waiting area. We all sat together — patients, caregivers, and a few volunteers. We talked, we laughed, sometimes we cried together. Those few hours felt like therapy. For the first time, I felt part of a family that truly understood what I was going through.

When I Lost Hope, They Brought It Back

There came a time when my reports showed no improvement. I got scared again. I told my Didi, “Maybe I should stop treatment. What’s the use?”

She looked at me firmly and said, “Savita, the medicine is working — it’s just slow. You don’t give up halfway. You have come this far. You can’t quit now.”

Her words gave me courage. I continued the treatment. A few months later, my doctor told me the tumor had shrunk. I looked at my Didi and cried with joy. She hugged me tightly and said, “See, I told you — you are stronger than you think.”

Support for My Family

It wasn’t just me. My husband was also struggling. He didn’t understand much about cancer. He was scared and angry. Once, he told me he couldn’t bear to see me suffer like this.

My Didi sat with him and explained everything — how to take care of me, what to cook, and how to stay positive. She told him that many women like me had recovered and were living normal lives again. Slowly, even he started believing.

When I couldn’t afford the travel for one of my treatments, Sanjeevani arranged some help. That day, I realized that this organization doesn’t just talk about care — they truly live it.

A New Beginning

After almost a year of treatment, the doctor finally said the words I had been praying to hear — “You are cancer-free.”

I couldn’t stop crying. I folded my hands to God and then turned to my CanSahyogi Didi. I told her, “You were my strength when I had none. You were my family when I was alone.”

She smiled and said, “Now it’s your turn, Savita. You should become a CanSahyogi too — to help others like yourself.”

That day, a new dream took birth in me. I joined the Sanjeevani CanSaarthi program after my recovery. Now, after A six month rigorous training, I sit in the same hospital corridor where I once sat crying in fear — but this time, I am the one holding someone else’s hand, telling them, “Don’t worry, you are not alone.”

What Sanjeevani Means to Me

For people like me, who come from poor families and small towns, hospitals can feel like a maze. We donP’t have anyone to explain things or hold our hand. But the CanSahyogi program fills that gap beautifully. It gives us courage, knowledge, and love.

Sanjeevani doesn’t just help us fight cancer — it helps us fight fear. It gives us dignity. It gives us a reason to live.

Today, when I meet new patients, I tell them my story. I show them my bald pictures from chemo days and laugh. I tell them, “See, I was scared too. But I made it — and you will too.”

My Message to the World

If you ever meet someone fighting cancer, don’t just talk about medicines. Sit with them. Hold their hand. Listen to their heart. That’s what Sanjeevani taught me — that healing begins with kindness.

The CanSahyogi program changed my life completely. It turned my pain into purpose. It made me see that even after cancer, there is life — full of hope, strength, and love.

For me, Sanjeevani is not just an organization. It is a family of angels who walk into people’s darkest days and light a lamp of hope.

And I will always, always be grateful to them.

(Narrated to me by A beneficiary. Name changed and pic withheld. Was narrated in Hindi - English translation was done) 

Karwa Chauth is a celebration of mutual love and trust - then why shouldn't husbands also fast. 🙂

Karwa Chauth is a deeply spiritual and emotional festival celebrated by married Hindu women across India, especially in North India. 

Its significance lies in both spiritual devotion and emotional bonding within marriage and family.

Karwa Chauth is observed by married women who fast from sunrise to moonrise for the long life, prosperity, and well-being of their husbands.

It symbolizes selfless love, sacrifice, and devotion — qualities that form the foundation of a strong marriage.

The fast is not merely physical abstinence from food and water, but a practice of self-control, purity, and mindfulness.

Women spend the day in prayer and meditation, connecting with divine feminine energies and seeking blessings for their families.

The rituals — dressing up in bridal attire, applying mehndi, and offering prayers — rekindle the warmth and romance in the relationship. When the husband offers water to break the fast after sighting the moon, it becomes a moment of mutual respect and gratitude.

Women come together in groups to perform the puja, share stories, sing traditional songs, and support each other through the fast. This collective energy builds a sense of unity and sisterhood among women.

Traditionally, "Karwa" means earthen pot (used for storing water) and "Chauth" means fourth day (of the Kartik month in the Hindu lunar calendar). It marks the time when farmers store grain and water, and families prepare for the long winter — thus also symbolizing prosperity and protection.

Karwa Chauth is not only a ritual of fasting — it is a celebration of love, endurance, and faith. It honors the sacred bond of marriage, reinforces the emotional partnership between spouses, and revives ancient values of dedication and togetherness.

Was wondering - if Karwa Chauth is a celebration of mutual love and trust - then why shouldn't husbands also fast. 🙂

Thank you Satori — जिसने मुझे भय से विश्वास, और निराशा से नवजीवन की ओर पहुँचाया।

सतोरी – मेरे जीवन की नई सुबह

मैं चंडीगढ़ की रहने वाली हूँ। 

कुछ साल पहले जब डॉक्टर ने कहा कि मुझे कैंसर है, तो ऐसा लगा जैसे किसी ने ज़मीन खींच ली हो। 

जीवन अचानक डर, कीमोथेरेपी, दवाइयों और अस्पतालों में सिमट गया। 

शरीर कमजोर पड़ता गया, बाल झड़ गए, चेहरा आईने में अजनबी लगने लगा।

लेकिन सबसे ज़्यादा जो टूटा, वह मेरा मन था।

एक दिन अस्पताल में Sanjeevani Life Beyond Cancer की एक काउंसलर, मुझसे मिलीं। उन्होंने बहुत प्यार से कहा,

“दीदी, कैंसर सिर्फ शरीर की नहीं, मन की भी लड़ाई है। हमारे Satori प्रोग्राम में आइए — आप खुद को फिर से पाएँगी।”

मैंने हिचकिचाते हुए इस पाँच दिन के Satori Online Workshop में हिस्सा लिया, और सच कहूँ, वही मेरे जीवन का मोड़ बन गया।

पहले दिन ध्यान और आत्मचिंतन से शुरुआत हुई। हमें सिखाया गया कि डर को भागाकर नहीं, पहचानकर हराया जा सकता है।

दूसरे दिन हमने भावनाओं से जुड़ना सीखा — अपने अंदर के दर्द, गुस्से और आँसुओं को स्वीकार करना।

तीसरे दिन का विषय था पोषण और स्वास्थ्य, जिसमें बताया गया कि कीमो के दौरान क्या खाना चाहिए और क्या नहीं।

हर चक्र में मेरा वजन, हीमोग्लोबिन और पोषण स्तर जाँचा जाता है, जिससे मुझे अपनी प्रगति देखने का आत्मविश्वास मिलता है।

चौथे दिन योग, श्वास और ध्यान के माध्यम से शरीर और आत्मा को जोड़ा गया।

और पाँचवे दिन जब ‘कृतज्ञता’ का सत्र हुआ, तो मैं खुद को रोक नहीं पाई — आँसू बहते रहे, पर इस बार ये आँसू डर के नहीं, सुकून के थे।

आज मैं कह सकती हूँ कि Satori ने मुझे फिर से जीना सिखाया।

अब मैं सिर्फ़ कैंसर सर्वाइवर नहीं, एक नई सोच और नई रोशनी से भरी इंसान हूँ।

हर सुबह सूरज की किरणों को देखकर मन में एक ही भावना उठती है —

 

“धन्यवाद Satori, तूने मुझे नया जन्म दिया।”

Thank you Satori — जिसने मुझे भय से विश्वास, और निराशा से नवजीवन की ओर पहुँचाया।

(As narrated by a Beneficiary on the final day of the program - Name and picture masked) 

आज मैं जानती हूँ कि दवा बीमारी से लड़ती है, लेकिन खाना लड़ने की ताकत देता है।

सही पोषण ने मेरा मन बचाया — और संजीवनी के ‘कैनआहार’ ने मुझे रास्ता दिखाया

जब मैंने पहली बार कैंसर शब्द सुना, तो मेरी दुनिया अंधेरी हो गई। 

मैं पहले से ही अपने परिवार को दो वक़्त का खाना खिलाने के लिए संघर्ष कर रही थी, और अब मुझे एक ऐसी बीमारी से लड़ना था जिसके बारे में मैं कुछ नहीं जानती थी। 

डॉक्टर ने कहा कि मुझे कीमोथेरैपी करवानी होगी। मुझे लगा दवाइयाँ ही मुझे ठीक कर देंगी। मुझे यह नहीं पता था कि खाना — या सही पोषण की कमी — तय करेगा कि मैं कितनी ताकत से इस बीमारी से लड़ पाऊँगी।

इलाज शुरू होने से पहले ही मेरा शरीर कमजोर हो चुका था। हमारा खाना बहुत साधारण था — थोड़ा चावल, पतली दाल, और कभी-कभी थोड़ी सी सब्ज़ी। 

जब कीमोथेरैपी शुरू हुई, तो मेरा खाने का मन ही नहीं करता था। हर चीज़ का स्वाद बदल गया था, मुँह में धातु जैसा स्वाद आता था। उल्टियाँ होती थीं, थकान रहती थी, और मन हमेशा उदास। धीरे-धीरे शरीर की ताकत खत्म होने लगी।

इसी दौरान अस्पताल में मेरी मुलाक़ात संज़ीवनी लाइफ बियॉन्ड कैंसर की टीम से हुई। वे मुस्कुराकर मेरे पास बैठे और बोले — “आप अकेली नहीं हैं। हम आपकी मदद करेंगे।” उनकी बात सुनकर मैं हैरान रह गई। मैंने सोचा, खाना कैसे दवा बन सकता है?

उन्होंने मुझे बताया कि कैंसर के इलाज के दौरान सही पोषण दवाइयों जितना ही ज़रूरी है। 

उन्होंने मुझे महंगी चीज़ों की नहीं, बल्कि हमारी रसोई में मिलने वाली साधारण चीज़ों की बात की — भूने चने से प्रोटीन, केले से ऊर्जा, दही से पाचन में मदद, और गुड़ से ताकत। 

उन्होंने मुझे समझाया कि चावल के माड़ को कैसे पौष्टिक बनाया जा सकता है, बार-बार थोड़ा-थोड़ा खाना क्यों ज़रूरी है, और पानी या तरल पदार्थ पीना कितना आवश्यक है।

धीरे-धीरे मैंने उनकी सलाह माननी शुरू की। कुछ ही हफ्तों में मेरे शरीर में बदलाव दिखने लगा। थकान कुछ कम हुई, भूख थोड़ी लौटी, और सबसे बड़ी बात — मन में उम्मीद फिर से जागी।

हर बार जब मैं अपनी कीमोथेरैपी साइकिल के लिए अस्पताल आती हूँ, तो संज़ीवनी की टीम मुझे एक “कैनआहार किट” देती है। 

इस किट में वे सभी पौष्टिक चीज़ें होती हैं जो मेरे शरीर को ताकत देती हैं। 

हर विज़िट पर मेरा वजन, हीमोग्लोबिन और अन्य ज़रूरी वीटल पारामेटर भी मॉनिटर किये जाते हैं ताकि पता चल सके कि मेरा शरीर कितना संभल रहा है और पोषण का असर कैसा है। 

यह देखभाल देखकर मुझे लगता है कि कोई सचमुच मेरी परवाह करता है।

कैनआहार की टीम बार-बार मुझे यह एहसास कराते थे कि मैं इस बीमारी से जीत सकती हूँ। उन्होंने मुझे बताया — “खाना भी दवा है।”

उनका स्नेह और देखभाल मेरे लिए किसी वरदान से कम नहीं था। मैं, जो कभी भूखी और निराश होकर अस्पताल आई थी, अब महसूस करने लगी थी कि मेरा शरीर फिर से लड़ने को तैयार है।

आज मैं जानती हूँ कि दवा बीमारी से लड़ती है, लेकिन खाना लड़ने की ताकत देता है।

और मेरे जैसे गरीब, कमजोर, और डरे हुए मरीजों के लिए, संज़ीवनी का कैनआहार सिर्फ एक कार्यक्रम नहीं है — यह जीवन की डोर है।

यह केवल शरीर को भोजन नहीं देता, बल्कि आत्मा को भी सहारा देता है। यह हमें याद दिलाता है कि सच्चा उपचार तभी शुरू होता है जब कोई आपके लिए दिल से परवाह करता है — जैसे Sanjeevani .

(As narated to me by a CanAhaar beneficiary at Sanjeevani support group meeting held recently - Name and pic masked on her request) 

To the world, Sanjeevani is an organization. To us patients, it is a family — one that holds your hand when everyone else lets go, one that whispers, “You are more than your illness.” - A Cancer Warrior

From a Cancer Patient’s Eye: What Happens When We Come in Contact with Sanjeevani

(Reproduced as told to me by A beneficiary of Sanjeevani Life Beyond Cancer - name and pic masked) 

When cancer enters your life, it does not just attack your body—it invades your mind, your confidence, your sense of control. You find yourself surrounded by medical reports, needles, and fear. People talk about survival rates, not hope. You start feeling like a diagnosis, not a person. That was my world until I came in contact with Sanjeevani… Life Beyond Cancer.

I remember walking into their centre for the first time, drained after another chemotherapy session. My body was weak, my spirit weaker. I had begun to see myself only as a patient — fragile, broken, dependent. But at Sanjeevani, something was different. No one looked at me with pity. 

They smiled — genuinely, warmly — as if I still had a life to live, not just a disease to fight.

The counsellor who greeted me didn’t ask for my reports; she asked for my name, my story, my feelings. For the first time, someone listened without judgment, without rushing me to “be positive.” They let me cry. They let me breathe. That simple act of being heard felt like the first step back to being human.

In the following weeks, I joined their wellness sessions — yoga, meditation, nutrition workshops, art therapy. Each session reminded me that healing is more than treatment; it’s about rebuilding your relationship with your body and soul. When we did breathing exercises, I could almost feel the poison of fear leaving my chest. When I painted my emotions, I saw colours returning to a life that had become black and white.

What amazed me most was how Sanjeevani cared for everything that hospitals didn’t — the emotional, psychological, and social needs that medicine often overlooks. They taught me how to eat right during chemo, how to handle the fatigue, and how to support my caregivers too. Slowly, I stopped dreading hospital visits because I knew that after every tough day, there was a place where I could refill my courage.

The people I met there — other patients, survivors, counsellors — became my tribe. We shared stories, laughter, and tears, and in those shared moments, the word cancer lost its sting. It became just another chapter, not the whole book. Seeing survivors come back as volunteers gave me a powerful message: life after cancer is not only possible, it can be meaningful and beautiful.

Today, when I look back, I realize that Sanjeevani didn’t just help me survive cancer — they helped me rediscover me. They gave me dignity when I felt reduced to a file number, strength when I felt like giving up, and hope when everything else seemed dark.

To the world, Sanjeevani is an organization. To us patients, it is a family — one that holds your hand when everyone else lets go, one that whispers, “You are more than your illness.” And that belief, more than any medicine, is what truly begins the healing. 

Let’s keep Goa shining, smiling, and green. After all, paradise deserves a little care…

Goa Calling: Come for the Sunshine, Stay for the Soul

Ah, Goa! The land where the sun shines with extra enthusiasm, the waves clap in rhythm to your heartbeat, and the coconut trees stand like friendly guards saying, “Relax, yaar, this is Goa.” Every year, as the cool breeze drifts over the Arabian Sea, the beaches hum their favorite tune — “Tourists, come home!”

Yes, we love you. We love your laughter, your flip-flops, your selfies with the sunset, and your curiosity about our fish curry and feni. We love the sound of your joy mingling with the sound of our waves. Goa has always been a generous host — she doesn’t mind sharing her beaches, her lanes, her chapels, or her susegad spirit with anyone who arrives with love.

But like any gracious host, Goa has a humble request: Respect the house you’re staying in.

Please don’t treat the sand like your dustbin, the sea like your laundry tub, or the trees like your ashtray. When you carry your trash back to the bin, you carry your respect forward to the next traveler. Goa smiles when you do that.

Take off your shoes and walk through the villages — slowly, softly. Greet the old auntie selling poi bread, nod at the fisherman fixing his net, wave to the children cycling with wind in their hair. This is the real Goa — not just a postcard, but a heartbeat. And every time you smile back, you become part of her pulse.

And since you’re already in love (don’t deny it, everyone falls for Goa), why not help her breathe better? Join a local tree-planting drive. Carry a cloth bag

 instead of plastic. Say yes to a reusable bottle. 

Even better, plant a sapling before you leave — it’ll grow as your personal souvenir. Imagine coming back in a few years and saying, “That’s my tree!” 

Now that’s a selfie worth taking.

Of course, have your fun — dance till dawn, eat till your shorts protest, float in the waves till your worries dissolve. Just remember, Goa is not only about the beaches and the bars — she’s about balance. She’s about harmony between humans and nature, visitors and locals, joy and responsibility.

So, dear tourist, come to Goa. Come for the sunsets that make poets out of accountants, for the laughter that sounds better in sea air, for the quiet corners where time politely excuses itself. But when you come, come with kindness. Leave footprints in the sand, not scars on the land.

Because Goa isn’t just a place you visit. It’s a feeling that stays with you — in your skin, in your heart, in your stories. Let’s keep her shining, smiling, and green. 

After all, paradise deserves a little care… especially when it welcomes you with open arms and a cold coconut.

To sunny days, to welcoming beaches, and to Goa — the eternal song of sun, sea, and soul.

Sitting on my table at my favourite shack, after 5 months of glorius monsoon season, enjoying cold sea breeze, couldn't help but pen these few lines. 

Sunny Days and Welcoming Beaches Are Back in Goa. 

There’s a certain smell that signals Goa’s grand return to form. 

It’s that heavenly mix of sea salt, sunscreen, and sand stuck somewhere inconvenient. 

After months of rainclouds playing with and shrouding the coastline in a grey shawl, Goa finally yawns, stretches, and opens its blue eyes again. 

The monsoon has taken its bow, and the sun — flamboyant as ever — strides back onto the stage. The beaches shimmer once more, the waves laugh again, and every Goan shack-owner polishes their bar counter like a knight readying his sword. 

Yes, my friends, the sunny days and welcoming beaches are officially back in Goa.

Goa in monsoon has its own charm — green, poetic, and slightly melancholic, like an old Konkani song sung in a smoky tavern. But come October, the island spirit wakes up, shakes off the drizzle, and throws open its arms. 

The first rays of sunshine don’t just dry the sand; they resurrect it. The beaches, which had become the private playgrounds of hermit crabs and introspective cows, are suddenly alive again. Parasols bloom like tropical flowers, sunbeds line up in military precision, and there’s the familiar orchestra of laughter, sea breeze, and sizzling butter garlic prawns.

The locals, of course, see it differently. 

For them, the return of sunny days means the start of another “season.” And the season, in Goa, is not measured by calendars but by accents. From the first “Where is the best beach party, ya?” to the last “This place is so spiritual, man,” they know the visitors are back. Taxi drivers recalibrate their fares, shack owners renew their menus, and aunties dust off their best rooms for rent. 

Even the dogs on Baga beach start wagging with a little more enthusiasm — the good times, and the good leftovers, are back.

There’s something quite contagious about Goa’s post-monsoon energy. 

The sea itself seems to hum a happier tune. Waves roll in like they’ve had their morning feni shot, slapping the shore with joyous abandon.

Fishermen return to the waters, their boats brightly painted and names as dramatic as Bollywood films — “Lucky Star,” “Sea Princess,” “God’s Blessing,” and occasionally, “My Wife’s Revenge.” 

Out at sea, the sun dances on the ripples like a disco ball, and onshore, people dance like no one’s watching — which, in Goa, is always a safe assumption because everyone’s busy doing the same.

The tourists arrive in herds, some with maps, some with man buns, and most with tan lines.

There’s a peculiar democracy on Goan beaches: CEOs and college kids, retirees and rappers, yogis and yahoos — all united by the humble flip-flop. Nobody asks who you are or where you’re from. The only relevant question is whether you’d like your beer cold or extra cold.

The sun doesn’t discriminate either; it blesses everyone equally — especially the overconfident ones who think SPF 10 is enough protection.

Meanwhile, the shacks awaken from their hibernation like bears after winter. Menus expand magically — what was “Rice & Curry” in monsoon now becomes “Goan Seafood Platter with Organic Salad.” The music systems are tested, fairy lights are untangled, and suddenly there’s a sunset party every evening. The smell of fried calamari drifts through the air, mixing with laughter and a bit of Bob Marley floating from a Bluetooth speaker. 

Life, as the locals say, becomes “susegad” — that wonderful Goan word meaning relaxed, content, and vaguely tipsy.

But beyond the laughter and the lazy afternoons, there’s a certain reverence in this ritual. The sun in Goa is not just a celestial body — it’s a deity that presides over the rhythm of life. It commands respect. Every sunrise feels like a blessing, every sunset a benediction. 

The beaches, those ancient witnesses of tides and time, seem to glow in gratitude. You can almost hear them whisper, “Welcome back, my children. Take off your shoes. Leave your worries at the water’s edge.”

It’s impossible to walk along the sands of Palolem or Morjim and not feel this quiet sanctity beneath the merriment. The ocean is vast, forgiving, and forever — the true heart of Goa. 

Every footprint on the beach is a tiny prayer, a moment of surrender to the rhythm of the waves. Even the partygoers who danced till dawn often find themselves staring at the sunrise in awe, realizing that amidst all the music and madness, there’s peace. 

Goa has that effect — it sneaks spirituality into your cocktail.

Of course, the return of sunny days also means the return of certain predictable dramas. Scooters will run out of petrol at inconvenient moments. Tourists will lose their slippers in the sand. Beach photographers will insist on clicking a “romantic couple photo” even if you’re alone. And inevitably, someone will try to pet a cow like it’s a dog — a mistake they won’t repeat. But it’s all part of the great Goan symphony. A little chaos, a lot of charm.

As the season warms up, so do the festivals. Music fills the air — from trance beats in Vagator to live jazz in Fontainhas. Flea markets pop up like mushrooms, selling everything from dreamcatchers to dubious tattoos. Sunset cruises return to the Mandovi, complete with dancers, neon lights, and an MC who could easily host KBC if given the chance. 

Even the churches gleam brighter, their white walls catching the sunlight in a way that feels almost divine.

And somewhere between the beach parties and the quiet chapels, between the crashing waves and the lazy siestas, lies Goa’s soul — welcoming, forgiving, and endlessly renewing. 

The sunny days are not just about weather; they’re about spirit. They remind us that after every storm comes a stretch of calm, after every downpour comes light, and after every monsoon — literal or metaphorical — life begins again.

So here we are, basking once more in the golden glow of a Goan morning. The air hums with possibility. The waves call out to dreamers, dancers, and drifters alike. Whether you come seeking peace, pleasure, or just a decent plate of prawn curry, Goa has room for you.

And as the sun sets over the Arabian Sea, painting the sky in impossible shades of orange and pink, you can’t help but raise your glass — of feni, of coconut water, or of whatever your heart desires — and whisper a toast:

“To sunny days, to welcoming beaches, and to Goa — the eternal song of sun, sea, and soul."

The Great Festival Hangover: Life After Durga Puja, Garba & Navratri Nights

Pic courtsey : Artist Ruby Ahluwalia

If there is one thing Indians do better than cricket, traffic jams, and bargaining with rickshaw-walas—it is celebrating festivals. And when it comes to Durga Puja and Garba, we don’t just celebrate; we launch ourselves into a 9-day marathon of bhakti, dance, food, clothes, and sleep deprivation.

But ah, then comes the morning after. Or rather, the nine mornings after. When the dhol stops beating, the pandals start dismantling, the sound systems finally retire, and the mirror looks at you and says, “Who are you and what have you done to my human?”

Yes, friends I’m talking about the after-effects of Durga Puja and Garba—the divine hangover, both sacred and slightly ridiculous, that takes us over once the goddess bids adieu.

The Waistline That Expanded With Bhog and Fafda

The gods may have descended into the pandal, but let’s be honest—the biggest crowd-puller was the food.

At Durga Puja, you swore you’d only have one khichuri-bhog plate. But who can resist that divine combo of khichuri, labra, chutney, papad, and mishti? Somewhere between the second and third serving, you realized Maa Durga isn’t just a destroyer of demons—she’s also a destroyer of diets.

And if you hopped over to Garba nights, the story wasn’t very different. “I’ll just nibble on a little fafda-jalebi,” you said. Fast forward to Day 5, and you’re Googling whether chutney counts as a vegetable serving.

By the end of the festival, your clothes aren’t tight because of the elaborate embroidery—they’re tight because your waistline is now one with the dhunuchi smoke.

The Sleep Debt No Bank Can Recover

Navratri should come with a statutory warning: “May cause permanent damage to your sleep cycle.”

In Kolkata, you spent half the night hopping pandals and clicking pictures with idols so majestic, even your phone storage started chanting “Jai Ma!”

In Gujarat, you whirled around in circles for hours, smiling at strangers in neon costumes, and wondering when your legs last touched solid ground. Some claim Garba burns 800 calories per hour. The truth? It burns 800 hours of sleep in one night.

Post-festival, you can’t tell whether your panda eyes are from pandal hopping or panda impersonation. The office colleague who once looked like an Excel spreadsheet now looks like a very comfortable pillow.

Withdrawal Symptoms: Missing the Dhak and Dandiya Beats

It’s strange. For 9 days, you wanted nothing more than for the loudspeakers to lower their volume so your eardrums could live. But the moment the last dhak faded and the final dandiya clack echoed away, your heart sank.

Suddenly, silence feels suspicious. Where is the uncle with two left feet blocking the Garba circle? Where are the aunties in designer sarees competing in “Fastest Selfie with Maa Durga”? Where is the priest whose microphone was louder than the conch shell?

The festival withdrawal is real. Some even try playing random YouTube “Garba beats” or “Dhak loops” just to fill the void. But alas, Alexa cannot replicate the chaos of a live pandal.

Wardrobe Woes: Sarees, Sherwanis & Sore Shoulders

No one warns you about the post-festival laundry crisis. You spent 9 days changing outfits faster than Bollywood background dancers. Sarees, lehengas, kurtas, dhotis, sherwanis—each with accessories that weighed more than the goddess’s trident.

Now, the washing machine looks at you like: “Bro, even I need Navratri leave.”

And don’t forget the physical toll. Ladies, remember that 8-kilo saree you wore on Ashtami? Your shoulders do. Gentlemen, remember the sherwani buttons that nearly popped while eating the third serving of kheer? Your tailor does.

Emotional Rollercoaster: From Ecstasy to Bisorjon Blues

The high point of Durga Puja isn’t just the pushpanjali or the cultural programs—it’s the collective joy of community. Families, friends, strangers—everyone becomes one big family under the goddess’s gaze.

But then comes Vijaya Dashami. The goddess leaves, the idols immerse, and even the strongest macho uncles get teary-eyed, mumbling “asche bochor abar hobe” (“next year again”).

Meanwhile, in Garba-land, the sadness is different. The lights dim, the dhol stops, and you realize that the strangers you twirled with for 9 nights will now go back to being people you ignore in traffic. It’s like Cinderella at midnight—except instead of losing a slipper, you lose 500 WhatsApp group invites titled “Garba 2025.”

Office Life Shock Therapy

If festivals are the Himalayan peaks of joy, the first day back at work is the Mariana Trench of reality.

You walk into office wearing sunglasses to hide your sleep deprivation, only to be greeted by bosses saying things like: “Hope you had a relaxing holiday.” Relaxing? Bro, I’ve danced enough to power the national grid.

Your inbox has 142 unread emails, but your fingers itch to type “Jai Ma Durga” instead of “Regards.” PowerPoint slides look dull without glitter, and Excel sheets don’t spin like dandiya sticks.

The Spiritual Afterglow

Now, before you think the after-effects are all about food babies and backaches, let’s not forget the real glow.

Something changes in us during these 9 days. Whether you prayed in silence, danced till dawn, or simply soaked in the atmosphere—there is a sense of renewal. A reminder that life is cyclical, that light conquers darkness, that the goddess within us is stronger than the demons around us.

Yes, your waistline may complain and your WhatsApp may overflow with “Happy Navratri” forwards, but your heart feels lighter. You carry forward not just the memory of the idol’s face, but also her strength, her grace, her victory over all odds.

Conclusion: Until Next Year

The after-effects of Durga Puja and Garba are not unlike a great love affair—intense, consuming, exhausting, and leaving you with stories that last a lifetime.

So yes, post-festival life may mean a strict diet of green tea, ice packs for sore knees, and therapy for sleep cycles. But it also means carrying a reservoir of joy, laughter, rhythm, and divinity that lasts till the next Navratri knocks on our doors.

And when it does, despite all vows of “this time I’ll take it easy,” you know very well—you’ll be the first one at the pandal, plate in hand, feet ready to dance, heart ready to surrender.

Because once Maa Durga calls, who can resist?

So here’s to the festival hangover—the happiest, holiest, and hungriest hangover we’ll ever have.

And friends, yours truly, the author, blessed with a spouse from Dev Bhoomi, Uttarakhand, has been with the Divine through fasting for the past nine days. 

And when I say fasting, it means fasting here.

Result? Unlike my friends in Bengal and Gujarat, I have moved from regular fit to slim fit. 

But no worries, nothing is lost. 

The Panju in me is looking forward to the festive season coming up now to move back from slim fit to regular fit. 

So lets continue the feastivities. 

Eat, Pray, Love, Dance and spread Happiness. 

Get back with vengeance. Eat all the chola, bhaturas, samosas and gulab jamuns and rasgullas and jalebis and fafdas.