`It is tough having AIDS in India`

[Guest guest]

`It is tough having AIDS in India`

By Iqbal Ansari in Mumbai

Wednesday, 07 July , 2004, 10:39

India's cases of HIV and AIDS shot up to more than five million last

year, a jump of 10 per cent that led activists to accuse the

government of showing complacency towards the epidemic.

The increase, to 5.1 million, puts India just below South Africa as

the country with the most HIV-positive people — South Africa has 5.3

million people living with HIV or AIDS, or one out of every nine of

its citizens.

India recorded 5,20,000 new HIV cases in 2003 and the World Bank

accuses India of sweeping its AIDS problem under the carpet, warning

that the region would be devastated by an African-like crisis unless

swift action is taken.

To check what the reaction and sensitivity of the state is to

somebody who announces himself as a victim, reporter Iqbal Ansari

posed as an AIDS patient and went to Mantralaya yesterday. This is

what he experienced

HELPFUL: The constable at the gate

11.50 am

Armed with medical reports confirming my HIV positive status, I am

at the main gate of Mantralaya in torn clothes and worn out sandals.

A constable gently taps me on the shoulder and directs me to the

queue for the entry pass.

11.52 am

I join the queue and get an entry pass in five minutes.

RUDE:

Inspector P Garud

12.00 pm

I reach the security check counter at Mantralaya. Inspector P Garud

rudely points me to the first floor, and maintains a safe distance

between us.

12.05 pm

On the first floor is Health Minister Digvijay Khanvilkar's office.

The minister is in a meeting. I am directed to his personal

assistant Vikas Sawde.

HELPFUL: Minister's assistant Vikas Sawde

12.10 pm

I start coughing. Sawde is helpful and guides me to a typist, who is

to give me my recommendation letter. He also tells me that I can get

free treatment at J J Hospital, Byculla.

12.15 pm

I go in search of the typist and ask him to type my letter. The

typist says he has no idea and goes back to the PA for

clarification. He returns and asks me to wait outside the room.

ANGRY: Typist asks patient to wait outside

12.25 pm

I go to the typist and tell him, " Saab, woh letter? " The typist

screams at me and asks me to wait outside.

12.45 pm

A peon gets the recommendation letter. The letter addressed to the J

J Hospital directs authorities to admit me and report my progress to

the health minister. The peon seems uncomfortable while handing over

the letter.

POLITE AND HELPFUL: Secretary's officer

1 pm

I go to Navin Kumar's office, principal secretary, public health,

which is on the same floor. Kumar is abroad. His staffer P A Ashok

is extremely polite. He goes through the file and asks me to revisit

on July 7 when the officer is expected to be in office. He also

suggests that I should meet the Health Secretary M S Gill.

1.15 pm

Gill was in a meeting. His secretary says I could either wait for

the meeting to conclude at 3 pm or I could go meet the health

minister.

1.30 pm

I go to Chief Minister Sushilkumar Shinde's office on the sixth

floor. I want to ask him for monetary and medical help to see how he

reacts to an HIV patient. Inspector Garud, who had screamed at me

near the security check, recognises me and refuses to allow me in.

FINISHED: A relief and an education

1.45 pm

I leave Mantralaya armed with a recommendation letter.

A humbling experience

After I took on the role of an HIV patient for this assignment, my

first task was arranging for genuine medical papers.

Gathering medical papers was not at all easy as often families

destroy the papers of an HIV-infected family member after his or her

death. The reason is that they think the papers could be infectious

or be unlucky.

But once I got hold of the papers and began my assignment, I

discovered that my assumption that people at Mantralaya would be

unhelpful was unfounded. It took me under 2 hours to get my

recommendation letter!

I had a set of varied experiences from people I encountered at

Mantralaya — from a courteous " line mein khade ho jao, pass milega " ,

to the angry " saab nahin hain bola na, aap niche jao… " But I still

got my work done.

At times I felt odd, sometimes guilty, when passers-by looked at me

curiously. They pitied by torn shirt, but had no idea about my

assumed state of health. It was odd being someone else — especially

someone who wasn't exactly accepted with open arms in our society.

It was humbling.

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