Why God Gave Me Cancer?
- Madhukar Dama
- 2 hours ago
- 10 min read
Prologue
We all carry questions that rise only in moments of pain. Among them, none feels heavier than the whisper that escapes trembling lips in a hospital bed: “Why me?”
For generations, we have looked upwards for answers — to gods, to fate, to destiny — believing that suffering is handed down from somewhere beyond our control. Yet beneath the incense smoke, behind the temple bells, under the layers of faith and denial, lies a quieter truth: life is a mirror of the choices we make each day.
The foods we relish without thought, the habits we excuse as harmless, the cosmetics we trust, the medicines we pop, the air we breathe, the beliefs we hide behind — all of them are threads that weave into the fabric of our health. Cancer is not a sudden curse. It is the slow echo of our living, the body remembering what the mind chose to forget.
This is not an essay of blame, but of awakening. A reminder that the power to heal and the power to harm both rest in the same hands — our own.
---
I. Foods and Beverages in Indian Diets That Contribute to Cancer
1. Processed meats: sausages, tinned meats, cold cuts (urban households)
2. Excess red meat consumption, especially fried or charred
3. Deep-fried snacks: samosas, pakoras, bhujias, vadas
4. Street food cooked in reused oil: chaat, kachoris, poha stalls
5. Packaged instant noodles (Maggi, Top Ramen)
6. Sugary drinks: aerated drinks, sweetened lassi, industrial juices
7. Refined carbs: white rice, maida-based breads, puris, parathas
8. Excessive dairy: ghee, paneer, condensed milk desserts
9. Pickles with high salt and preservatives
10. Salted or sun-dried fish (common in coastal regions)
11. Sweet packaged snacks: biscuits, wafers, mithai with preservatives
12. Overuse of sugar in tea/coffee and sweets
13. Burnt chapatis or tandoori breads (high heat charring)
14. Overuse of oil in daily cooking (especially reused oils)
15. Artificial food colors in sweets, snacks, festive treats
16. Overly processed ready-to-eat foods: frozen parathas, instant mixes
17. Excessive consumption of commercially fried farsan or namkeen
18. Deep-fried fast foods: samosa, kachori, vada pav
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II. Indian Lifestyle Factors
19. Tobacco use: cigarettes, bidis, gutkha, khaini, paan masala
20. Chronic alcohol consumption: whisky, rum, country liquor
21. Sedentary lifestyle: urban office work, long commutes
22. Lack of exercise or yoga (ignored by most adults)
23. Chronic sleep deprivation (urban lifestyle, night shifts)
24. Chronic stress: work pressure, family stress, financial stress
25. Obesity due to calorically dense traditional and processed foods
26. Excessive sun exposure during farming without protection
27. Indoor air pollution from cooking with biomass fuels (chulha, wood)
28. Ignoring regular health checkups, especially for adults >40
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III. Environmental & Household Exposures in India
29. Pesticides in vegetables and fruits (especially in peri-urban farming)
30. Chemical fertilizers and insecticides in grains and rice
31. Smoke from incense sticks (dhoop, agarbatti)
32. Cleaning chemicals: phenyl, Harpic, bleaching powders
33. Water contamination: arsenic, fluoride, industrial pollutants
34. Air pollution in cities: Delhi, Mumbai, Kolkata smog
35. Radon exposure in poorly ventilated homes
36. Asbestos in old buildings
37. Mold in monsoon-damaged houses
38. Plastic containers with BPA, especially for storing water
39. Non-stick cookware overheated at high temperatures
40. Continuous exposure to traffic and construction dust
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IV. Indian Medications and Medical Practices
41. Overuse of antibiotics without prescription
42. Chronic steroid use for skin or joint issues
43. Unmonitored hormone therapy
44. Excessive painkiller use for joint, back, or migraine problems
45. Frequent X-rays, CT scans, or ultrasounds without necessity
46. Misuse of iron tablets or vitamin supplements
47. Unregulated ayurvedic/herbal medicines with heavy metals
48. Overuse of oral contraceptives without medical guidance
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V. Cosmetics and Personal Care in India
49. Skin-lightening creams with mercury
50. Hair dyes with chemical amines
51. Parabens in moisturizers or body lotions
52. Talcum powders (especially in older generations)
53. Fragrances with phthalates in perfumes
54. Nail paints with formaldehyde
55. Sunscreens with oxybenzone applied excessively or without care
56. Shampoo/conditioner with sulfates and triclosan
57. Anti-aging creams with retinoids or untested chemicals
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VI. Cultural and Behavioral Patterns
58. Over-reliance on convenience foods: ready-to-eat and frozen foods
59. Overconsumption of sweets during festivals (Diwali, Ganesh Chaturthi, Eid)
60. Binge eating at weddings, parties, and social functions
61. Excessive tea/coffee with sugar
62. Gutkha, paan masala with lime and tobacco
63. Late-night meals disrupting digestion
64. Chronic constipation ignored due to diet low in fiber
65. Ignoring oral hygiene: dental infections, untreated cavities
66. Chronic viral infections: Hepatitis B/C, HPV
67. Avoidance of vaccination (HPV, Hepatitis B)
68. Overcrowded urban living with poor ventilation
69. Lack of awareness about portion control and diet moderation
70. Excessive smartphone use and disrupted sleep
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VII. Occupation-Related Risks in India
71. Farmers exposed to pesticides and sun without protection
72. Industrial workers exposed to asbestos, cement dust, solvents
73. Traffic policemen and drivers exposed to chronic vehicle emissions
74. Coal miners or quarry workers exposed to dust and chemicals
75. Factory workers exposed to dyes, synthetic chemicals, and fumes
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The Unavoidable Truth in Indian Context
Cancer in India is rising not because God “chose” you but because modern lifestyles, urban pressures, street habits, traditional indulgences, and industrial convenience collide over decades.
Every plate of fried snacks, every packet of gutkha, every late-night office shift, every skipped checkup, every chemical-laden cosmetic—these are deposits into the invisible bank of cellular sabotage.
When the body finally collapses under these accumulated toxins, mutated cells, and lifestyle neglect, people cry: “Why me, God?”
The answer: It was never God. It was a lifetime of choices. Awareness is the only real prevention.
God Didn’t Give You Cancer — You Did
-- a dialogue with Madhukar
Scene:
A shaded courtyard in a small Indian town. A few families have gathered to talk to Madhukar, who is known for cutting through illusions with uncomfortable truths.
---
Ramesh (middle-aged shopkeeper, chewing gutkha):
Madhukar, people keep saying cancer cases are rising everywhere. But in our mohalla, we are all fine. I’ve been chewing gutkha for 20 years. Nothing has happened. God is protecting me.
Madhukar (calmly):
Ramesh, the body doesn’t collapse in 20 days. It collapses after 20 years. Cancer is like a loan you keep taking without paying. One day, the bank comes knocking. God is not your guarantor.
Radha (housewife, holding a steel dabba of pickles):
But in our family, everyone eats pickles with every meal. My grandmother lived to 90. How can pickle cause cancer? Isn’t it just achar?
Madhukar:
Your grandmother also walked miles every day, ate seasonal food, and wasn’t drowning in pollution, plastics, and pesticides. You cannot compare her life with yours. Pickles are not poison by themselves. But when combined with your sedentary lifestyle, processed foods, and stress—they become fuel for disease.
Shivanna (farmer, sunburnt, with a bidi in hand):
But I work hard on the farm. I sweat in the sun. Even if I smoke a little, it won’t matter. God has given me strong lungs.
Madhukar:
Strong lungs? Look at your cough, Shivanna. The sun gives you strength, but the bidi takes it away. The pesticides on your fields seep into your skin and water. Every puff, every spray is a small wound on your cells. Do you think God personally comes to repair them every night?
Lata (college girl, sipping a cola):
But sir, everyone drinks Coke, eats Maggi, burgers. We’re young. We need to enjoy life. Cancer is for old people.
Madhukar (sternly):
Cancer doesn’t look at your age. It looks at your cells. Today you are feeding it sugar and chemicals. Tomorrow it may repay you with disease. Youth is not immunity; it is only borrowed time.
Ashok (retired man, wearing tilak):
I go to the temple every day, Madhukar. God is on my side. Nothing can happen if He doesn’t will it.
Madhukar (with a half-smile):
Ashokji, tell me—when your scooter breaks down, do you pray or take it to the mechanic? When your roof leaks, do you chant or call the mason? God has given you a body and a brain. He expects you to maintain them, not abuse them and then blame Him. Cancer is not His curse. It is our negligence.
Radha (defensive):
But aren’t so many people healthy even after smoking, drinking, eating whatever they want? See that film actor—he smoked all his life and lived long.
Madhukar:
For every one such actor, there are thousands who died silently without fame. You only see survivors, not graves. This is our biggest denial—believing exceptions are rules.
Shivanna (uneasy):
But isn’t death anyway in God’s hands? If it is written, it will happen. Why bother?
Madhukar (voice rising slightly):
That is the laziest excuse, Shivanna. If it’s all written, then why work, why earn, why grow crops? Why treat fever or injuries? You don’t leave your harvest to God’s will—you plough, water, and protect it. Why not treat your body the same way?
Ramesh (still chewing gutkha, shifting uncomfortably):
But quitting all this—smoking, drinking, fried food, sweets—what is left then? Life will become tasteless.
Madhukar:
Life becomes tasteless when you are bedridden, coughing blood, begging for oxygen, or watching your body rot. You mistake spice for joy. Joy is breathing without pain. Joy is seeing your grandchildren without tubes in your nose.
Lata (hesitant):
But everyone around me does the same. If everyone is eating chips, ice-cream, cakes, then how can it be so wrong?
Madhukar:
Everyone is not your body. Everyone will not suffer your disease. Following the herd into a slaughterhouse does not make the slaughterhouse safe.
Ashok (sighing, softer now):
So you’re saying God doesn’t give cancer—we do?
Madhukar (leaning forward):
Yes. Every cigarette smoked, every packet of gutkha chewed, every sweet overloaded with sugar, every pesticide-sprayed vegetable, every bottle of cola—these are bricks. Slowly, silently, you are building your own cancer. Then when the house collapses, you cry: “Why God?”
Radha (quietly, to herself):
Then we are all guilty.
Madhukar (gently):
Not guilty, Radha. Just ignorant. Awareness is not about fear—it is about reclaiming control. Cancer is not destiny. It is the sum of our choices. The question is—will you keep writing the same story, or will you change the ending?
---
Epilogue – Madhukar’s Closing Words
“God did not curse you with cancer. You cursed yourself with denial. The body is not a temple for worship alone—it is a temple for responsibility. Protect it, and you live. Ignore it, and you decay. Stop asking why God gave you cancer. Start asking why you gave it to yourself.”
Why God Didn’t Give You Cancer
(a long slow burn poem in Indian streets and homes)
---
you walk into an indian home
and the kitchen greets you
before the people do—
oil sizzling,
chilies burning in reused blackened pans,
a mountain of fried snacks cooling on a steel plate,
pickles glistening with salt and chili powder,
papads stacked like promises.
the housewife stands there,
hair tied, bangles clinking,
one hand stirring,
the other hand adjusting her sari,
her face powdered with talc,
her lips touched with a cheap lipstick
that hides more lead than color.
she feeds her family with love—
extra spoon of sugar in chai,
extra dollop of ghee in dal,
extra sweets after dinner.
love, she believes,
is measured in butter and sweetness.
but love can rot teeth,
harden arteries,
ignite cells.
nobody told her that.
---
in the living room
the father watches TV,
gutkha swelling his cheek,
spitting red into a brass pot
as if it is normal,
as if it is culture.
his son scrolls endlessly on a glowing screen,
eating chips straight from the packet,
his daughter sips a cold drink with bubbles
that promise joy but deliver sugar.
they call it family time.
they call it bonding.
they call it harmless.
but inside their bodies,
silent wars are already planned.
---
the housewife sighs,
she has been told all her life
to trust god more than her own breath.
so she lights an incense stick,
the smoke filling the room
with what she thinks is blessing—
but it is carbon and chemicals,
entering her lungs quietly.
she powders herself with talc,
applies fairness cream laced with mercury,
dyes her hair with ammonia,
paints her nails with formaldehyde.
every ritual of beauty
is a ritual of erosion.
but she believes:
“if i pray enough,
if i fast on mondays,
if i donate a little at the temple,
nothing bad will touch me.”
denial has a holy glow in india.
---
step outside,
and you see the men at tea stalls,
smoking, debating politics,
soaking pakoras in green chutney,
licking salt off their fingers,
mocking anyone who talks of health.
“we are fine,
we have strong indian genes,
this is all western nonsense.”
genes are not gods.
they can’t shield you from pesticides
sprayed on vegetables,
from plastics leaching into milk packets,
from highways coughing black smoke.
but men nod in unison—
“god is on our side.
our bodies are strong.
this is india.”
---
walk into the office towers—
air-conditioned cages of light and glass.
people sit for ten, twelve, fourteen hours,
barely moving,
ordering food from apps—
pizzas, burgers, biryanis.
water bottles made of plastic line the desks,
coffee cups with sugar mountains
keep them awake long after midnight.
when someone coughs blood,
they say it’s the AC.
when someone faints,
they say it’s stress.
when someone gets cancer,
they whisper: “karma.”
never habit,
never lifestyle,
never denial.
always god,
always fate,
always something else.
---
and then, the weddings.
tables sagging under
fried puris, sweets dripping syrup,
meats grilled black,
sodas flowing like rivers.
relatives laugh,
stuffing gulab jamuns into each other’s mouths,
proud of abundance,
proud of indulgence.
no one counts calories here.
no one thinks of tomorrow.
only laughter, only excess,
only sugar, salt, oil,
draped in celebration.
---
in hospitals,
the story flips.
suddenly the same voices cry—
“why me?
why god?
i prayed every day.
i gave alms.
i never harmed anyone.”
but the body remembers
what the memory forgets—
the cigarettes, the sweets, the late nights,
the powders, the fumes, the chemicals,
the belief that denial was a shield.
the doctor looks tired,
because he has heard this question
a thousand times.
he doesn’t say:
“you did this.”
he only says:
“we’ll try.”
---
the housewife,
she is the last to understand.
her whole life,
she was told sacrifice means cooking for others,
eating last,
ignoring her own body.
so she did.
she ate what was left—
more fried, more salty,
because children needed the milk,
husband needed the fruit.
now her body aches,
her lump grows.
she wonders why god betrayed her.
but god did not betray her.
society did.
culture did.
denial did.
---
cancer is not a sudden visitor.
it is a houseguest invited slowly,
fed daily,
given a bed in your body.
by the time you want it gone,
it has already decorated your walls.
and yet,
the same god you blame,
whispers silently:
i gave you choice.
i gave you air, water, soil,
fruits and movement,
discipline and wisdom.
but you chose shortcuts,
you chose indulgence,
you chose denial.
---
the housewife wipes her tears.
the husband hides his gutkha.
the son scrolls past warnings.
the daughter finishes her cola.
and life goes on,
layer after layer,
excuse after excuse,
denial after denial—
until the ledger of habits
is complete.
then the cells revolt.
then the family prays.
then the question comes:
“why god?”
and the silence replies:
not god. you.
