𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐈𝐒 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃
- Madhukar Dama
- Sep 19
- 8 min read
𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐈𝐓
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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐋
India carries an unwanted title today – the cancer capital of the world. Hospitals in every major city are overflowing. Even in small towns, conversations often carry the painful news of someone being diagnosed. It is no longer rare. It is everywhere.
This was not the India of our grandparents. Something has shifted deeply – in what we eat, how we live, and the very air and water around us.
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𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐋
𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐃 – 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐂𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍
A few decades ago, food in India was alive – millets, pulses, fresh vegetables, oils extracted in wooden presses. Then came chemicals, hybrid seeds, preservatives, and processed foods.
The result: plates filled with polished rice, refined wheat, sugary drinks, packet snacks. Instead of nourishing, food became toxic.
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𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐘𝐋𝐄 – 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐅𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐒
Our elders walked miles, worked in fields, and stayed connected to nature. Today, life is screen-driven. Children spend more hours on phones than outdoors. Adults sit in chairs for long hours.
When the body stops moving, it stops cleansing. Waste piles up. Cancer grows best in such stagnation.
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𝐄𝐍𝐕𝐈𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 – 𝐀𝐈𝐑, 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐒𝐎𝐈𝐋
India breathes toxic air. Water carries heavy metals and pesticide residues. Soil is burdened with chemicals. Even fruits and milk often come adulterated with hormones and preservatives.
Everyday, silently, the body absorbs this burden. And over time, cells start turning abnormal.
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𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃 – 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑
Stress, loneliness, the constant race for survival – these weaken immunity. When immunity is down, cancer finds its way up.
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𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐎 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘
India does not need only more hospitals. What India needs is prevention at the family level. Simple, powerful choices made every single day.
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𝐂𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐃
Eat home-cooked meals.
Replace refined with whole grains and millets.
Use cold-pressed oils, desi ghee, jaggery instead of sugar.
Wash vegetables well to reduce pesticide load.
Grow something at home, even in pots – tulsi, spinach, coriander.
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𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘
Walk daily.
Practice yoga or stretches.
Sweat once a day – through play, work, or exercise.
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𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑 𝐎𝐈𝐋 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐇 – 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐃
Twice a month, a castor oil bath helps the body detoxify and rejuvenate.
It pulls out toxins, improves circulation, reduces inflammation, and balances excess heat in the body. Families who follow this practice regularly remain healthier and resistant to chronic illness.
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𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐁𝐀 𝐊𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐘𝐀 – 𝐃𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍
Daily use of this herbal decoction strengthens the system from within.
It is known for its anti-cancer, anti-inflammatory, and immunity-boosting properties. It keeps digestion strong, blood pure, and prevents abnormal cell growth.
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𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐂𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐍
Use neem-based repellents instead of chemical coils.
Prefer steel, clay, and glass over plastics.
Keep indoor plants for natural air purification.
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𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃
Meditate or sit in silence daily.
Stay rooted in community and family bonds.
Keep laughter alive at home.
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𝐀 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃
India does not have to remain the cancer capital. Every family can reclaim health with the right choices. Cancer is not an enemy from outside. It is the result of how we live.
Change your way of living, and you change the destiny of your family.
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🌿 Authentic traditionally prepared Castor Oil and Mother Simarouba Kashaya are grown in the forest, handmade, and sold by Dr. Madhukar Dama.
📲 Allo India Delivery Available – to buy, visit or send a message on WhatsApp: 8722170016
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𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒
𝐀 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐘𝐞𝐥𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐠𝐢 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝
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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠
It is early morning at Madhukar’s off-grid homestead near Yelmadagi. The fields are still wrapped in mist, birds just waking, and smoke curls upward from a clay stove where Mother Simarouba Kashaya simmers in a blackened pot. A neem tree spreads shade over the courtyard, mats are laid on the red earth, and the air feels cool and clean.
The visitors have come because Madhukar invited them — not to preach to them, but to ask questions, to listen, to reflect together. Each carries a different story, and together they represent the many faces of India’s cancer crisis.
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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬
1. The Young Doctor (Urban Oncologist)
Represents modern medicine and hospital reality.
Carries statistics, sees patients daily, and struggles with late detection.
2. The Homemaker (from Gulbarga City)
Represents the everyday Indian family.
Worried about food habits, children, and the safety of daily life.
3. The Elder Farmer (from Yelmadagi region)
Represents tradition and agriculture.
Witness to how chemical farming changed soil, seeds, and health.
4. The College Student (Curious, Idealistic)
Represents India’s future.
Asks blunt, searching questions, wants clarity and practical direction.
5. The Social Worker (Grassroots Health Worker)
Represents the rural poor.
Sees ignorance, gutka use, and families ruined by hospital costs.
6. The Cancer Patient (Middle-aged, Recovering)
Represents lived suffering.
Story of ignorance, pain, medical treatment, and then healing through integrated living.
7. Madhukar (Host)
Represents the integrative voice — bridging tradition, science, and simple living.
Guides through questions, not lectures.
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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞
Doctor: (gazing at the fields) This place is calm. But in my hospital, peace is impossible. Every day, lines of patients. India is becoming the cancer capital of the world. Why, Madhukar?
Madhukar: Tell me, doctor, when patients come to you, what do you notice first?
Doctor: They come late. By the time they reach me, the cancer is advanced.
Madhukar: And before that? What kind of lives do they live?
Doctor: (hesitates) Junk food. Tobacco. Alcohol. No exercise. Too much stress.
Madhukar: Then does cancer begin in the hospital?
Doctor: No… it begins in daily living.
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Homemaker: That frightens me. My children crave chips and colas. Even the vegetables I buy are covered in chemicals. What can a mother do?
Madhukar: Tell me — what did your own mother feed you?
Homemaker: Millets, dal, sabzi, buttermilk. No packets, no colas.
Madhukar: And how was your health then?
Homemaker: Better than my children’s now.
Madhukar: Then you already know the answer — return to what is near, seasonal, and simple.
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Farmer: (shaking his head) But the soil itself is sick. In my youth, seeds were pure, soil was fertile, food was alive. Now, chemicals everywhere. We poison ourselves in the name of harvest.
Madhukar: And who asked you to change?
Farmer: The market, promises of higher yield.
Madhukar: And did it bring prosperity?
Farmer: No. It brought debt and illness. Even farmers now get cancer.
Madhukar: Then you see the truth: what poisons the soil, poisons the body.
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Student: But was cancer always there? Or is it just more visible today?
Madhukar: Did your grandparents speak of cancer?
Student: No. It was rare.
Madhukar: Because their food was alive, their water clean, their lives active, and their minds calmer. Today, every corner has fast food, plastic, and stress. Causes multiplied, so cancer multiplied.
Student: So it’s not fate. It’s choice.
Madhukar: Exactly. Choice, repeated daily.
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Social Worker: The poor suffer the most. They chew gutka, drink cheap liquor, ignore sores until it’s too late. Then they sell land and cattle to pay hospital bills. What hope for them?
Madhukar: Is prevention expensive?
Social Worker: No. Millet, simple food, clean habits — cheaper than hospitals.
Madhukar: Then our task is awareness, not only aid. If families change small habits, big tragedies are avoided.
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Patient: (voice trembling) Let me speak. I was one of those ignorant ones. Gutka, tea, biscuits, no real meals. When the ulcer began, I ignored it. By the time I went to the doctor, it was cancer.
Homemaker: What happened then?
Patient: Surgery. Chemotherapy. Pain, weakness, endless vomiting. My family borrowed money. Dignity was lost. I thought my life was over.
Student: And yet you are here with us. How?
Patient: Along with hospital treatment, I changed. I left gutka. Began eating clean food. Twice a month, I took castor oil bath. Every day, I drank Mother Simarouba Kashaya. Slowly, my body felt lighter. My strength returned. My mind found hope.
Doctor: (softly) This is what I dream of — medicine to treat, and life practices to prevent and support.
Madhukar: That is the way forward. Hospitals save lives, but homes must guard health.
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Farmer: So the soil must be healed.
Homemaker: The kitchen must return to simplicity.
Student: The youth must choose wisely.
Social Worker: The poor must be guided.
Doctor: Hospitals must welcome prevention.
Patient: And survivors must teach others.
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Madhukar: (pouring Mother Simarouba Kashaya into cups) Then we have answered it together. India became the cancer capital because we forgot how to live. India will stop being the cancer capital when families remember again.
(They sip the warm decoction in silence. The mist clears. Sunlight floods the fields. A new day begins.)
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𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐋 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆
they call it
the cancer capital.
you walk through a hospital corridor in bengaluru,
you smell fear and disinfectant,
blood in plastic tubes,
children with shaved heads,
old men coughing up debt,
mothers bargaining with gods.
this is india now.
not the india of soil under nails
and buttermilk sweating in clay pots,
but the india of packets,
powders,
and dreams sold in neon.
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i have seen farmers spraying poison
on food they will eat that night.
i have seen kids with orange tongues
from fifty-rupee fizz drinks.
i have seen women who never rested
carry tumors heavier than their silence.
i have seen men
swallow gutka like it was pride
and spit red rivers into the street
until the rivers swallowed them back.
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and the doctors —
they fight like soldiers with blunt knives.
they cut, they burn, they poison,
and sometimes, yes, they save.
but mostly they run out of beds,
out of hours,
out of hope.
the disease always comes faster
than the cure.
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cancer is not a stranger.
it is your kitchen shelf,
your office chair,
your sleepless night,
your plastic bottle sweating in the sun,
your packet of chips that crackles louder
than your conscience.
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but listen.
there is another india,
hidden under the noise.
the india of neem trees
and millets cooked slow,
the india of women who know
which leaf cools a fever,
which root sharpens the blood.
the india of men
who poured castor oil
over aching bones,
who let sweat be their doctor.
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you don’t need to be a saint.
you don’t need ashrams or miracles.
you need clean food,
moving legs,
a mind that remembers to breathe.
you need laughter in the courtyard,
and silence when the sun rises.
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twice a month,
let handmade castor oil soak into your skin,
let the heat drag the poison out.
each day,
let mother Simarouba turn to medicine
on your tongue.
not superstition.
not magic.
just life
before the market twisted it.
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i have sat with a man
who lost his tongue to tobacco,
who thought his children would never
hear his voice again.
he told me,
“pain is not the end.
ignorance is the end.”
he found a way back —
not perfect, not whole,
but alive enough
to tell me his story
with eyes that burned harder
than the sun.
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this country does not need
more hospitals.
it needs families
who remember their own power.
it needs women in kitchens
who cook with soil’s memory.
it needs farmers
who grow food that does not kill.
it needs children
who sweat under the sun
instead of screens.
it needs men who spit out
their addictions,
not their lives.
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cancer is not destiny.
it is a mirror.
if you don’t like the reflection,
change the room,
change the light,
change the way you live.
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this is india.
bruised, yes.
tired, yes.
but not finished.
never finished.
there is fire still
in the clay stove,
there is strength still
in the bitter brew,
there is hope still
in the castor oil warmth,
there is a future still
in the hands of those
who refuse to forget.
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the cancer capital
can burn its crown,
can walk back to the village well,
can drink clean water again,
can feed its children life again.
and when that day comes,
we won’t whisper the word cancer
like a curse anymore.
we’ll whisper it like an old enemy
we buried together
under the neem tree
before breakfast.
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