‌After reading a novel or two about people dying of cancer I'd come to expect a lot of nervous smiles around the patient, muffled talks, silent sobs and the deteriorating, weakening body and spirit of the patient themselves but nothing had prepared me for the pain that hit me square in the chest when I saw her frail silhouette lying on couch.

The group of people sitting around her kept waiting for any signs of movement and the slightest stirrings were eyed with an overwhelming caution enough to make anyone apprehensive of even blinking. I stood there with my arms behind my back unable to move or take my eyes off her. I was seeing her after months and the physical changes were drastic. With her back to me, she lay seemingly at rest.

If only it were so.

Her shoulder blades were more prominent than ever and even tossing caused her immeasurable pain. Her bones stood out like her skin was nothing but an ill fitting dress. She raised her hand feebly to summon someone to get her a glass of water but before she could even frame a whole sentence she sunk back into the mattress, curling up even more if that were even possible. I sat down and wrapping my arms around my knees, I tried to make sense of the chaos in my head. Why would God do this to her?

There are two types of women in this world, I decided while reminiscing about her life story. There are the ones who on coming across a mountain load of shit, look up and cry foul, resigning to sadness. Then there are those who take one look at it and gear up to cross that mountain gracefully in six inch stilettos, smiling elegantly all the while. Meera belonged to the latter, never ceasing to inspire the ones around her with the courage she possessed. I belonged to the third who took a power nap before deciding on a plan of action and it was for this reason that Meera's way of living had been an inspiration to me. In the years that I'd known her, I'd come to know a great deal about her past from the people around her. She wasn't related to me by blood but I loved and respected her nevertheless. She never ceased to amaze me – the twinkle in her eyes, the bright smile on her face, the cascading brown hair, the spirit to live and the undying desire to make the most out of the curve balls life had thrown at her. The question resonated yet again, why would God do this to her?

Meera had been nothing but loving and kind to the people around her. She never hesitated from giving a piece of her mind to anyone who asked. Like the ones who care, her words may have been cruel but never her intentions. The bubbly, carefree girl who was married at the age of twenty-one was replaced by a nubile woman when she lost her husband of five years in a tragic car accident. As if this wasn't cruel enough, fate decided to put her to yet another test when she had to go through the tyranny of her in-laws-they blamed her for what had happened to their son, as is the scene a number of Indian households. Of course, initially there was a lot of crying and blaming the Almighty for the catastrophic event that had disrupted their happy lives. If it hadn't been for her brother who intervened at the correct time, she would have never been able to remain guilt free. Bags were packed and life was moved back to her father's house where she was more pampered than anyone else. Soon, marriage proposals had begun pouring in – Meera was smart, educated, and good looking. Who wouldn't want her? She didn't want any of this though. Inspite of gentle pestering by her family she stood firm on her decision – she didn't want to remarry. She wanted to be independent.

Sure, she could have been one of those to accuse fate and give up hope, but she didn't. Since she'd always liked kids she started teaching. At first it was nothing more than a few kids from the society in which she lived but the patience and gentleness with which she taught and her personal interest in the improvement of every single child earned her a reputation of being not only a good teacher but also a lovely person. She wasn't just their teacher, she was their friend as well as guide. Soon the part-time teaching had become a full-time job with children of all ages parading in and out of the house from sunrise to sunset.

The storm of her husband's death and despotism of her in-laws had settled only for a few years before that cruel mistress Fate struck again and earlier this year in the month of January, Meera was diagnosed with cancer.

It isn't easy to grow up a girl. The society tells you how to talk, how to walk, how to dress. It even dictates when you should marry, who you should marry and what 'ethical' behaviour should be practiced if, God forbid, your husband or loved one passes away. The women who pick up the broken pieces of their life and attempt to tape them together using whatever adhesive, are looked down upon. Women are almost always conditioned to believe that without their man, they are nothing and they need a man to chaperone them throughout their lives. Meera broke free of those stereotypes – the kids she taught were a huge part of her life and her family gave her all the love she needed and more. She didn’t need a man. Even with the cancer creeping up behind her, she was high spirited and didn’t stop from posing for photographs to upload on her Facebook. When questions about her single status were raised, she'd proudly answer that she had everything important to complete her journey of life.

Sitting there, my eyes transfixed on her, I wondered. I wondered about how many women, prey to love had thrown away tantalizing futures because they were heartbroken, because they were too busy blaming someone else for the drama in their life. I thought about those women who reasoned that they'd never had the chance or opportunity to live their lives. I wondered how I myself had been one of those women to lay blame on life. I thought of how Meera was any different from the countless women who'd had to face similar and worse situations. When from her position on the couch she turned to face me, she still had a smile on her face. A moment later I realized the smile was for me.

"Found time for me after all, eh?" She asked teasingly.

"Been kinda busy, Maasi," I replied attempting a weak smile.

"Come sooner next time okay? Haven't got much time now," she replied. She didn't have much strength but not once did her smile falter during the entire half an hour she spoke to me. That woman never failed to surprise me.

"I want you to take over my kids, okay? Well, not my kids. My students I mean."

She sat up while my mother fed her a few pieces of pomegranates. That was all she could eat before getting tired and collapsing on the bed. Such was her dedication that even after being aware that she had cancer, she didn't stop teaching unless she absolutely couldn't. Those children kept her mind off other things, she'd say.

"You're one of the best I know and I want nothing but the best for them," she continued with her eyes shut as my mother stroked her hair with a tear in her eyes.

"I will. You should rest," I told her and retreated to my position near the wall.

The difference, I realized, between her and the other women was that she had a heart of gold and courage. In a situation like this when a lot of people would be terrified about dying, she was strangely at peace, worrying about her students rather than herself. And boy, she had courage. Not the teeny courage we women muster when we need to face a roach in the kitchen. But the kind of courage that takes people across mountains and valleys. Of course she was scare to her bones-it was her own body against her – but she never let the brave facade down. It's dying that is easy, living day after day with a gorgeous smile to hide that bitch of a pain is not. In that moment my resolve of living my life the way I wanted to, became only more stronger. Here was a lady who'd had to go through the death of her husband, the tortures of her in-laws, being diagnosed with cancer at the age of thirty-two and she still had the grace to smile and here I was, upset about the fact that my social life was boring.

The cancer had been detected as a knot on her posterior, seemingly harmless at first but which had started taking a toll on her health sooner than anticipated. The cancer had proceeded to spread from her posterior to her right thigh and had soon occupied her entire leg. Her right leg was now swollen making moving around difficult for her. Chemotherapy was impossible at that stage. She would ask her doctor to let her go with an injection and some chocolate milkshake but even that brute of a doctor who had seen so many die before her didn't want anything to happen to her. The man who didn't smile so often and was known for his no-nonsense attitude, had to bow down before Meera's tantrums. He knew she was hurting, he knew the medicines and cancer were taking a toll on her but he also knew that she was strong.

All her life she'd never wanted to be a bother to anyone and even when her mobility was reduced to nothing because of the swelling on her right leg, she didn't disturb anyone for anything.  A full time nurse had been appointed for her care and Meera wouldn't even disturb her if she wanted to visit the washroom. It was because of this reason that she'd slipped in the middle of the night and hurt herself on her head and other leg too.

There are times in life when you come across a quote, the words of which have such a profound effect on you that they're carved in the minute corners of your mind even when you don't understand them in their true sense. And then there are those moments when the meaning of those words, that one quote, comes to you as clearly as a flash of lightning on a pitch black night, when the meaning weighs down on you in all its sense and glory. Those,are the times when you are forced to live those words.

That day while watching her, with a brave serene smile on her face, the words "Good things happen to bad people" kept playing in my mind on a loop. The nerves in my brain associated with tears had apparently decided to stop working at that moment. While her father sat there, his head bowed in defeat, Meera smiled in an effort to make him smile.

"She's so strong, you know." Her father said to me when she got up to go to the washroom. "My little girl has had to bear so much and not a word of complaint. She can't even bear her own body now. It's killing her from the inside. And I can't do anything about it." The tears he'd kept in, began to freely flow now. We wept with him, dreading the most awful thing that could take Meera away from all of us. Her father was helpless – he couldn't even cry if she was around, seeing anyone else crying would break the last few ounces of spirit.

Before that day, I had always been one of those to pout about things that didn't always go the way I wanted them to. I was one of those to throw a fit when the food wasn't of my choice or when my mother asked me to tuition a couple of kids so that I would be independent. I never saw the point in worrying about things that wouldn't happen to me. Yes, I did tutor some kids but my heart wasn't entirely into it. I always had grand plans. Ambitions and dreams that were, to be honest, most of the times beyond my reach and capability. Yes, I was one of those too who complained about the facilities that I had no access to. I was amongst those who had an excuse ready most of the time.

Every other minute a person dies somewhere. Our hearts go out to their families and we pray for their soul to rest in peace but when it happens to us? Time becomes nothing but a ticking time bomb and the future isn't certain beyond that one week of schedule. To know someone who has got only months, or only weeks for the less fortunate, to live isn't easy. But the agony is nothing compared to the pain felt when you've known them for most of your life. The tears which weren't to be found came uninterrupted as soon as I left her house.

After that day I wasn’t the same. At the time, I was a Master's student at the university and though it had been a course of my choice, laziness had taken over the passion. Meera made me want to be a better person. In not so many words but actions, she taught me that life is fragile. Sure, we know it is, but we forget that. We take life for granted, waiting for the knight in the shining armor to rescue us or waiting for our lives to magically correct themselves while we forget that we don’t know what catastrophe might be around the corner. She taught me to put my heart into any project I undertook. Somewhere in the chaos of youth I'd forgotten how important family is, she has been a constant reminder that with family, anything can be faced. Not being able to find that one love of my life didn't scare me that much anymore, what scared me was the possibility of not being able to do something substantial. Meera has never been someone who got everything on a golden plate. She has been a self made hard-working woman. People are going to talk, regardless of how you spend your days. Meera taught me not to pay heed to those. She taught me to be a good human before anything else.

***

Meera is one of those countless women who take everything in their stride. These women are not the victims at the hands of their lives, in search of a hero, they are the butt-kicking, life-changing heroines who can cook as easily as they can dance through the fire for something they believe in. Such is the valor of those women that they juggle kids and husbands while battling cancer or anything other disease. The single one's aren't leaving behind children or distraught husbands, they're leaving behind a gaping hole in the hearts of the people who love them. Meera is still in the clutches of cancer and I don't meet her very often – to be honest, I'm too weak hearted to see her writhing in agony. But not a day goes by when I don’t think of her, when she comes to me not as the frail-bodied woman I met the other day, but the fearless, full of life, beautiful woman I've always known her to be.