My First Kiss

....... came from this guy. Meet the newest member of our clan, Brutus Edward. His hobbies include treating humans like his own personal sofa-set, tearing the stuffing out of his darling girlfriend, making toothpicks out of mommy's gardenia and rose bushes, and proving his valor against the elderly and toddlers. The last point is especially important to note, considering that usually, pretty much everything scares him, including his own shadow.

Confessions

1) To this date, every year I visit India, I buy an issue of Tinkle, usually at the Trichy railway station. Whether or not I remember all my baggage, I make it a point to sprint the entire length of the crowded platform, to the lonely bookstore tucked away at the very end of the station, to purchase said Tinkle. Needless to say, I usually get a lot of strange looks when I return, comic book in hand. Judging from my haste, I feel like people expect me to be running after a departing train, or in pursuit of a purse-snatcher, or at the very least, to the rescue of a toddler teetering precipitiously close to the edge of the platform as an incoming train comes uncomfortably close to crushing her to death. Imagine their disappointment when they discover that all of the fuss was just over a comic book.

2) Every year, despite the obvious set-back to my ever-increasing waistline, I make it a point to visit Seakings, a.k.a. God's gift to mankind [Can I get an Amen from all my Trichy peeps???] Not once, but at least several times a week. And yes, the chocolate sundae does kick the choco-chips butt, big-time. To all those choco-chips fans out there, you have no idea what you're missing out on.

3) Every year, I also make it a point to play a round of carom, despite my admitted ineptitude at the game. An older male cousin had a great time watching my most recent attempt. Apparently, I would be the world champion if points were awarded for most failed attempts at getting a single coin into a hole.

4) This is probably really going to date me, but "Chikku Bukku" from Gentlemen, the anthem of my early childhood,  is the most played song on my Youtube searchlist. In a close second comes "Mukkala Mukkabala" from Kadhalan.


5) To date, whenever I pass by a park, I make it a point to head straight for the swings and swing blissfully away for hours on end. This is extremely difficult considering that my backside, considerably larger than the children for whom the swings are manufactured, usually becomes completely numb after a few minutes of being squeezed into a volume only a tenth of its actual size. Given that, and the fact that the parents of the other children usually give me the stink-eye for hogging the swings, as their disappointed little babies stand by, eyes welling up and lips quivering pitifully in a preview of the waterworks to ensue. [I swear, I don't do it on purpose. The swings are always empty when I first get on them, and before I've even had the chance to use it for 30 seconds, 20 wide-eyed kids are waiting expectantly for me to get off. It's definitely some sort of conspiracy.]

Most of the confessions I made above are of the little things I do, even as a twenty-something, to relive the exhilarating joy of my childhood. Most of them are just rituals now, like the annual carom game or the issue of Tinkle, a feeble but worthwhile attempt to recreate an event that had a positive emotional impact on my life.

Others are an attempt at connecting with my roots, like the visits to Seakings. As third-generation Trichy folk, many of my cousins have had the priviledge of graduating from the same schools my parents, aunts, uncles, and even grandparents studied at, having the same teachers in certain extreme cases, and even frequenting the same hangouts. Few places in America are invested with that kind of history for me. That's why Seakings holds such a special place in my heart; whenever I'm there I can just imagine my mom bunking college with her buddies to listen to the latest Michael Jackson tapes playing at the parlor, or I can visualize my dad and his entire extended family taking the two buses from their house to Main Guard Gate, every single Sunday, to gorge on multiple ice-creams. Imagine the size of the bill they worked up each week!!!

Still other rituals have died a peaceful death, like my childhood infatuation with playing dress-up, using blankets to re-create a sari. Back then, wearing a sari held an unmistakable attraction, a symbol of the forbidden fruit of maturity and of being "grown-up". Now, a sari is merely a symbol of acting my age, and in a way, this has had the opposite effect on its appeal. The three saris my mother has forced me to purchase sit gathering dust in my closet, while every day, my inexplicable urge to wear my hair in pigtails again grows stronger and stronger.

 I guess the real confession I'm trying to make here is that no matter how old I get, or how many responsibilities I undertake in life, I have and will always continue to feed my inner child. Adults take themselves way too seriously, and I feel that taking the time out to be a kid every once in a while is the only thing that can help preserve our sanity in the crazy world we live in.

Just 'Cuz

Ok readers, today's post will be an exercise in stream of consciousness thinking. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the term, it's kind of a literary convention describing the deranged path your thoughts tend to follow when you think about something. You know what I mean, one minute, you're sitting there writing an exam about cellular function, then all of a sudden the cell as a factory analogy they taught you in class makes you think about Willy Wonka's chocolate factory. Two hours later, whether or not you remember anything about what a Golgi apparatus does, you most certainly do remember how hot Johnny Depp looks in eye-liner and mascara and you've got a sudden, inexplicable craving for a Nerds rope. Totally insane, but makes for very entertaining reading.

This morning I had a memorable stream of consciousness episode that I thought I'd share. I had a playlist running on Youtube when the song "Anjali Anjali" from Duet popped on unexpectedly. Apart from bringing on a rush of great childhood memories, the song started me thinking about the vast ocean called love. That got me thinking about cute marriage proposals, which got me thinking about the cliche one that everybody always does: proposing at the Eiffel Tower.

Now readers, I ask you, what the hell is so romantic about a triangular hunk of iron plopped unceremoniously in the middle of a city? Have you even been to the Eiffel Tower? I have, and I can confirm that there is nothing even remotely romantic about being 986 feet above the ground, unprotected from 90 mph winds that make it impossible to see out of the hair whipping painfully about your face, while you can't help but think that the cables of the only elevator you took up there, which seem to have last been serviced in 1889, could very well snap on your way back down. Being on the Eiffel Tower will definitely help bring you closer to God  as you will most certainly be praying to get back down safely. Bringing you closer to your significant other, not so much.

Thinking about the ineptitude of the Eiffel Tower as a setting for expressing one's everlasting love [ it's a radio-broadcasting tower for goodness sakes!!!] got me thinking about an underutilized yet infinitely more logical proposal site: the Taj Mahal. What screams love like a massive, marble mausoleum? Our love is so amazing even death can't do us part.

Easily the cutest kid on screen, ever. Image courtesy of lazydesis.com

The Taj Mahal was the transition to my next thought, a classic scene from Slumdog Millionaire. In said scene a young Jamal, now eking out a living scamming gullible foreigners as a tour guide at the Taj Mahal, proudly proclaims that Empress Mumtaz died in a traffic accident. Apparantly she couldn't get to the hospital on time to deliver her umpteenth child; sources say it was very tragic.


Which then got me thinking about Chowpatty Beach and roadside chaat stalls, which reminded me of how hungry I was since the last meal I had consumed was almost 10 hours ago.

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Studies have shown that being awake for 17-19 hours is similar to functioning at a blood alcohol level of about 80mg/ml. Considering how much sleep I've been getting lately, I'm probably functioning at a blood alcohol level of 240 mg/ml. I promise to try and get more sleep so that posts wil return to their normal sanity (or insanity, depending on your personal opinion) levels.

Please Help Resuscitate a Poor, Deflated Ego

I still remember reading Charles Dickens' Great Expectations my freshman year of high school. A widely-acknowledged bibliophile, my immediate reactions after reading the book were a) to draw and quarter the pompous, so-called, literary experts who suggest that Dickens has any talent b) flog the sheep-minded school administrator that followed said experts' advice and therefore put the book on the curriculum and c) shoot myself for having actually read every single page of said garbage, instead of sparks-notes-ing (yes I did make that word up) the novel like the rest of my infinitely wiser classmates (having integrity can really suck sometimes).

Luckily for you, my friends, we now live in the age of internet publishing. If you read garbage, you don't have to take it lying down any more. I therefore encourage you to exercise your right to speak about what you read, to talk back to the authors whose opinions you had previously been mutely force-fed, starting first and foremost with this blog here. If you have an opinion, I want to hear it, about the things you read here, about the things on your mind, heck just about anything. As long as your opinions are not racist, sexist, vulgar or obscene, I promise to publish said comment and get back to you in a timely fashion.

Please stop by and introduce yourself. I know somebody's out there reading (the Blogger Stats tab definitely seems to suggest so, and hopefully these readers are not just the friends and family I strong-armed into reading said blog via a very admittedly pathetic Facebook status). Why do you read this blog? Do you relate to any of the situations I write about?

The blogosphere is an amazing place to make friends beyond the barriers of geographical distance. Take advantage of this amazing opportunity and definitely stop by and say hi. You don't even have to use your real name if you comment (I promise I won't be offended). If you think my blog's worth reading, please add yourself to the followers list and recommend this site to anyone else you think would be interested.

Never Say Never

It's incredible how putting an opinion into the finality of print happens to nullify said opinion almost immediately. When I first started this blog, my inspiration to write stemmed purely out of an intense dissatisfaction with life. I felt like I was a spectator in my own life, trapped within the banalities of fulfilling my duty. I was frustrated with always feeling like I wasn't experiencing all that life had to offer, of sensing that life had so much exhiliration to give, but that I was stuck with the diluted experience because I clung so fastidiously to the things I was comfortable with. I was tired of living in my sterile, riskless bubble, and starting this blog was my first step towards shattering the walls of the tiny glass paradigm I had previously called home [ For all of you out there who were wondering, that's pretty much how I came up with the enigmatic name for this space. Mystery solved!]

Taking that first fateful step of divulging my innermost thoughts to complete strangers and exhibiting my writing talent to the world, something I had always felt self-conscious about and tried to downplay before , ended up doing wonders for me. Since the day I first started this blog I have found myself doing things I never imagined  I was capable of. I managed to face my intense fear of public speaking in a small way by speaking at my sister's graduation gathering. I survived organic chemistry, maybe with a few more nervous breakdowns than I would like to admit, but the whole experience has given me a more healthy perspective on grades, vocation, and finding the silver lining in every situation. Perhaps most impressively, I also managed to live and travel in India without my parents for the first time in my life, a pretty impressive feat considering that I cannot even cross the street by myself in Indian traffic and that my Tamil skills are atrocious. It is important to note that I had a lot of help accomplishing this last achievement; a big shout-out goes to all the guardian angels who ensured that I came to no bodily harm during my trip, including my awesome auto-driver, the residents and staff of the convent I stayed at, and the staff of the organization I worked with.

In light of the birth of the new and improved me, I would like to announce my next great adventure.


May-August 2012 will mark the next chapter in the epic life of Shirley Edward. Sort of a graduation present to me which I plan on undertaking without adult supervision, again (meaning the parentals). Also, in addition to all the amazing sight-seeing I'll get to do, I am viewing this trip as a sort of coming-of-age episode in my life. Another chance to prove to myself that the sky is truly the limit and a means of gaining some perspective on the big picture, the life that exists outside of academia.

Although this trip may never happen (finances will definitely play a major part in determining the ultimate feasibility of said trip), never say never. After all, who knows what can happen in 2 years?

P.S. Thanks to seaoharewhy for providing the Youtube video. Also fyi, seaowhare is the actor in said commercial.

Once in a Lifetime: Part 4

A Visit to the Dindigul Headquarter Government Hospital


Another eye-opening experience for me this summer was the opportunity I had to visit the Dindigul Headquarter Government Hospital, home to the largest Integrated Counseling and Testing Center (ICTC) in the Dindigul region. The ICTC is an initiative sponsored by the Tamil Nadu State AIDS Control Society and is essentially a one stop shop for HIV/AIDS prevention and care. Staffed by counselors, doctors and nurses, lab technicians and outreach workers, the ICTC provides HIV testing, medical supervision, treatment and care for opportunistic infections and STDs, and the means to promote the behavioral change necessary to reduce vulnerability to HIV infection, including access to condoms. The ICTC is also the location where patients receive their bi-annual CD4 count tests and where they have access to anti-retroviral therapy (ART), sponsored free of cost by the government and reserved for those infected individuals with a CD4 count less than 200 or for those individuals in stage 4 of the progression of the disease.

From the very limited glimpse that I had of the inner workings of the ICTC I can come up with a few things that the organization does well and a few things where the ball has very obviously been dropped with regards to patient care. Worthy of commendation is the organization’s policy of effectively organizing patient care by stream-lining access to patient records. Every HIV infected individual is given a notebook detailing lab reports, symptoms, medications, and a relevant medical history which the patient must bring with them to every visit. In a way, this simple system efficiently by-passes shoddy hospital records, ensuring that the doctor has a complete medical history including lab reports, which often fall through the bureaucratic cracks, thereby facilitating the effective tracking of a patient’s progress.

On the other side of the spectrum, face to face patient care at the ICTC seems grossly lacking, chiefly due to the problem of overcrowding. The Dindigul ICTC services an HIV infected population of around 8,000 individuals, all with a medical staff of three doctors, only two of which are actually involved in patient care, while the third, a dermatologist, serves merely as an administrative figure-head. On the day that I visited the Dindigul ICTC, the eve of a major inspection by the National Aids Control Organization, the clinic was even more overwhelmed than usual due to the absence of one of the practicing physicians. The line of people waiting to be seen easily exceeded 30 individuals. Inside the doctor’s cabin there were no examination tables, stethoscopes or anything else one would associate with a conventional doctor’s office in the United States. Patients would simply file in one by one, hand their notebooks over for inspection by the doctor and recite their current symptoms. The doctor in turn would write out prescriptions for the stated symptoms, but there was absolutely no physical contact: no physical examination, no taking of vital signs, no listening to the patient with a stethoscope. On average, interaction with each patient lasted 2 minutes.

If one takes into account the huge volume of patients that are seen at the ICTC on a daily basis, the above patient interaction that I witnessed is not so shocking: simply put, the Dindigul ICTC is grossly understaffed. Although the problems of overcrowding and a lack of medical personnel may explain the shoddiness of patient care at the ICTC, these are feeble excuses for playing with the lives of countless patients. How many patients suffered from a serious underlying condition because the doctor did not have the time to conduct a simple physical exam and catch a problem which a patient couldn’t identify themselves as they reported their symptoms to their doctor? Add to this the travesty that HIV infected individuals can only seek medical care at centers like the ICTC. At private hospitals in the city, including the famous St. Joseph’s, where patient care is immeasurably better, wait times to be seen are less, and overcrowding and understaffing are not major issues, HIV/AIDS patients cannot receive treatment.

Once in a Lifetime: Part 3

The Monthly Meeting


My very first weekend with PAASAM was an especially significant one considering that it coincided with the organization’s monthly meeting, essentially a three day retreat for HIV infected individuals and their families set at the idyllic Paasa Bhoomi residential care home. Located on the outskirts of Dindigul town, Paasa Bhoomi, affectionately nicknamed the “Farmhouse,” is a charming location featuring gooseberry orchards, a rustic cattle shed, and a veritable mini zoo complete with ducks, turkeys, dogs and rabbits. The actual two-story building is meant to eventually house a 20 bed residential care center for HIV infected individuals, but until this care center is up and running, Paasa Bhoomi functions as a monthly retreat center and summer children’s camp for PAASAM clients.

Day 1 of the retreat actually begins at the PAASAM office in downtown Dindigul. Guests from various villages surrounding Dindigul congregate at the office, located conveniently just behind the Dindigul Government Hospital where all HIV infected individuals in the Dindigul region must come for testing and treatment. They spend the greater part of the day availing of the health services provided at the office (all free of cost), including filling prescriptions they received from the hospital, collecting nutrition powder, a powerful concoction of various pulses and grains meant to supplement an inadequate diet, and receiving glucose IV lines and vitamin injections to boost stamina. Although the office is open six days a week and provides these services every day with the dedicated effort of the PAASAM staff and two amazing staff nurses, the day before the weekend retreat was the first time I have ever seen the office so crowded.

That Friday afternoon at the office was the first time when I realized the full extent of the horror of living with HIV/AIDS. Sure, I had spent the last 3 days with 7 women who were all HIV positive, but the PAASAM staff are the exception to the rule in comparison with the clients who utilize PAASAM’s services. Relatively healthy, I would never have been able to guess that any of the PAASAM staff was HIV positive, had I not been told, and apart from the occasional migraine, nausea, or general weakness, they all seemed generally able to lead an active lifestyle. This was definitely not the case for the clients who came to the office. Mere skin and bones, many of them were so weak from diarrhea that their eyes seemed to bug out from the very sockets of their gaunt faces. A few of them were fighting tuberculosis, a very common opportunistic infection for people living with HIV/AIDS, especially in India, the country with the world’s highest TB prevalence. Others were battling bacterial infections that caused unsightly and painful sores on their hands and feet, which made walking and eating extremely difficult.

Once all of the clients finished their errands at the PAASAM office, vehicles were waiting in the wings to transport them to Paasa Bhoomi and the main festivities of the weekend. Essentially, each PAASAM monthly meeting is an opportunity for psychological healing. The whole point of the weekend is to provide the people living with HIV/AIDS with a chance to escape the harsh daily realities of living with the infection, including but not limited to societal rejection, poverty, and the devastating physical effects of the disease. The monthly meeting is also an attempt to provide HIV infected individuals with a platform to find support from others who are undergoing the same challenges they themselves face.

Saturday morning, day 2 of the monthly meeting, started out with loud music, raucous laughter, and lots of popped balloons as 100+ HIV positive individuals inaugurated the events of the June monthly meeting with a balloon popping contest. An ice-breaker conceived by the meeting’s resource persons, a husband and wife tag team who are Siddha medicine practitioners, a branch of ayurvedic medicine that focuses on curing illnesses with natural herbs and other plant materials, the balloon popping contest soon transitioned into a fascinating thought exercise: does your life resemble that of a broken or a whole balloon?

In the small group discussion that I sat in on, the responses that I heard to this question ended up being a pleasant surprise. Although many of the group members recounted depressing stories of unexpectedly losing spouses to the HIV infection they didn’t even know they were carrying, encountering economic hardship due to the loss of the primary bread-winners of their families, and of the need to hide their HIV positive status from their employers, neighbors, and even their own family members, the overwhelming response that everyone came up with that day was that they felt like a whole balloon, thanks to the confidence which PAASAM had instilled in them to live their lives to their fullest extent. Everyone that I saw at that meeting seemed to possess this intense conviction not to indulge in self-pity. Many people expressed the sentiment that although it was unfortunate that they had contracted the virus, their only concern now was to live for their HIV negative children and to see them become successful, happy and included members of society. Similarly, even though many of the clients had experienced unspeakable hardships themselves, they all seemed to feel that the suffering of their neighbor was all the more heart-breaking. In this vein, they all possessed the selflessness to console their neighbor, while putting their own hardships into the background. Perhaps most shockingly considering the intense suffering they experience on a daily basis, each and everyone of the people I met that day expressed the desire to approach their lives with a sense of joy, gratitude, and the resolve to make the most out of the time they had left, a conviction most evident in the vocal, collective booing that accompanied one woman who got up to share her desire to end her life after learning of her HIV infection.

Once in a Lifetime: Part 2

The Office


A rented second story space of a residential home, located in the heart of Dindigul town, houses the PAASAM Care Center office. An unassuming location containing a tiny front office which barely fits the two desks from which the director and his immediate assistants conduct the daily business of running the office, a larger hall whose focal point is the two metal beds which patients occupy on a daily basis as they receive the free glucose drips provided by the organization, and the walls lined with shelves and shelves of iron and vitamin tonics, meticulously labeled bottles of pills for every ache and ailment imaginable, and hefty bags of rice and nutrition powder are the only evidence of the amazing work being done every day in what would otherwise appear to be just another quiet, family neighborhood.

The office is where I first met seven of the most amazing women I have ever had the privilege of knowing: the staff of PAASAM Care Center. All HIV positive widows ranging in age from their early 20s to mid 30s, the PAASAM staff welcomed me like a younger sister from the very first moment I met them. Extremely affectionate and generous in nature, my fondest memories of them to date are of the bonding we would do every afternoon over lunch, a raucous occasion conducted on any available floor space in the cramped office. Food is an integral component of expressing love in the Indian culture, a custom I am well-versed in from experiences with my own family, but the family I gained at PAASAM took this symbolism to a whole new level for me. At every meal that I shared with these generous women, everyone would always set aside a portion of their own meager lunchboxes to be shared with the group, even before they had even taken a whiff of, let alone a bite of, their own food. Whatever little there was to go around was always offered to the other first and in their own resonating words “Food is the one thing we wouldn’t deny even our greatest enemy.”

If Fr. Arul Samy is the creative head of PAASAM, the staff is the backbone which ensures the organization functions like clock-work. The staff’s first and foremost duty is to be a leader by example for the HIV/AIDS community that PAASAM services. The staff at PAASAM are the first fruits of the organization’s goal to empower people living with HIV/AIDS to accept their health condition, come out with confidence and express that they are HIV positive, and to develop the conviction that HIV/AIDS is not a death sentence, but rather, that a high quality of life is still possible after an HIV positive diagnosis. Living in a male-dominated societal order, where a woman’s life after her husband’s demise is expected to end in seclusion in the home in a state of perpetual mourning, symbolized by the stipulations that she wear only white saris and forgo the use of jewelry, flowers in her hair, and even the bindi, the quintessential birth-right of every Indian woman, the women of PAASAM have summoned up the courage to make the statement that their lives did not end with the passing of their husbands or with the discovery that their husbands had given them this debilitating disease. Risking societal accusations of being loose women who are dishonoring the memories of their dead husbands, the PAASAM staff have found the courage to leave the home and enter the workforce in order to support their families. They have refused to let the joint sorrows of the loss of their life partners and their infection with the HIV virus dampen their spirits or their resolve to fight the disease. They take diligent care of their bodies, reporting without fail for their bi-annual CD4 count tests, which track the progression of the infection, apportioning a substantial portion of their meager earnings towards purchasing and preparing nutritious foods to preserve their health, and taking their prescribed medications religiously. Most commendably, however, the women at PAASAM have refused to surrender themselves to the centuries old stigma of widowhood levied upon them by their Indian culture. Defiantly dressed in colorful saris, bindis on their foreheads and flowers in their hair, these dauntless women refused to be marginalized by a society which often hurls violent abuse at revolutionaries like them who protest the injustices levied against them.

The women who work at PAASAM are amazing in still other ways. Ranging in educational level from eighth grade dropouts to the sole woman who attended college and even went on to complete a masters degree in economics, the PAASAM women have learned to become self-sufficient and are teaching these skills to the clients that frequent the organization. Each of the staff heads up a Self-Help Group where members work together to accumulate savings which are then returned to the members themselves as internal revolving loans. Over the course of three years, 7 Self-Help Groups with a total membership of 83 HIV positive women have managed to save Rs. 81,768 ($1, 744) and open bank accounts at South Indian Bank. With this development, the bank manager of South Indian Bank has promised to give loans to the HIV positive women, a major godsend to a population dependent on meager day labor wages to make ends meet. In a similar vein, the Self-Help Groups have also formed a federation of 11 office-bearing members culled from each of the individual Self-Help Groups. The duties of the federation are to petition government officials for various assistances to HIV infected and affected individuals, including old age and widow pensions, scholarships, and income generation vehicles such as free sewing machines. With no background in accounting and a minimal education, the staff at PAASAM and the HIV positive women whom they mentor manage to maintain the accounts of their respective Self-Help Groups, draft formal applications for loans, and negotiate services from bank and government officials.

Once in a Lifetime: Part 1

This summer I had the amazing opportunity to volunteer at PAASAM (Plan of Action for AIDS-victims and Social Action Movement), an NGO working to service the needs of HIV/AIDS patients in Dindigul, Tamil Nadu, South India. What I observed and experienced during my time with the organization was nothing short of a life-changing experience. This series is an attempt to document these experiences and to spread awareness of the plight of people living with HIV/AIDS in South India.

PAASAM, translated from the original Tamil, means motherly love and affection, an apt description of PAASAM’s mission to provide HIV infected and affected persons with the love and care of a mother. Under the guidance of its director, Fr. Arul Samy, O.F.M, PAASAM provides its 459 members with various support services including educational assistance, counseling services, free medications, and nutritional support.