Pehechaan

25/05/2026

is the process of thinking through and documenting your preferences for future medical care, especially for situations where you can’t speak for yourself. It involves reflecting on your values, goals, and what quality of life means to you, then having open conversations with loved ones and healthcare providers about the kinds of treatments you would or wouldn’t want. Key parts often include choosing a trusted person as your healthcare proxy or durable power of attorney, and completing documents like an advance directive or living will that outline wishes for life-sustaining treatments, resuscitation, ventilation, and comfort care. ACP isn’t a one-time form — it’s an ongoing conversation that can be updated as your health, priorities, or circumstances change. Done early, it reduces stress for family members, helps clinicians honor your values, and ensures your voice guides care even if you’re unable to communicate.

Thank you Prakash Samiksha for publishing my writing on the most difficult topic know one bothers to talk about in advance. It's always been a taboo.

Karunashraya
Indian Cancer Society, Bangalore

16/05/2026

The Pani Puri Hug in the Middle of Bangalore Traffic.

Two years. That’s how long it had been.

When I first met her, she was in a hospital bed with a new diagnosis: oral cancer. She was also a new mother, juggling a newborn, a new job, and now, this new disease that threatened to take everything.

I remember her words clearly. "I eat to satiate my food cravings," she told me. But the doctors had stripped that comfort away. Restricted diet. Restricted movement. Restricted life. She held on to one hope: "Once I recover I will be allowed to eat everything."

We walked through that turbulent journey together. The chemo. The fear. The dull, gloomy days where identity slips away between hospital visits and sleepless nights with a baby. My job was to help her hold on to herself when the disease tried to erase her.

Then, life moved on. Two years passed without word.

Until one evening in Bangalore. I was walking with my daughter when I saw her. A flash of color dodging autos and bikes, running straight at me from the other side of the road. Before I could process it, she had me in a tight, fierce hug right there in the middle of traffic.

My daughter screamed at the top of her lungs. She was sure this stranger was trying to sn**ch my chain. I had to laugh and tell her, "Stop. It's okay."

It was her. The young mother from the hospital bed. But she wasn’t that woman anymore. She was vibrant, glowing, beautiful.

She had been standing at a Pani Puri stall, finally eating her first plate since treatment ended. Doctors had given her the green signal: normal food, normal life. And the moment she saw me, she dropped the Pani Puri and ran.

She held that hug for a long time. When she pulled back, her eyes were wet.

"Madam," she said, "I was always dull and gloomy with my treatment. I couldn't thank you enough then. I am truly indebted to you for what you have done. You brought me back my lost identity. I am doing very well with my health. I didn't want to miss this opportunity to thank you."

A hug in the middle of the road. A dropped plate of Pani Puri. A life reclaimed.

As counselors, we rarely get to see the "after." We sit in the darkness with people, hoping they find the light. That day, in the middle of Bangalore traffic with my startled daughter beside me, I got to see the light. And it was running straight toward me for a hug.

Pehechaan
Indian Cancer Society, Bangalore

12/05/2026

To our incredible nursing team this :

In Pain and Palliative Care, you walk into rooms where hope feels thin and you make them lighter. You catch the unsaid fears, you ease the pain, you hold hands through goodbyes, and you bring dignity to every moment in between.

Your skill keeps patients comfortable. Your compassion keeps families whole. You are the steady presence when everything else feels unsteady.

From your Palliative Care Counsellor: thank you. For the night shifts, the tears you wipe, the advocacy, the grace. The world heals because you show up.

Every patient is safer, calmer, and more human because of you. Thank you for letting me walk this road beside you.

Happy International Nurses Day. We see you. We honor you. We couldn't do this without you.

10/05/2026

Happy Mother’s Day to every kind of mother —
the ones who gave birth,
the ones who adopted,
the ones who nurture without a title,
the grandmothers, single mothers, foster mothers, stepmothers, caregivers, mentors, and women who mother the world with kindness and compassion.

To the mothers raising children,
and to the mothers carrying memories, grief, hope, or silent prayers in their hearts — today is yours too.

“A mother is not defined only by blood, but by love, sacrifice, presence, and the ability to hold another soul with tenderness.”

May every woman who has ever loved like a mother feel seen, valued, and deeply celebrated today. 🌸

Happy Mother's Day 🌺

29/04/2026

Client Feedbacks Pehechaan

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When I first met Meera, she sat with her scarf pulled low, eyes fixed on her hands. Stage 2 breast cancer at 34. Chemo behind her, fear still ahead. “I don’t know who I am now,” she told me in our first counseling session. “Cancer took my hair, my energy, and my future plans. What’s left?”

We didn’t talk about survival rates that day. We talked about mornings. What did a good one feel like before cancer? Coffee steam, her son’s laugh, the way sunlight hit her balcony plants. “Can you find one piece of that tomorrow?” I asked. “Just one.”

Week by week, with Alpa Dharamshi’s continuous support and counseling, Meera rebuilt. Alpa didn’t give answers; she held space. “She taught me to name the fear instead of outrunning it,” Meera says. “Alpa would remind me, ‘You don’t have to be strong every hour. You just have to be honest for this one.’”

Meera journaled anger instead of swallowing it. She told her husband, “I need you to sit with me in the silence, not fix it.” She walked 10 minutes daily, then 20. During session four, she whispered, “I looked in the mirror today. I didn’t flinch.”

The turning point was a Tuesday. She brought her son’s crayon drawing to Alpa. “He drew me with a cape,” she said, voice shaking. “Under it he wrote, ‘My brave Amma.’ Alpa smiled and said, ‘You were already brave. You just needed someone to witness it.’”

Six months post-treatment, Meera sent a message: “I ran a 5K. Slow, bald, and smiling the whole way. Alpa helped me see that recovery isn’t going back. It’s going forward with scars and still choosing joy. ‘Cancer edited my life,’ I told my support group, ‘but with Alpa’s guidance, I’m writing the next chapter.’”

Today, Meera mentors newly diagnosed women. She always adds, “I am endlessly thankful to Alpa Dharamshi. Her counseling didn’t save me — it showed me I could save myself. ‘You are not your diagnosis’ was the first truth she gave me. Now it’s the first truth I give away.”

( Name changed to respect the identity of the person affected with the Big C)

A true survivor story to inspire others 🙏
Thank you ICS for the platform 🙏

Indian Cancer Society, Bangalore

26/04/2026

's , .

10 months ago, a brave woman reached out to me, trembling with fear. had entered her life uninvited. Through treatment, surgery, and countless calls, I walked beside her. She fought. She healed. She won.

Last week, my phone rang again. I picked up, expecting an update about her health. Instead, I heard a voice more shattered than the first time.

This time, it was her daughter. Stage one. Breast cancer. Again.

The cruelty of life can leave you breathless. How do you tell a mother who has already fought this battle that she must watch her child walk the same path?

We talked. We cried. We found strength in the broken pieces. I reminded her that she’s already proof that this fight can be won. That fear is loud, but .

Today, her daughter’s surgery is done. The first step is behind them. And this family is choosing courage, again.

’t . It doesn’t follow rules. It doesn’t care how much you’ve already endured. But neither does love. Neither does resilience. Neither does a mother’s heart.

To everyone fighting, to everyone holding someone’s hand through it: You are not alone. And sometimes the bravest thing we do is pick up the phone and fight one more time.

Pehechaan

Indian Cancer Society, Bangalore

24/04/2026

My deepest thanks to DrGargi Roy Goswami for the conversation on _The Cancer Circle_.

Sitting with you and reflecting on 20 years of palliative care — from my mother’s battle to the families I serve today — was incredibly special. Your questions created room for the nuances that matter: saying a person’s name instead of “patient”, defining a “good death” by love not just medicine, and even the little ritual of the tree at the hospital gate.

Thank you for letting me share not just my work, but my mother’s words: “I will show you how to live.”

Conversations like these remind me why we do what we do at the Indian Cancer Society and Pehechaan. When we shift the “Big C” to a “small c” and let the Caregiver become the “Big C”, we give dignity back to those who need it most. Thank you for building a platform where healing is discussed with such dignity.

I’m grateful for your platform and for your compassion. Here’s to shrinking the “Big C”, together.

To everyone facing the storm right now — you are not alone.

https://www.youtube.com/live/ildCGWYNsJs?si=4_JrD4FKVKSTpVe4



Pehechaan
Indian Cancer Society, Bangalore

9 likes. "Find Your TRUE Self After Cancer Diagnosis"

24/04/2026

"Healing begins when we feel seen."

800+ of you are here now.
Thank you for trusting Pehechaan with your quiet moments, your hard questions, and your search for meaning.

As a counsellor and Farishta, my mission has always been simple: to sit with pain, to honor grief, and to help people remember who they are beyond their diagnosis.

"What we have once enjoyed deeply we can never lose. All that we love deeply becomes a part of us." –

To the 802 of you who follow Pehechaan: thank you.

Every day I support cancer patients and caregivers in 6 Indian languages. Every day I’m reminded that language isn’t just words — it’s presence. It’s saying “ ” in the way someone’s heart can hear.

802 follows means 802 reasons to keep showing up. For the ones grieving, healing, searching, and rebuilding their _pehechaan_.

This space is for you. Thank you for being here.

Drop a 🤍 if you believe it’s okay to not be okay.

As a Multilingual Pain & Palliative Care Counsellor and Death Doula, I started because ’t . ’t .

PEHECHAAN will always be a place to help you identify yourself — even in the hardest moments.

16/04/2026

Honored to share that I was felicitated on 10th April 2026 by Team Prakash Samiksha for contributing 24 articles on _Life Power_ throughout 2025.
My deepest gratitude to and Team Prakash Samiksha for nurturing these words and giving them wings.
To every reader who resonated with _Life Power_ — this honor is yours too.

✍️

09/04/2026

On World Psycho-Oncology Day, I pause to reflect on a truth we often overlook - Cancer is not only a disease of the body but of the mind and the soul as well. Healing is not only physical — it is emotional, psychological, and deeply human.

A cancer diagnosis does not only affect the body; it touches the mind, the heart, the family, and the very spirit of a person. Behind every treatment, every hospital visit, and every medical report, there is often fear, uncertainty, grief, hope, resilience, and an unspoken emotional journey.

Every patient carries not just a medical file, but a world of emotions — anxiety, grief, anger, and sometimes, acceptance. Supporting them means acknowledging all of it, without judgment.

On World Psycho-Oncology Day, we pause to acknowledge a truth that deserves more attention: emotional support is not an “extra” in cancer care — it is essential. Because sometimes, the most powerful medicine is simply being there.

As Lead Volunteer – Emotional Support at Indian Cancer Society, I have witnessed how compassionate listening, gentle presence, and timely psychological care can make an immense difference in the lives of patients and caregivers alike. Sometimes, healing begins not with answers, but with being heard.

“People may forget what you said, but they will never forget how you made them feel.” — Maya Angelou

To every psycho-oncologist, counselor, volunteer, social worker, caregiver, and healthcare professional who supports the emotional well-being of those facing cancer — thank you for holding space where fear meets courage.

“Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear…” — Leo Buscaglia

Today, let us continue to advocate for care that heals not just the body, but the whole human being.
Let us continue to build spaces where patients feel seen, heard, and held. Because no one should face cancer alone.

Behind every cancer diagnosis is a human being carrying fear, grief, uncertainty, and hope all at once. While medicine treats the body, psycho-oncology cares for the mind. And both are equally important.

This April 9, on World Psycho-Oncology Day, we invite you to start a conversation with a patient, a survivor, a caregiver, or a colleague about the emotional side of cancer. Ask how they are really feeling. Listen without judgment. Show up with compassion.
Because sometimes, being heard is the most powerful medicine of all. 💜🎗️

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