A cancer survivor reflects on how humour became his strongest ally through surgery, chemotherapy and recovery
Jennifer Aaker and Naomi Bagdonas, in their book Humour, Seriously, say, “A sense of humour is part of what makes us human. It’s a deeply connecting and empowering thing. Deploying it doesn’t make light of serious things. It means you’re able to move forward, in spite of those serious things.”
Both Madhavi, my wife, and I have, I feel, a great sense of humour. A colleague had once commented, “Ramen, you both complement each other beautifully. While you crack jokes with ease, she bursts into laughter easily.”
Several studies show that children learn humour from their parents. In our family too, the humour Madhavi and I indulge in seems to have rubbed off on the kids to a significant extent. As a result, our home is usually a fun place, filled with leg-pulling, pranks and laughter.
Here, I would like to talk about a movie which, to me, is the ultimate example of using creativity and humour to fight the toughest of odds.
Life is Beautiful is a celluloid experience I shall cherish for a long time to come. In it, the protagonist is deported to Auschwitz, the dreaded Nazi concentration camp, along with his seven-year-old son. There, instead of wallowing in self-pity or cursing fate, the father uses all his creativity and ingenuity to make “life beautiful” for his young son. Rather than turning out to be an ordeal, the experience becomes fun for the child, thanks to the father’s guts, gumption and inventiveness. Ultimately, the father dies and, in the process, teaches the son (and the viewers) the value of life and living.
The film is a classic example of how humour can be used in the most horrendous circumstances to heal, educate and elevate. We can, and we should, indulge in humour to deal with the ‘concentration camps’ in our day-to-day lives and emerge unscathed.
Pallavi is an award-winning journalist and author. She was diagnosed with cancer in August 2022 and lost her mother, Gitanjali Aiyar, the well-known Doordarshan anchor of an earlier era, in June 2023.
Pallavi believes that her cancer diagnosis hit her mother harder than it hit her. Gitanjali spent one month with Pallavi’s family, who were staying in Spain. During that period, Gitanjali read a book on the technical and practical aspects of breast cancer. In the book, she found a section on tips for getting through the early days of a diagnosis, which included a suggestion to start a “Jar of Joy”. The idea was for the cancer patient to write notes to herself every time she experienced a micro-joy — whether birds singing or a tight hug from a child — and put them in a jar. These could then be retrieved whenever the patient felt low. According to Pallavi, this little piece of advice was guaranteed to put a smile on even the most “chemo-fatigued” face.
I was diagnosed with colon cancer in November 2021. I endured three septic shocks, four major surgeries, several rounds of chemotherapy and radiation, and was in the ICU for 40 days. I was finally declared cancer-free in November 2022. Throughout my cancer treatment and recovery, I shared my journey with my offline and online friends, with my mantra of “managing every tumour with humour” as the fulcrum. This was easily one of the most effective coping mechanisms, not only for me but also for my family.
While the response of most of my relatives and friends was positive, there was a flip side to my sharing as well.
A “well-wisher”, a doctor, advised me, just as I was getting ready for my first major surgery, “Ramen, while so far you have been sharing your experience with everyone, it is now time to do a serious rethink. After your operation, you have to start looking inwards. This will help you energise your cells.”
I laughed and replied, “Bro, for the last six months, I feel half of the city has been peering into my rectum, and I feel it has attracted almost as many eyeballs as the ‘Naatu Naatu’ song. How much further inwards should I look?”
But the prize goes to an aged relative of mine who told Madhavi, “Has Ramen gone mad? Why is he indulging in all this nonsense on social media? He is making a mockery of cancer. Does he not know that death is no laughing matter? If he continues, he will die in bits and pieces.”
I told Madhavi, “Please reply to him that I will not allow the lack of a colon to put a period, a comma, a colon or even a semicolon to my humour and creativity!
Also convey to him that I believe in two great philosophers—Gabbar, who said in 1975, Jo darr gaya samjho mar gaya, and Pushpa, who declared in 2022, Main jhukega nahin.”
Humour can work as a coping mechanism not only for a scourge like cancer but also for any other crisis. As American comedian Bob Newhart said, “Laughter gives us distance. It allows us to step back from an event, deal with it and then move on.”
One should, however, keep in mind that the prescription of humour comes with a disclaimer. It is not the solution in every situation. And even though laughter is the best medicine, like any remedy, it should be administered in the right dose, to the right person and at the right time.
