Positive Voices
On Thursday there was an event called ‘Postive Voices’ at the Ambedkar Bhavan. The concept? People living with HIV / AIDS were given a platform to address a panel of representatives from government agencies and hospitals.
The DISHA family turned out in force. The fieldworkers looked immaculate in their matching sarees. Avinash and Hans were smartly dressed in white. With assorted friends, offspring and volunteers coming along too, we numbered perhaps 30 people out of the 200 or so who attended.
Several HIV+ speakers came and addressed the hall. First up was a young homeless woman. I missed her name. She spoke in Marathi, as did everyone else. I understood next to nothing, but I could still sense her passion, and her despair. Other speakers followed.
The panel then had their say. Again I understood very little, but their body language was defensive. They faced some tough questions in the Q&A session at the end, some of them coming from the DISHA staff.
Two small boys were sat on the chairs behind us. The boys started arguing. “Shhh!” I said. They laughed. They boys started fighting. I gave them an old-fashioned look. The boys laughed harder. Hey ho. In the end I kept them happy by taking a couple of photos with my digital camera and showing them the snaps.
The session came to a close and there was the usual networking and number swapping. Hopefully everyone got something from the event.
The next morning a group of us went to visit Sahara. Cyrus wanted to shoot some video footage, perhaps to be used for fundraising. We were all enthralled as Errol sat patiently and told us his story. More on that another time, but the man is amazing. He and his team are saints. As I checked the video camera monitor, It looked like Errol had a halo. That should come as no surprise to anyone.
Later we returned to the DGS office. After a while I popped out to grab a quick snack from a nearby food stall on Dhole Patil Road. On the way I passed the woman who’d spoken at Positive Voices. She was accompanied by the two boys – her sons, evidently. They were all dressed in the same clothes as they’d been wearing the day before, as was I. The difference was that they’d slept on the street while I’d stayed overnight with friends after a dinner and a few drinks. I waved a hello to the boys – they seemed to be getting on better than yesterday, fortunately. They gave smiles in return.
At the food stall I bought some chapati bhaiji to take away. As I was leaving, The woman and her sons were walking by. Suddenly I didn’t feel very hungry any more. I handed over the parcel of food. “Can you use this?”
I looked at her two sons. Shit - I’d better get some more.
The pulav had just finished, so I picked up two wada pav and gave them to the boys. I collected another chapati bhaji for myself, said goodbye, and walked the two minute journey home, deep in thought.
As I opened the door to my flat I picked up the Indian Express. Straight away I saw a story about the Positive Voices event.
“‘Why doesn’t the government help us?’ It’s a living hell for HIV patients who cry out for help” ran the headline. There, in the first paragraph of the story, were Surekha’s words – she had a name now! – translated into English.
“Mee sadak var rahte. Mala HIV zhale aahe. Mazha gunha nahi. Pan mala rickshawale martat. Station var police hakaltat. Shasan amhala ka madat karat nahi.”(I stay on the footpath. I am HIV positive due to no fault of mine. But autorickshaw drivers trouble and the police kick me out of the station premises. Why doesn’t the government help us?)
Surekha can speak for herself. I hope people will listen.
The DISHA family turned out in force. The fieldworkers looked immaculate in their matching sarees. Avinash and Hans were smartly dressed in white. With assorted friends, offspring and volunteers coming along too, we numbered perhaps 30 people out of the 200 or so who attended.
Several HIV+ speakers came and addressed the hall. First up was a young homeless woman. I missed her name. She spoke in Marathi, as did everyone else. I understood next to nothing, but I could still sense her passion, and her despair. Other speakers followed.
The panel then had their say. Again I understood very little, but their body language was defensive. They faced some tough questions in the Q&A session at the end, some of them coming from the DISHA staff.
Two small boys were sat on the chairs behind us. The boys started arguing. “Shhh!” I said. They laughed. They boys started fighting. I gave them an old-fashioned look. The boys laughed harder. Hey ho. In the end I kept them happy by taking a couple of photos with my digital camera and showing them the snaps.
The session came to a close and there was the usual networking and number swapping. Hopefully everyone got something from the event.
The next morning a group of us went to visit Sahara. Cyrus wanted to shoot some video footage, perhaps to be used for fundraising. We were all enthralled as Errol sat patiently and told us his story. More on that another time, but the man is amazing. He and his team are saints. As I checked the video camera monitor, It looked like Errol had a halo. That should come as no surprise to anyone.
Later we returned to the DGS office. After a while I popped out to grab a quick snack from a nearby food stall on Dhole Patil Road. On the way I passed the woman who’d spoken at Positive Voices. She was accompanied by the two boys – her sons, evidently. They were all dressed in the same clothes as they’d been wearing the day before, as was I. The difference was that they’d slept on the street while I’d stayed overnight with friends after a dinner and a few drinks. I waved a hello to the boys – they seemed to be getting on better than yesterday, fortunately. They gave smiles in return.
At the food stall I bought some chapati bhaiji to take away. As I was leaving, The woman and her sons were walking by. Suddenly I didn’t feel very hungry any more. I handed over the parcel of food. “Can you use this?”
I looked at her two sons. Shit - I’d better get some more.
The pulav had just finished, so I picked up two wada pav and gave them to the boys. I collected another chapati bhaji for myself, said goodbye, and walked the two minute journey home, deep in thought.
As I opened the door to my flat I picked up the Indian Express. Straight away I saw a story about the Positive Voices event.
“‘Why doesn’t the government help us?’ It’s a living hell for HIV patients who cry out for help” ran the headline. There, in the first paragraph of the story, were Surekha’s words – she had a name now! – translated into English.
“Mee sadak var rahte. Mala HIV zhale aahe. Mazha gunha nahi. Pan mala rickshawale martat. Station var police hakaltat. Shasan amhala ka madat karat nahi.”(I stay on the footpath. I am HIV positive due to no fault of mine. But autorickshaw drivers trouble and the police kick me out of the station premises. Why doesn’t the government help us?)
Surekha can speak for herself. I hope people will listen.
posted by Paul Heron at 11:54 pm
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home