<p>We are three sisters. No brothers. Hence, Raksha Bandhan was not celebrated in our house. Not that we ever needed a brother to protect us. When faced with roadside Romeos, we knew what to summon to our rescue: our father’s shoe size. <br />“Hello, beauty in red-colour-jooti!”<br /><br /></p>.<p>“Do you know my father’s shoe-size? It’s 13.”<br /><br />Papa is a tall man. And he would wear really big shoes. The mention of the size he wore, mostly custom-made, was enough to ward off the unwanted attention. So, we went around blithely ‘shoe-ting’ from the hip to get rid of such pests.<br /><br />Now, the shoes never walked up to save us. They remained where they were – on papa’s feet. Nor did we ever tie a rakhi to them. But they remained our guardians. <br />We had learnt that there was no iron-mesh-clad, flaccid-wig-sporting Shahenshah who’d appear out of a dark alley to save us. Hence, we sisters created our own Shoe-henshah! That was many years ago. <br /><br />This January, I wasdiagnosed with breast cancer. My world vapourised in an instant. Pain. Fear. Actually, terror! I would cry in the nights. Wake up from the sleep I never got. Go for chemotherapy. Come back sick. Everything hurt. Muscles. Bones. Teeth. Sometimes I would not have the strength to walk back to the bed from the bathroom. <br /><br />Once, I just sunk to the floor. I had no strength to shout out for help. In the middle of a dark night, in a crumpled heap, hitting a bottle of deodorant on the floor. Thak..thak...thak...thak. Awaiting rescue.<br /><br />My mind needed to be rescued too. The molester was not out there. It was not any greasy-haired, neon-glares-sporting eve-teaser. It was right inside me. Abnormal cells growing uncontrollably, disorderly; a rogue threatening me. Maybe, slowly killing me. As the medicines fought them, I needed to address my fears.<br /><br />“It’s a battle you alone can fight. The conqueror is inside you,” everyone said.<br />No Shahenshah was going to walk out from amid theatrical smoke to rescue me. I had to create one inside of me. That mesh of steel that hung over his arm had to be inside me: to cradle and protect my broken spirit against fears. That rope noose had to be within to snuff out negative thoughts.<br /><br />This Rakshabandhan, look inside. There is an unimaginable strength there, right where we forget to look for. Instead, we seek crutches. Pills. Alcohol. Drugs. Pop Gurus. Babas. Lucky stones. Talisman. Trust me. They don’t work. <br /><br />This Raksha Bandhan, tie a rakhi to the hero inside you.</p>
<p>We are three sisters. No brothers. Hence, Raksha Bandhan was not celebrated in our house. Not that we ever needed a brother to protect us. When faced with roadside Romeos, we knew what to summon to our rescue: our father’s shoe size. <br />“Hello, beauty in red-colour-jooti!”<br /><br /></p>.<p>“Do you know my father’s shoe-size? It’s 13.”<br /><br />Papa is a tall man. And he would wear really big shoes. The mention of the size he wore, mostly custom-made, was enough to ward off the unwanted attention. So, we went around blithely ‘shoe-ting’ from the hip to get rid of such pests.<br /><br />Now, the shoes never walked up to save us. They remained where they were – on papa’s feet. Nor did we ever tie a rakhi to them. But they remained our guardians. <br />We had learnt that there was no iron-mesh-clad, flaccid-wig-sporting Shahenshah who’d appear out of a dark alley to save us. Hence, we sisters created our own Shoe-henshah! That was many years ago. <br /><br />This January, I wasdiagnosed with breast cancer. My world vapourised in an instant. Pain. Fear. Actually, terror! I would cry in the nights. Wake up from the sleep I never got. Go for chemotherapy. Come back sick. Everything hurt. Muscles. Bones. Teeth. Sometimes I would not have the strength to walk back to the bed from the bathroom. <br /><br />Once, I just sunk to the floor. I had no strength to shout out for help. In the middle of a dark night, in a crumpled heap, hitting a bottle of deodorant on the floor. Thak..thak...thak...thak. Awaiting rescue.<br /><br />My mind needed to be rescued too. The molester was not out there. It was not any greasy-haired, neon-glares-sporting eve-teaser. It was right inside me. Abnormal cells growing uncontrollably, disorderly; a rogue threatening me. Maybe, slowly killing me. As the medicines fought them, I needed to address my fears.<br /><br />“It’s a battle you alone can fight. The conqueror is inside you,” everyone said.<br />No Shahenshah was going to walk out from amid theatrical smoke to rescue me. I had to create one inside of me. That mesh of steel that hung over his arm had to be inside me: to cradle and protect my broken spirit against fears. That rope noose had to be within to snuff out negative thoughts.<br /><br />This Rakshabandhan, look inside. There is an unimaginable strength there, right where we forget to look for. Instead, we seek crutches. Pills. Alcohol. Drugs. Pop Gurus. Babas. Lucky stones. Talisman. Trust me. They don’t work. <br /><br />This Raksha Bandhan, tie a rakhi to the hero inside you.</p>
