There are few times when I have been genuinely astounded on this ride, but Monday afternoon was one of them. With Sukhdeep, one of CanKids’ team, and Dev, a CanLiver-cum-ethical-hacker of seventeen, we visited the oncology department of a hospital in Chandigarh. Chandigarh is notable for being India’s only orderly city (it was designed by a Swiss-Frenchman, Le Corbusier, in the early 1950s and resembles a waffle on google maps), though the signs directing us to the paediatric wing were anything but. As we searched, we saw hundreds of people sitting and lying on the sparsely grassed ground, waiting for appointments and relatives, sometimes overnight.

We entered the meeting room and amidst the twenty oncology staff, one girl immediately caught my eye.

Not that way.

Around five feet, and ten years she was wearing a brown buff with orange and yellow and blue swirls over her head, and a grey jumper that said “POP!” in red and “NO WAY” in rainbow. Her face was latte brown, yet somehow slightly pallid. She gave me a bright smile behind her mask.

After explaining about my expedition Prof Amita Trehan, the director of paediatric oncology, introduced the two other CanLivers in the room. One was studying pharmacology and the other was the little girl who sat in the corner with her parents.

“And Sukhnaaz does an amazing British accent,” said the doctor.

“Does she now?” I replied politely.

“Go on,” said the doctor.

“I do love a cup of tea, and I hold my pinkie like this,” said Sukhnaaz, in a masterful and intriguing combination of Queen’s English and cockney.

She then paused, composed her face and changed tack.

“Alright, how’s it going?” She said with a subtle American twang. East or West Coast I don’t know but it certainly wasn’t deep south.

“And she sings,” the doctor smiled. “It makes all of us very happy. Will you sing for us?”

Sukhnaaz looked reluctant, and then with more pressure than I would have liked as a child, Prof Amita and her parents encouraged her. She was the youngest in the room by seven years, and by all rights, the one to feel most vulnerable, tired and retiring.

“Just close your eyes and open your mouth,” her dad gently cajoled.

She closed her eyes. And opened her mouth.

“I am invincible, unbreakable, unstoppable, unshakable!” Her voice filled the room with energy and light. She sang without holding back, letting her clear voice rip. Her voice projected into each of us.  If I had closed my eyes, I would have thought a pop star had entered the room. Carrie Underwood’s creation had been breathed to life in this most unlikely of places.

The mood changed. In fact, it felt like the world had shifted, so slightly. That this energy, this abandon, outpouring could be possible from a girl in a grey jumper and brown buff, undergoing chemotherapy. Who would have thought this could happen?

Sukhnaaz had a remarkable power to lift people up around her.

A few minutes later she asked Dev and I how we managed to motivate ourselves in the darker moments. Perhaps surprising, given what we had just witnessed, but oh so honest, so human – because we all face those moments. It seemed like she needed no advice from me, but I’m also aware that no matter how positive a person is capable of being, it’s never like that 24/7. I’m certainly not.

Dev said to get lost in something – researching something you’re interested by, or playing GTA. My advice was: start as small as possible doing something you like. If you enjoy writing, don’t try to write a page. When you’re down a page can feel totally overwhelming and unachievable. Instead, start with a sentence, a phrase, even a word. The amount actually isn’t that important – it’s about setting a positive spiral in motion. That will maximise your chances of creating your own motivation. And even if you stop after one word, that’s one more word than you would have written otherwise. In other words: a success.

Soon we had to go. As we said goodbye, Sukhnaaz told me she was a “Potterhead” and her favourite character was Herminie. “I can do an impression of her too,” she smiled with a hint of pride.

“Go on.”

“It’s not wingardium leviosa Ron, it’s wing-gar-dium levi-o-sa!” She said faultlessly. Naturally.

“And what do you hope to do in the future?” I asked (a question I hate, but found myself asking all the same).

“I want to be a doctor. A singing, dancing, doctor!”

I hope she will be, because goodness knows, the world needs more of those.

N.B. During my journey through India, we are partnering with CanKids Kids Can, a cancer charity that helps children with cancer – and their families – throughout India. Whether this is through increasing symptom awareness, homestays near the hospitals, or financial help for transport or treatment, CanKids is making a real, positive, and lasting change to the chances and opportunities of children throughout India. They make Sukhnaaz’s singing possible, and Dev’s efforts to make the internet a more secure place. Please consider supporting them, and our four other impactful UK-based charities by donating here: https://www.gofundme.com/f/ghcus-bristol2beijing.