Missing

I have written a number of times about 'seeing' people with HIV. I see people with HIV who are invisible to others because people with HIV have no outward sign that they are living with the virus. They blend in with the crowd. We meet them when we buy fish from them, when they sell us a train ticket, when they drive a bus, when they sell and insurance policy or get us a PAN card, when they run a chemist shop, when they serve in the police (just a few of the professions that our positive friends are actively - and completely safely pursuing in Thane).

These people are visible to me, because I have seen them in our JSK centre. I know their CD4 counts. We have prayed with them and are so proud to see them living normal productive lives.

But today I want to write about the missing.

HIV still has a massive, crushing stigma attatched to it. For every person who is brave enough to come to JSK to receive help, who is open to our staff's discreet health visits to their homes - there are plenty of others who have resisted our coming to meet them. They are afraid. And they have reason to be. People have lost jobs, people have been turned out of rental homes, people have been ostracised when others found out that they have HIV.

Some of our friends have told us upfront that they do not want us to come to their homes. We reluctantly agree.

Most of the time they say that 'they will come when they need help.' Very few do.

I have been thinking about this because I have been missing one woman. We will call her Tanvi. Tanvi came to us through her brother who was a rickshaw driver. Her brother had been given a small card about JSK and he knew that Tanvi's husband Babu was very sick with AIDS. He brought Babu to us and we looked after him.

Initially Babu repsonded well. He was able to start work again. Then we got quite ill. We admitted him at our clinic. When he did not respond immediately, Babu's brother came.

'I will take care of him at the govt. hospital! I know people there. You are not doing anything here. I will make Babu well in 3 days.' was what Babu's brother angiliy told us.

Babu never recovered.

We tried to keep meeting Tanvi. Our staff met her regularly at her home. She buried herself in work. As she did not have children, her days were empty. She filled every available hour with work. Tanvi cleaned houses. Now she started leaving at 7 AM and coming back after 8 PM.

The told our staff to stop meeting her at her in-laws home. She would seek them out when she needed them.

I used to see her at our building complex. She cleaned some of the homes there. When I would pick up our children from the school bus - or be waiting to drop them off I would see Tanvi walk by. She normally would give a small greeting and walk on.

But now she is missing.

We have not seen her for almost a year.

Where is she?

Has she gone back to her village? Unlikely. She would have done so immediately after her husband's death. But we know that Tanvi stayed on for some time.

Has she got more jobs in other housing complexes? Perhaps - but again unlikely. Even if she is working in other homes - one of us will run into her on one of these days.

Is she dead?

Sadly, this is the most likely possibility. One of our last conversations was that she had TB again. Tanvi said she was taking meds from the local health authorities. I told her to come to the JSK clinic and see Dr. Sheba. Tanvi said she would. She did not come.

Most of us don't believe we will ever die. Even if we have seen our loved one die.

Did Tanvi not believe we could help her because her husband died despite getting some level of care? Did Tanvi fear that others would find out about her status if she was seen coming to our centre? Did she commit suicide and end it all? Did she just discount her own HIV status - postponing treatment and care for later - and then come to a point where there was no later? Did she try to get treatments from the quacks - not believing the sober statements (which we try to tinge with hope as well) that she got from us at JSK? Was she angry with one of our staff?

Her disappearance gives us no answers.

I wish I would be proved spectacularly wrong by meeting a hale and hearty Tanvi one of these days.

I don't think I will.