I started writing stories about my life over a decade ago (2010) and still have not managed to publish a book! I guess at the end of the day if people read what I write it does not matter in what form I publish it. Since most of what I write involves my Christian faith, I passionately believe I have no business charging for something God gave me for free.
Below is one of those experiences I had for free … it shaped me and enabled me to view the world through the eyes of an adult even though I was a child. No matter where I go or what I do, this memory tags along in some obscure portion of my brain. The old man dying alone at the bus stop is something I will never forget.
It was not uncommon to experience death as a child in India, death was everywhere. Death lay in the streets, shamefully exhibiting its stone-cold grip. It was never tucked away in some funeral parlour; in a casket draped in sweet smelling Frangipani, Jasmine or Lily of the Valley. Death nowadays is so sterile and clinical compared to then, it is still agonizing but we are shielded from much of its rawness.
The Inconvenience of Death:
Ahh! This would have to be one of the most read articles on this Blog. Thanks to everyone who added links on their sites to this article (blowing kisses). In all honesty I did not think anyone would read it when I first wrote it. It was just another one of those memories that went round and round in my head, itching to be written. And I am so glad I did write it, as the story of the Anglo-Indian has not waned at all. It continues to grow as more and more Anglos and their descendants go in search of their heritage.
The Australian taxi driver made me question who I was all those years ago. Life is strange when we look a certain way and yet our genes tell a different story. The way in which we were raised, and our culture tells yet another story. In the end, we are who we are, and we must never be ashamed to tell people our real history. I do not believe we should choose sides when we are of mixed ethnicites. I often find myself telling people, I am partly oppressor and partly victim, that is my identity as an Anglo-Indian.
I’m an Anglo-Indian!
This is a rant because of the frustration I feel for a lost world that focuses on nothing more than the pigment in a single layer of skin. The whole race, black/white issue is so pointless, it has caused so much pain and suffering in the world and yet people refuse to let it go. How pathetic to only judge a person because of the amount of melanin they possess in a layer of the epidermis. Oh, by the way the skin is only 0.5 mm thick, and what is contained in that skin has caused more devastation to humans than anything else. Growing up I discovered there is white pride and black pride, both are as bad as each other and I experienced both. Physically, we looked one way but pretended we were something else and this confused the hell out of me. In the end I realized I did not need to be ‘white’ to be intelligent, successful or a morally better person. I was fine the way I was and would not change anything about myself.
Children of Colonialism
In this chapter of my Life Story I wrote about the after-effects of my first lot of radiation treatment and its consequences. The initial doses of radiation destroyed whatever they managed to save of my left ovary. And most of the right ovary had to be removed because it was covered in a large cyst. So, by 20 years of age, I was experiencing full blown menopause. It is strange how life is, though, menopause at twenty is nothing when you must fight for everyday of your life.
With the cancer refusing to let up and nowhere to turn, Dr. Alan Nelson sat me down and told me I only had one option left. That option was Dr. Holt’s Tronado treatment, which was untested and unproven. Dr. John Holt was Dr. Alan Nelson’s associate and the two specialists shared rooms with Dr. Lecke and Dr. Shepherd at the Cancer Clinic in Salvado Road, Wembley. Even though I was a regular visitor at this Clinic, I knew nothing about Dr. Holt’s treatment. But since I trusted Dr. Nelson explicitly, off I went to begin Tronado. The two specialists were trialing a Tronado-Radiation combo. I will explain what I experienced during 1980’s Tronado in the excerpt below.
Near on forty years later, all of Dr. Holt’s support groups online have slowly disappeared, and as far as I know his treatment has too. Yet I remain ─ I was one of Dr. John Holt’s youngest patients at that time, whom he affectionately called ‘Chery’. He always assured me his treatment would not cause me to lose my beautiful hair, like others. I consider myself blessed to have had these old-time doctors who had such excellent bedside manners. Today, I can honestly say I believe I am not only the youngest patient who received his treatment, I am the longest surviving one. But that is because of Jesus, through all these treatments I put my trust in Him and He has decided I must remain on this earth until he decides to take me home.
Dr. Holt’s Tronado Treatment — Was it Australia’s Cure for Cancer?