Last Stop

IT’S not clear how they all gravitated to Chennai. Some had run away from home and, finding themselves trapped in the big city, had sold their bodies for a living. Others were traded to brothel owners in Mumbai’s infamous sex zone, Kamatipura, and when it was discovered that they were too far gone to service clients, were put on a southbound train. Once in Chen-nai, they eked out a living on the streets till they collapsed and some concerned soul dialled ‘6216421’—the helpline of Udavum Karangal (Helping Hands), a social service organisation which provides shelter to the homeless and those in distress since 1983. "We never had anything to do with AIDS. Neither did we wish to brand anyone as positive or negative," says S. Vidyakar, founder of Udavum Karangal. The question arose when he tried to hospitalise a woman he had rescued from the streets, and was told she could not be admitted since she had full-blown AIDS.

That was four years ago. Since then, new inmates have been routinely tested and those whose infected status has been confirmed by the Western Blot test and are suffering are given sanctuary at Karunalayam. "Neither relatives nor hospitals want to have anything to do with them. That’s why we now have a special centre for the HIV-infected and homeless." To improve the patient’s quality of life is what Karunalayam aims at. And, one can see a fair amount of cheer amidst the pain and suffering.

All the women were found in a bruised and battered condition when the distress call speeded Karangal volunteers to them. Rohini, 30, a postgraduate in Commerce from Tuticorin who had run away from an unhappy marriage, was abandoned in Panagal Park in Chennai’s upper middle-class residential area, T Nagar. She had been abused by a group of students. Her family was contacted, but in vain—her parents felt it was better for her to be in Karunalayam since she had gone "astray" and "lived a life of sin". The fact that she was HIV-positive did not help either. Rohini now spends her time reading out film gossip and stories to other inmates. "I don’t think I want to go home," she says, "I’ve lived a very immoral life." Sheena, who speaks a smattering of Hindi and hails from Bengal, has still not recovered from the shock of finding herself marooned in alien Chennai. She had been brutally abused by a gang of men who left her in an unconscious state on Marina beach. It was a passerby who called Udavum Karangal. The 24-year-old woman does not even remember the first few days at the home. Neither does she wish to talk about her past...there were times when she had to entertain up to 10 customers in an evening.

Prayer and group activities is what keeps the inmates occupied. Not much time is given for introspection. It’s considered important to keep the inmates engaged in activity of one sort or the other—for, death does come calling on Karunalayam frequently. In the last four years, 75 HIV-infected inmates have died. In all, 200 HIV cases have been admitted since 1992. During our last visit, a little over a month ago, there was a woman we had talked to. She was terminally ill then. Now she is no more. Similarly, Aruna, who worked as an extra in the film industry, was another inmate who was deserted by her friends after she was found to be HIV-positive and deteriorating rapidly. She spent her last few days at Karunalayam—these were days of excruciating pain, and her body finally gave in, but she was spared a lonely end.

It does look difficult for the volunteers to keep the morale buoyant under such trying circumstances. "We do our best. I think more than anything else, these women need love and care," says A. Sundari, a senior volunteer who lives with the inmates of Karunalayam and runs the home like an elder sister.

SUNDARI finds her present task far more fulfilling than pushing files in a government office. She used to work with the Central Excise Department in Madurai before she quit and joined Vidyakar. This was about the time when the first HIV-infected woman was taken on in Karunalayam and many volunteers had quit for fear of becoming infected themselves. Equally loud protests came from those living in the vicinity of the home, who feared the worst.

Udavum Karangal continued undaunted. Recalls Vidyakar: "The entire question was whether we too should abandon them. I felt we would also be insensitive if we just shut our eyes to the problem. Now we know that the HIV virus is not transmitted by mere contact." Unfortunately, Vidyakar complains that a sizeable section of doctors are still wary of treating HIV-infected patients.

Karunalayam has a doctor on call and a psychiatrist who comes for counselling sessions once a week. Since most inmates have been declared ‘untreatable’ by the government hospital, there is no effort to treat AIDS. Instead, illnesses which develop as a result of the breakdown of the immunity system are routinely treated. Also, wholesome nutrition and a hygienic environment is provided to improve the general health of the inmates.

Vidyakar feels he has been able to provide help for the abandoned and the homeless because Udavum Karangal is funded sol -ely by public charity. He has refrained from running to foreign funding agencies or the government for help. He feels much of the assistance comes with strings attached. And people would have questioned the basic help he was providing to HIV victims. He has also stayed clear of politics and though various parties did offer help, he declined. Says he: "I don’t want interference from any quarter and I’m happy I’ve been able to function independently. I wouldn’t like to give that up."

At the home, there is a lot of emphasis on sharing and caring. The more sturdy help those who are weaker. From keeping the premises clean to washing clothes to cooking—it’s all seen as a group activity. The mornings begin with prayer and meditation at the Ganesh temple. The evenings are usually reserved for fun and games. Often a tape recorder is turned on and the latest Tamil film tunes from A.R. Rahman are belted out and the women take turns to come forward and dance. There is pure joy on their faces—this is when, inmates say, they forget all their cares.

Some women were found uncared for in an advanced stage of pregnancy and have given birth to infants who too have tested HIV positive. The Karunalayam creche has eight such babies. Some mothers died a few months after the delivery. Vidyakar has this story about 16-year-old, Nutan, found in her last month of pregnancy outside a high-profile city college where seminars on women’s issues are frequently conducted. The girl was lying helpless and was initially looked after by a woman selling coconuts. She contacted Udavum Karangal through a friend. Nutan’s daughter, Nadia, is now 11 months old. She too has tested HIV positive, but is in good health. Doctors have told Vidyakar that babies who test HIV positive by the Elisa criterion often turn out to be negative in subsequent Western Blot tests.

Shanta Kumari, in her mid-20s, is now the only inmate who is pregnant. She was found near Mahabalipuram. She admits she was in the flesh trade and had failed to attract customers when she became visibly pregnant. The delivery is expected any day and she says she is in no position to think about her future or that of her baby. Zakira, 26, had been abandoned by her kin after she was sold into the flesh trade. She too was pregnant when she came in. She gave birth to Juliana, now a bouncy 10-month-old. In the creche attached to the home, the younger babies are kept in near-sterile conditions. Lily, Kishore, Arunditi, Kanishka, Suguna and Aditi are all less than two months old and are left to the care of volunteers. Initial tests have shown all the babies to be HIV positive.

Volunteers are clear about the future of the babies born to HIV positive mothers. In the event of the mother succumbing to the disease, the baby would be shifted to one of the orphanages run by Udavum Karangal and brought up by the organisation. One such infant is close to two years old and has now tested negative.

Karunalayam is exclusively for women. It’s not often that HIV-positive males approach social organisations for help. A few cases have come to Vidyakar for help. And he has helped them. But males apparently are not as quickly abandoned as the women, blacklisted by relatives as those who have ‘sinned’ by selling their bodies.

More than anything else, a day at Karunalayam is a grim reminder of the level of sexual abuse and the risks run by those who walk the streets. Bangari, 14, had been left unconscious in the goods yard of Chennai Central railway station. Raziabi, who was put on a train to Chennai by her brothel owner in Mumbai, was brought in by an autorickshaw driver. But before he did this humane act, he had sex with her. Says Vidyakar: "Every tale is a shocking one. But what are we doing about it? Spreading AIDS awareness is relevant. But what about those who have already become infected and will be abandoned by doctors and friends?"