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.

Leelamma

We have our first patient admitted at the Jeevan Sahara Kendra Community Care Centre.


The call came on Friday. From a church-member in a house-church that meets in Mulund. He knew a poor family where the mother was sick. She had been repeatedly to hospital and had used up all the money they had. She was still sick. Could I put her in touch with a large private hospital and get admitted under charity there.

I knew that this hospital was full up - having just started the operations last month and still not running at full capacity. So I suggested that he bring the lady to Jeevan Sahara and Dr. Sheba would assess her and see what could be done.

They came the next day. The lady - we will call her Leelamma - brought her reports. Amidst all the papers was one statement. HIV seropositive.

Leelamma was HIV positive and no one had told her about it. Her husband who was with her had not been tested. We tested him.

Leelamma is in stage 4 HIV sickeness. What we call AIDS. She had a fever of 102 when she came. We wanted to admit her immediately.

She did not. She said she wanted to go home. That she was not ready. That her children needed her. That she wanted to go to church on Sunday. That she would come back on Monday.

We didn't force her. But we told her and her husband that Leelamma was very sick.

On Monday morning they did not show up at 9 am. At 11 I called up the man who had referred her intially. He looked it up (and probably gave her a nudge to get going). At 12.30 Leelamma and her husband showed up.

Her husband is also positive. We told him the news.

Leelamma was admitted.

Last night she spent her first night at the JSK community care centre.

This morning - as I type this - the first strains of songs from our morning staff prayers have started. Leelamma and her husband are sitting with us.

Another step in our journey.

Smile

I almost see her smile before I see her.

She is wearing the uniform of a contract employee.

She is taking bags at a nearby supermarket. You hand in your bag or helmet or whatever - and she puts it in a shelf and gives you a little plastic number for you to reclaim your belongings later.

She is dressed in the dark blue uniform of the contract agency. The supermarket doesn't want to employ staff - so it 'outsources' the bulk of its staff to these agencies - who 'provide' the services.

She is HIV positive.

None of the shoppers know that. She has not told her employers. And she does not need to. Nothing that she is doing will put anyone at any risk of getting HIV.

The shoppers all have a far, far, far higher risk of dying to by falling into the mayonnaise jars and cutting up their faces - than getting HIV from her when they give her their helmets and bags and she gives them their little numbers.

She, on the other hand, will almost certainly lose her job if she discloses her HIV status to the agency which has 'supplied' her to the supermarket.

How do we know she is HIV positive?

Well, we know it because of the many times we have prayed with her.

Four years ago Tina (name changed of course) was dying. She could not keep anything down and was continuously vomiting. The doctors at the civil hospital had washed their hands off her. She came to us as a matter of last resort.

Sheba and the nurses looked after her. They cared for her at our clinic for two prayer-soaked weeks. She pulled through.

After she was discharged, Tina continued to grow strong. She was working with a travel agency. Then she wanted to start a business on her own with a friend. That fell through. Tina went through some ups and downs - but physically she remained very much on the mend. She had the courage of standing up infront of 400 young people at one of our YAA Festivals and telling her story.

Then one day she told us about a great new opportunity she was getting. A group had encouraged her to invest money. She was going to get an astounding rate of return. And what's more - she was being given a dream job. This group were Christians no less. And they wanted people to be praying round the clock. And so they were hiring her to be on their prayer team. She was going to be paid to pray.

It sounded too good to be true. My hackles went up immediately. But Tina was firm in her decision to join this group.

As expected, what sounded too good to be true .... just wasn't.

My blood boils when I hear about these pyramid schemes that use Christianity as a bait to get people involved. They keep saying the same thing - if you join us - you will benefit. No problems if you want to leave. You can do ministry too. Yada yada. The basic pull is simple. You can get rich.

The typical pyramid scheme (also called Ponzi schemes, multi-level marketing etc) is built on people selling something - and passing a commission up the line. The more people you recruit into this - the richer you get - because you are now benefitting from the money others are passing up to you. If you have been able to get a lot of people excited about your scheme - then you are going to get a lot of money coming your way.

There will always be a few who - at least early in the game - rake it in. They are never silent about what they are earning. Their stories are what push the others forward. "Oh so-and-so - well he pulls in 12 lakh per month!" "That person has two swimming pools - and we got to swim in them!" and other such aspirational gossip flows around.

When I was at college in the US - there was a group of students who were selling water-filters. That in a country where 3 cases of diarrheoa makes the headlines of the local papers. The reason they were sold on selling - was to convince folks that their water tasted funny and needed this filter. They achieved his by adding some chemical to 'unfiltered' water - which turned it an unappetising deep-urine-yellow - and then doing the same with their 'filtered' water - which remained beautifully clear. No one wants to drink urine was the not-so-subliminal message. But the real driver of it all was the big boss who used to call up his troops and tell them about how much he earned - and cajole them to recruit others.

At the base of it all is a simple question. What is really adding value? If you are making something real - then you can expect profits of 10-25% per year. Competition kicks in and whatever you do - there will be others making a similar thing and giving good rates to your potential customers.

So anyone who says they are making 100 - 500% profit per year is lying - or they are syphoning off the 'pay-ins' of folks who are signing up to become their dealers - and will soon run away with the money - leaving the lower level guys high and dry.

For Tina's group - they dolled it up with Christian-sounding jargon like 'blessings points' and 'super-natural'.

Tina lost her money - for all I know - and also her job. It was over 5 months since she was paid. She prayed. She regularly did her 'job' of supplicating for others. But she was not given the salary that she was promised - and that she received when she first joined to group. Tina got nothing for the past 5 months. And so she had to 'quit.' The heavily 'Christian' rhetoric did not match up with reality.

And it cannot.

So Tina is now working as a contract employee for an agency that 'supplies' her services to the supermarket. She works 12 hours a day. 7 days a week. No offs.

And she continues to be HIV positive.

And Tina's smile remains bright.

Though life continues to give her hard knocks aplenty - her faith in God (despite the slimy ones that claimed to be working in His name) continues to be strong. Sadly, because of the terms of her current job she cannot go to church on Sunday mornings.

Camping

In a faraway land called holiday there lived a little boy.

His name was Enoch. Just before he travelled to this magical place he made himself a list.

Wrote it down. Put pen to paper. What he wanted to do when he got to this enchanted isle.

Here is that list:


How did he do?

Well chocolate chip cookies were made:


The second food item - 'jelly' was also served - as part of a 'trifle' that Oma made for us:


The 'doubles badminton' did not get played - because for the first two days of our time in Mussoorie it was a form of 'baseball' that reigned supreme:


Some Tintin books? Many. Every last one of them that remains from our boyhood collection. Enoch's Daddy also explored the world through Herge's eyes again...


But the big one. The very first item on Enoch's list. That was the one we were really hoping to do this time.

'Camping (2, 3 days)' is what he wrote.

For most of the time we were at Shanti Kunj going camping seemed almost as distant a dream as it seems to us know down in sweltering monsoonal Mumbai-land.

The reason was that at the end of my second joy-filled day in Mussoorie my old back injury showed up again like an unwelcome visitor. The next 3 full days I was horizontal. And in pain. Going hiking was the last thing that we considered possible.

Added to this was Opa's own injury. A few days before we arrived, Opa was involved in an cycle-rickshaw accident. The aging peddler had swerved to try and miss a speed breaker. In the process the contraption turned turtle. With Opa beneath it and in a ditch. Mercifully there were no iron or glass pieces in that gutter. But Opa did get a very bad gash on his foot which needed stiches at the Landour Community Hospital. And the recovery process was slow.

So the two men of our Holiday home were invaldided (Stefan and Neeru and kids had gone down after the second day). The camping dream started to fade.

But hope does spring up.

I all happened on the penultimate day. With only packing and saying-good-bye day and going-down-to-the-plains-to-catch-the-train to look forward to - we actually did it.

We left at 4 in the afternoon for a hike. And a camping experience. The very first one that Asha and Enoch and their cousin Joanna had ever had.

Our destination - the peak of Flag Hill.


How were we going to get there?

Down the beautiful walk along the ridge that passes over Fairy Glen, then past First Jabbarkhet and up the road to the gap. Then up the ridge to the top of Flag Hill. Opa and Vicky and Prem were taking a taxi with our saman to the gap. From their they carried up the things to the top - with Opa remaining there and awaiting our arrival.

The walk down and then back up was exhilarating. So much beauty all around us - the stately Deodars take your breath away:


And then you pass through the delightfully mixed forest of oaks and cedars and deodars and blue pines and Himalayan maples - not to forget the glorious chestnut trees... and you know that just below you are the lovely picnic areas of Fairy Glen.


Sooner than you expect (after a water and cinnamon bun halt of course) you are down at Jabbarkhet and climbing up again.

Then the real fun starts. The metalled road is behind you. Small tracks lead you up. The ridge of Flag Hill beckons.


A little bit of huffing and puffing later, you come to the top of the ridge and gaze in wonder at the hills unfolding around you.


This is not some lofty Himalayan peak - but the joy of getting to the top, of seeing sky above you it terrific. The kids and Oma have gone far ahead by now to search for Opa. They find him sleeping peacefully with the luggage.

In the late afternoon sun there is a lot to explore at the top of Flag Hill. The name, incidentally, seems to be linked with the Tibetan prayer flags that festoon the top of this hill.


But wait, there is work to be done! We need to set up camp before it gets dark!

Ok everyone. Fan out and collect dry wood. And pine cones.

Joanna does her part in preparing for the night:



Meanwhile, Opa starts the fire and tends it carefully. A pot is put on the fire almost immediately to brew up some tea for us.


And then the tents are pitched.

What fun.

You start with a flat area, covered with pine needles. A short diligent search is made for stones and sticks that would trouble you during the night. These are tossed away into the bushes and the tents are unrolled.

We had one two-man pup tent:


As well as a 4 man dome tent (borrowed from some dear friends of Mum and Dad). Young and old helped pitch the miracle.


And as soon as the tents were up the little ones wanted to go inside. And sleep they said. But the smiles tell the whole story.


Its all first time for Asha and Enoch. And terribly exciting of course.

After the tea - the pot is put on the fire again to cook the evening meal.

Wai-wai noodles - here we come!


Good hot food in our bellies - and the onset of the evening at hand. Time for an extended sit around the camp-fire as the evening wind start wailing along the ridge that we are on.


With Opa faithfully tending the fire - it takes on a beauty of its own. The orange flames dancing and licking the wood - alternately blossoming like a bouquet of light - and then calming down to a dull red bed of glowing embers - the the occasional tongue of flame.


And in another first - our kids had marshmallows for the first time. And what better way to eat them than by impaling them on a stick and holding the marshmallows close to the fire, till the puff up in a sweet sticky mess that our mouths gladly - if a bit gingerly - welcome in.

The kids found the heat of the roasted marshmallows a bit hard to deal with - but their sticky mouths and cheeks showed that where there is a will, there are ways!


And so it was time to hit the sack. Or crawl into our sacks at least. The initial bravado that Asha, Joanna and Enoch showed about sleeping in the pup-tent soon evaporated. They were to be with Sheba and I - while Oma and Opa shared the small tent.


Snug as bugs in a rug. No less.

The night passed. With the normal shifting and surging that anynight slept under the sky does. But what a joy to be up on a mountain again, surrounded by people you love, and cuddled up in that warm cocoon that your sleeping bag becomes.

After a few waking ups in the night, I saw that the morning had come.

One of my sleeping beauties had also opened her eyes. The other three sets of eyes were tightly shut as the first rays of lit up the cloudy skies.

I went out to collect fire wood and make some tea. The embers of the previous night's fire were still glowing and a few sticks on them soon had the flames dancing again.

And then our mini-adventure began.

The heavens opened.

First a light rain. Just pin-pricks in the mist that swirled around as I walked through the woods - picking up twigs.

Then the big drops started falling. I headed back to the tent. On my way there the drops turned to ice - we were being hailed on. I dove into the tent door and put my wet shoes in a corner.

The little ones were awake by now and thrilled to see the ground covered with icy pebbles.

Being true Eichers - the next gen had brought books along with them. These were out in a flash.


Oma and Opa got wet. The little pup tent was just a bit too small for them. And a bit too wet.

We happily welcomed our 'refugees' in the spacious dome tent we had.

And were so glad we had brought in all the materials the night before we slept.

Breakfast in bed- or at least in sleeping bags!


And after breakfast - Narnia! We read from 'The Horse and His Boy' and were taken to a different world.

This was very precious for me because here we were recreating for the current generation of Eichers so much of what was precious for me growing up. The joy of being out doors. The pleasure of being with each other. The excitement of hearing stories read out (and the joy of reading them out to others).

As the rain continued to fall - we were exploring the deserts on the border of Archenland and how the intrepid 4some were going to make it to Narnia in time to warn them of the invasion...

... in the mean time, the sun decided to come out.

At just the right time.

We were up and tearing down our tents at 10.30.


As the adults packed up - the kids did some final exploring of our wonderland.


And then it was down the mountain for us.

We were rewarded with some breathtaking (and camera-defying) glimpses of the snow in the high Himalayas to the North - and an amazing vista that the rain-washed mid-morning air gave us to the South.


As we ended the great camping experience - we were just so grateful that it had happened. With all our weaknesses - we were still able to go out and camp this time. It was not quite the 2-3 days Enoch had written on his list before we went to Mussoorie - but it was very precious to us as a family.

So grateful to loving God for the many experiences of His love that we are given. Its a great life. And continues to be. Praise Him.

Bleeding

"The woman with the issue of blood" is one of the people from the Bible who we know well.

We know her well because we often talk about her in our HIV care trainings. This woman's experience uncannily mirrors the terrible sufferings that people with HIV go through (thanks to Dr. Daniel Fountain for pointing this out to us many years ago).

The woman has an incurable disease. She was known to have irregular, constant bleeding for 12 years. Mark records that she had suffered a great deal under the care of many doctors (Mark 5.26). Luke says no was able to heal her (Luke 8.43). Her

Luke (a doctor himself) reports "she had spent all she had on doctors" (Luke 8.43). This was a woman who was poor. Whatever income she had before - it was gone now. She was ruined. How did she keep herself alive - we don't know - but she was destitute - and desparate.

The woman was also alone. Was she married? If she had been - she would have been divorced by her husband a long time ago. Which man in the Jewish society of the day would put up with a woman who kept bleeding - despite doctors visits and prayers?

If she was not married yet... well fat chance of ever getting married. Who will give their son to a woman who has no chance of giving a son back?

Did she have family? We don't know. The ritual law of the day meant that anyone touching a menstruating woman would be unclean. And if the flow of blood did not stop - the woman was considered unclean till it did.

This lady probably had no one touch her for years. Her starvation for the most basic human love language - the simple language of bodily touch - would have been acute.

And to compound things - all of this was 'in the open.' News travels. Tongues wag. 'Why did she not get better?' 'God must be punishing her' 'She has some hidden sin' Having her illness linked with her reproductive organs only heightened the shame and rejection she must have felt.

Yes we know this woman very well.

Because she is still here with us.

Not only one. But many.

Right now we have two ladies with HIV who are suffering from continous bouts of long-term bleeding. We have counselled them and are trying hard to get medical attention.

No one wants to touch them because they are HIV positive.

We sent one of them recently for a workup to a hysterectomy. We will call her Leela. The surgeon at the govt. hospital refused. Leela was given medicines and told to go home. She took the medicines. Leela is still bleeding.

These are thin women. Frail from the daily loss of blood. From the rejection and shame they undergo. Trying to look after their children. Trying to live with hope.

The story is the same for the other. Lets call her Shalini. We have been working through Shalini's case. When she was rejected for surgery at two places we are trying one of the largest govt. hospitals in Mumbai for her.

What did Jesus do?

He let the woman touch Him. He let power go from His robe. But He also brought her back.

So that she could tell her full story. So that others would hear of her sufferings. So that He could tell call her 'daughter'. So that she could be restored to be all that she was meant to be.

He wants us to do the same. Leela and Shalini are just two of his precious daughters who need healing.

Flashback

I was talking to a man after a gospel meeting yesterday night. We will call him Marcus. I mentioned that we work with people who have HIV/AIDS. Marcus said that one of his best friends died of AIDS.

It was in the early days of the epidemic in Bombay.

His friend was taken to JJ hospital. It was hell. The people with AIDS were put on a balcony with a grill on it - and were basically out in the open according to Marcus.

Marcus said that his friends told him not to go meet his friend. He said no - that HIV does not spread to those who love and care. He went and helped his friend in the hospital. He carried him to the toilet when he was too weak to walk.

His friend developed a big swelling in the lymph node on his neck. Tuberculosis.

Marcus said that he thought that the hospital killed him off. "They purposely give less medicines to them"

One day he came to meet his friend. And his friend was gone. The nurses wouldn't tell him what happened to his friend.

Someone else was in the bed where his friend had been.

Its no wonder that there are deep rooted fears about getting help at a govt. hospital.

Lego F1

In a universe far, far away from the mundane one we live in - a race is going on.

Not your normal one, mind you. One where the roar of engines bellows and where the cheers of the crowd swirl up with the fumes of petrol and burning rubber...

All at a very small scale of course.

Welcome to another father-son collaboration - our own lego F1

As cars come down the final stretch they are desperately vying for position.


The stands whiz by them as they jockey for every available inch of road trying to best each other.

Who finally crosses the line and gets the black and white chequered flag?


Thats for our race controlers to decide up in their tower....

And so the games go on.

The glory of lego - the game that you build and play and dream and build again.

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in the mean time, Enoch has populated the cars with robot drivers... the game continues...