Triple Negative: Aarti Pathak’s Memoir Traces A Cancer Journey Through Grief

It was May 2021. Aarti Pathak had just lost her mother to COVID-19. Hours later, she discovered she had cancer. The memoir isn't centred around grief, pain, or loss. The book explores the strength that emerges only after breaking, the faith that holds when nothing else can, a love that deepens amidst despair, the flickers of joy that shine through even in the darkest days, and the surrender that brings a quiet sense of power. The core message remains: Life may throw challenges our way that have the strength to break us, but we don’t have to break. That choice always remains with us.

Here’s an excerpt from Aarti Pathak’s Triple Negative~ a tale of love, faith, and surrender:

Once chemotherapy ended, the doctors gave me a 21-day waiting period for radiation to start. With no hospital appointments to distract me, I saw my emotions swing wildly from warm and happy highs to deep and depressive lows.

The first big trigger had hit me much earlier. It was one evening when just a few chemos remained. The way the cold breeze felt on my arms told me the season was changing. It was going to be Diwali season.

For some children, their birthdays are special days. For some, it is the summer vacation with their family. For me, it was Diwali. Diwali with Mumma. It didn’t matter what circumstances we, as a family, were going through; she always made it special. For many Diwalis, Papa was at the border. But Mumma never let us feel any kind of worry. Neither on Diwali nor ever. Thinking back, I recall that she, too, went on about her days with unbelievable faith in God. In surrender. As I gently rubbed my arms to warm them, I pushed away the agonising thought that this would be my first Diwali without her.

But, unwanted, dark thoughts had already taken hold of me. Like an invisible hand, they dragged me mentally downward. And so, one morning, I found myself stuck deep in a dismal, dark, slippery chasm. I wasn’t falling further, nor could I climb out. It was as though I had hit a tiny ledge, a fragile foothold that kept me from free-falling into the endless darkness below.

I looked down repeatedly, and it showed me how far I could fall. The darkness wasn’t just an absence of light; it was alive, seething, and restless, with tendrils of shadow curling and reaching for me as if they could sense my despair. It stood for the gaping hole Mumma’s absence had left in my heart, a grief so vast it consumed more and more aspects of me, threatening to swallow me whole one day. It taunted me, whispering that if I fell in, I would never climb out. A cold fright gripped me, and I missed the warmth of hope I once carried.

I looked up and glimpsed my cheerful bedroom. I felt comfort and familiarity. I saw myself walking past with my children, with their laughter echoing faintly, or sitting with my husband, with his reassuring presence grounding me. Those glimpses felt like lifelines—fragile and vital. They were reminders that the world outside existed and the possibility of escape with it.

I clung to that hope, telling myself I wasn’t lost as long as I could see it. Or that I could have descended into a place much darker.

I experienced this visual daily, often while engaging in mundane tasks like making the bed, setting up my yoga mat, and even checking WhatsApp. It was relentless, creeping into every quiet moment, whispering cruel reminders like, “You will never feel your mother’s warm embrace again.” The oppressive darkness became my companion, following me into every waking hour.

Extracted with permission from Aarti Pathak's TRIPLE NEGATIVE~ a tale of love, faith, and surrender; published by Garuda Prakashan.