Every year at this time I find myself asking the same stereotyped questions over and over again : Have I done anything worthwhile ? How much have I achieved ? Has the year been good to me ? Is there anything more that I have to accomplish before the clock strikes twelve on the 31st ? It’s always about I, me and myself…
So this year instead of raising the same queries to which I usually have the similar half baked answers, I’ve thought of being grateful to everyone and everything that makes my life what it is. Why should I always yearn for the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow without even realizing the beauty of the freckled spectrum of colours that comprises the multihued rainbow?
It is said that everything that has happened in our lives, the good and the difficult, has been necessary to help us become the person we are now. So I guess I have no regrets over anything and instead am being grateful for the unpleasant times, for giving me the chance to sift my associates, the good and the bad that make up my world. This has been a year of great meaning for me and my family and so I’ve decided to forget the entire unlikable episodes which hold no water whatsoever. It’s nice, the eclipsing of the awful by the remarkable ones…
The most amazing relationship I have is the one that I share with my family and I thank my parents for mollycoddling me and babysitting me through my hard times and for having so much trust in me; my siblings for being my best friends; and my pretty niece, I had such a great time trying to find out a name for you…
I can count my true friends on my fingers and I’m glad that my modest universe comprises of the handful of individuals whom I can count on at any given moment. I think Dr Raju has proved that friendship knows no boundaries, be it age or status. Skype or no skype, I look forward to your weekly phone calls and your stories on places I’ve never traveled before. And where would I be if Partho and Lakshmikant don’t make me laugh to my fullest ? And Rap, I never thought that someone who looks so cute can contain so much knowledge inside…Sebastian, your concern and allegiance for all is what inspires me the most…And my dearest dearest ‘machar bhaiya’, the roundabouts in Delhi are more fun when you are driving and however much we circle them I know that with you around, we’ll always find the way out. Thanks for always being there…
The children of Roilang, the Jyoti Shroad School for the Blind and the Mary Rice Centre are what keep me grounded. ‘Thank you’ is just too small a word to describe my gratitude to Paul and Casina for leading me into their world. There’s so much we all want to do but I guess even a genuine concern makes a significant difference…
And yes, Nukshinaro, although I met you very recently, thanks for telling me your experiences and for believing in me that I could present your story with a beautiful sensitivity; for falling in love with yourself the moment you read the manuscript. Thanks Akhila and Tushi, your opinions matter the most.
The wonderful people I work with everyday and so many old acquaintances and buddies who never fail to keep in touch, the whole thing is so much better because of your existence…And wait, how can I forget to thank ‘Facebook’ for reuniting me with Viky, Roshan and Sanjeff after almost a decade…isn’t technology wonderful ???
Accordingly, this year I’ve decided to ask myself a new question : How many hearts have I touched ? And I’m wondering if I’ve reached out to any …
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Sunday, December 21, 2008
IS THIS THE END OF THE CAMARADERIE ?
Born and brought up in a tiny hamlet in the mountains called Jotsoma, our childhood days were spent in gay abandon amidst the idyllic setting of a perfect getaway. I remember with fondness the green forest around our house, the small stream flowing close by and the cherry trees that lined up the road on both the sides. And the best thing about growing up was that I had two wonderful comrades walking along with me – my brothers.
My brothers and I share the most beautiful relationship and I miss them more so because both of them have now spread out their horizon and gone out to explore the world. Till yesterday they were just mere students busy in their own academic fields and today, my little comrades have grown up so fast and left home, that time has come to a standstill for me; it’s just amazing how time flies by…
Although I didn’t join in their purportedly gun battles as young kids, I am aware of how we learned to do things together… many things that has made us who we are today. From learning to ride bicycles in those hilly roads, to learning how to drive; taking long walks in the evenings, venturing out for treks, learning to play the guitar or just sit by the fire and read comic books; the camaraderie was just so wonderful.
As we grew up, things graduated to other new-fangled stuff like piercing our ears at the same time, getting our first tattoos, trying out the first drink, going out for concerts and holidays whenever our vacations matched. And yes, we did stand up for each other like all siblings do, like when we would take both our family cars with our own respective friends and wait up somewhere on the lonely roadside at night for hours on our way back home from town, when there were no mobile phones to keep ourselves updated about our locations. But what binds us more is that we’d always advice each other whenever required. I recollect how I wanted to have a scorpion made on my arm for my first tattoo and how my brothers made fun at me and objected saying it would scare my grandchildren away when I’d grow old and read stories to them. We muse about those days sometimes and laugh out loud. I’m now happy to have scribble tattoos instead; although my mom worries I’d look funny in my wedding gown.
Growing up in an alien atmosphere where we didn’t have much friends belonging to our tribe, we would hardly speak our mother tongue at home. And that means updating the day’s events in the evening either in english or nagamese much to the horror of village guests at home, if any. And even today, secrets in an ao infested crowd are spoken in tenyimie, much to our delight. We have great time pulling each others legs when we have to stammer something in our mother tongue.
My brothers are my biggest critics, from remarking on my profession or personal life and friends to reading my manuscripts and discarding my paintings. We’d confide our biggest fears and happiness, our crushes and relationships and everything that make life what it is. Amidst all these, we give sufficient breathing space, not to end up breathing down each others neck. And there are two things that we didn’t achieve this year as a team; to re - climb pulie badze, a mountain in Jotsoma, and going away to Nainital for a short winter break.
As my buddies venture out in different cities alone, I feel anxious for their well being and would want to do everything to make them comfortable. But I know that my comrades can take care of themselves like I have to learn to walk ahead without their daily company. It is hard-hitting but life always has a leeway…Slowly and steadily we’ll surely come around...I guess this is the way of the world. My aunt always says that we should enjoy every stage of our lives in true spirit and that phrase has, at the present, turned out to be a soothing balm.
I now wonder if this is the end of all the wonderful camaraderie or is it just the start of another beautiful chapter in our lives that will bind us stronger than ever ? Will we ever get chance to frolic together like old times or get lost in the maze of our vocations and materialistic pursuits ? Will there be ample reunions ? There are so many anxious questions but I guess the answers are hard to come by instantaneously…Whatever it is, I guess true happiness lies in the small things of life... Or maybe it’s in realizing that the small things in life can be the big things…
My brothers and I share the most beautiful relationship and I miss them more so because both of them have now spread out their horizon and gone out to explore the world. Till yesterday they were just mere students busy in their own academic fields and today, my little comrades have grown up so fast and left home, that time has come to a standstill for me; it’s just amazing how time flies by…
Although I didn’t join in their purportedly gun battles as young kids, I am aware of how we learned to do things together… many things that has made us who we are today. From learning to ride bicycles in those hilly roads, to learning how to drive; taking long walks in the evenings, venturing out for treks, learning to play the guitar or just sit by the fire and read comic books; the camaraderie was just so wonderful.
As we grew up, things graduated to other new-fangled stuff like piercing our ears at the same time, getting our first tattoos, trying out the first drink, going out for concerts and holidays whenever our vacations matched. And yes, we did stand up for each other like all siblings do, like when we would take both our family cars with our own respective friends and wait up somewhere on the lonely roadside at night for hours on our way back home from town, when there were no mobile phones to keep ourselves updated about our locations. But what binds us more is that we’d always advice each other whenever required. I recollect how I wanted to have a scorpion made on my arm for my first tattoo and how my brothers made fun at me and objected saying it would scare my grandchildren away when I’d grow old and read stories to them. We muse about those days sometimes and laugh out loud. I’m now happy to have scribble tattoos instead; although my mom worries I’d look funny in my wedding gown.
Growing up in an alien atmosphere where we didn’t have much friends belonging to our tribe, we would hardly speak our mother tongue at home. And that means updating the day’s events in the evening either in english or nagamese much to the horror of village guests at home, if any. And even today, secrets in an ao infested crowd are spoken in tenyimie, much to our delight. We have great time pulling each others legs when we have to stammer something in our mother tongue.
My brothers are my biggest critics, from remarking on my profession or personal life and friends to reading my manuscripts and discarding my paintings. We’d confide our biggest fears and happiness, our crushes and relationships and everything that make life what it is. Amidst all these, we give sufficient breathing space, not to end up breathing down each others neck. And there are two things that we didn’t achieve this year as a team; to re - climb pulie badze, a mountain in Jotsoma, and going away to Nainital for a short winter break.
As my buddies venture out in different cities alone, I feel anxious for their well being and would want to do everything to make them comfortable. But I know that my comrades can take care of themselves like I have to learn to walk ahead without their daily company. It is hard-hitting but life always has a leeway…Slowly and steadily we’ll surely come around...I guess this is the way of the world. My aunt always says that we should enjoy every stage of our lives in true spirit and that phrase has, at the present, turned out to be a soothing balm.
I now wonder if this is the end of all the wonderful camaraderie or is it just the start of another beautiful chapter in our lives that will bind us stronger than ever ? Will we ever get chance to frolic together like old times or get lost in the maze of our vocations and materialistic pursuits ? Will there be ample reunions ? There are so many anxious questions but I guess the answers are hard to come by instantaneously…Whatever it is, I guess true happiness lies in the small things of life... Or maybe it’s in realizing that the small things in life can be the big things…
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
MY BOYFRIEND BEN
As Ben wrapped his arms possessively around me, the Headmistress gave a stern smirk and said, ‘Be very careful with Ben. He will sweep any girl off her feet.’ And boy, he did. He not only swept me off my feet but also made me fall in love with him and his mischievous smile the moment we were introduced. He called me ‘Miss from Nagaland, my girlfriend,’ and I called him ‘My Ben’.
His real name was Benjamin. Everyone called him Ben when happy and Benjy when we were mad at him. He hated Benjy so he had to behave himself if he wanted to be called Ben.
‘My Ben’, around eight years old, was a Khasi, an orphan and blind since birth. I met him at the Jyoti Shroadh School for the Blind at Laitumkhrah, Shillong where I volunteer very often, ever since my College days, as a member of the Indo Global Social Service Society (IGSSS). When we were given a chance to choose our field for volunteering, I chose to work for children with special needs – blind, deaf & dumb and the mentally retarded. Every year, for a month, I’m to volunteer at various organizations around the country and for obvious reasons, I keep going to Shillong. The ‘one month’ has now, of course, dwindled to ‘one week’ due to paucity of leave from office.
We are given freedom to stay at the hostel with the children or just take classes. I’d always choose the former and that meant spending more time with Ben and the rest of the children, around fifty of them. We’d teach stuffs like distinguishing between round and triangular objects by touching models, recognizing animals and their noise by feeling their molded shapes and listening to their sounds etc. Teachers are told not to encourage children to hold them or touch them frequently as the School wants them to grow up without depending on others’ support.
But ‘My Ben’ was not like the rest. He would sense when I entered the door and run to give me a hug and insisted on sitting on my lap during class hours. After all, I was his girlfriend and he was very possessive. I later learnt that the only loved ones Ben knew were the people at the institution because no one came to pick him up during holidays. There was no one to whom he was the most important person, no one who would care. All that Ben longed for was a home he would truly belong to. He got attached to anyone who showered the slightest affection. He longed for warmth, for love, and thus his attachment to me too.
Every evening the children were taught to walk around the hostel compound by counting steps. Every time Ben would falter. But ‘My Ben’, with the chubby cheeks and soft short hair, would never falter to count almost thirty steps every morning, up to my room in the second floor, to knock at my door to wish me good morning.
Everyday Ben would ask me what colour of dress I wore and couldn’t understand why I had seven studs on my ears while others had two. He would touch my hair and ask me if it was straight or curly. After the step counting walk every evening, Ben would curl up his little fingers around mine and listen to songs on my cell phone. He loved listening and singing. He would ask me if Nagaland was far far away because he wanted to come home with me. And Ben wanted to marry me when he would be old enough.
Despite his restless nature, I’d wanted to bring Ben home at least once during Christmas. And everyone knew how much the authorities had to trust a volunteer to take a blind boy away for a week. That year, Ben spent his puja holidays at a Convent because, as usual, no one came to fetch him home. While he was chasing a ball in the backyard, he fell into a huge uncovered water tank and his body was fished out after long agonizing hours because the opening of the tank was only the size of a man-hole. Finally, finally ‘My Ben’ found a home he would truly belong to forever, a home where he would be surrounded by loved ones and who would never abandon him ever again… and surely my boyfriend might be keeping the angels really really busy…
It’s been two years since Ben has left this world but I haven’t cried over him as yet. That is because tears refuse to gather, because I still haven’t forgiven the workers there for their irresponsible deed that led to Ben’s death.
At times when the sunny blue sky is spotted with specks of clouds, I look up with a smile believing that ‘My Ben’ might be up there prancing around the clouds with his guardian angels; and who knows he might just throw a cloud ball at me from above…
His real name was Benjamin. Everyone called him Ben when happy and Benjy when we were mad at him. He hated Benjy so he had to behave himself if he wanted to be called Ben.
‘My Ben’, around eight years old, was a Khasi, an orphan and blind since birth. I met him at the Jyoti Shroadh School for the Blind at Laitumkhrah, Shillong where I volunteer very often, ever since my College days, as a member of the Indo Global Social Service Society (IGSSS). When we were given a chance to choose our field for volunteering, I chose to work for children with special needs – blind, deaf & dumb and the mentally retarded. Every year, for a month, I’m to volunteer at various organizations around the country and for obvious reasons, I keep going to Shillong. The ‘one month’ has now, of course, dwindled to ‘one week’ due to paucity of leave from office.
We are given freedom to stay at the hostel with the children or just take classes. I’d always choose the former and that meant spending more time with Ben and the rest of the children, around fifty of them. We’d teach stuffs like distinguishing between round and triangular objects by touching models, recognizing animals and their noise by feeling their molded shapes and listening to their sounds etc. Teachers are told not to encourage children to hold them or touch them frequently as the School wants them to grow up without depending on others’ support.
But ‘My Ben’ was not like the rest. He would sense when I entered the door and run to give me a hug and insisted on sitting on my lap during class hours. After all, I was his girlfriend and he was very possessive. I later learnt that the only loved ones Ben knew were the people at the institution because no one came to pick him up during holidays. There was no one to whom he was the most important person, no one who would care. All that Ben longed for was a home he would truly belong to. He got attached to anyone who showered the slightest affection. He longed for warmth, for love, and thus his attachment to me too.
Every evening the children were taught to walk around the hostel compound by counting steps. Every time Ben would falter. But ‘My Ben’, with the chubby cheeks and soft short hair, would never falter to count almost thirty steps every morning, up to my room in the second floor, to knock at my door to wish me good morning.
Everyday Ben would ask me what colour of dress I wore and couldn’t understand why I had seven studs on my ears while others had two. He would touch my hair and ask me if it was straight or curly. After the step counting walk every evening, Ben would curl up his little fingers around mine and listen to songs on my cell phone. He loved listening and singing. He would ask me if Nagaland was far far away because he wanted to come home with me. And Ben wanted to marry me when he would be old enough.
Despite his restless nature, I’d wanted to bring Ben home at least once during Christmas. And everyone knew how much the authorities had to trust a volunteer to take a blind boy away for a week. That year, Ben spent his puja holidays at a Convent because, as usual, no one came to fetch him home. While he was chasing a ball in the backyard, he fell into a huge uncovered water tank and his body was fished out after long agonizing hours because the opening of the tank was only the size of a man-hole. Finally, finally ‘My Ben’ found a home he would truly belong to forever, a home where he would be surrounded by loved ones and who would never abandon him ever again… and surely my boyfriend might be keeping the angels really really busy…
It’s been two years since Ben has left this world but I haven’t cried over him as yet. That is because tears refuse to gather, because I still haven’t forgiven the workers there for their irresponsible deed that led to Ben’s death.
At times when the sunny blue sky is spotted with specks of clouds, I look up with a smile believing that ‘My Ben’ might be up there prancing around the clouds with his guardian angels; and who knows he might just throw a cloud ball at me from above…
Thursday, December 11, 2008
GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN
As I write this my mind is filled with a kaleidoscope of emotions, something that is filled with a twinge of sadness, remorse and melancholy but at the same time strangely, I’m smiling too because that is what happens everytime I remember my little cousin Wapanginla and she would have loved to see me in good spirits always, if only she were alive. Diagnosed with cancer at an advanced stage last year, Wapanginla, my paternal uncle’s only daughter, was someone who could endure the greatest of pain with the sweetest of smile. You would have loved her the minute you met her. Everyone loved her because she was so different from the rest, so different from any of us…
Her ability to endure pain sometimes scared me and as I reflect I believe that she was God’s special child and that is why she left an indelible mark in everyone’s life that she touched. She knew her bleak prognosis pronounced by the doctors at AIIMS and Apollo Hospitals and always slept with a Bible underneath her pillows. She missed school initially, but later as her condition deteriorated, she didn’t want to meet any of her friends or well-wishers because it was just too much for her frail emotional state and tears would well up her pretty almond shaped eyes.
Very often she would wake up in the middle of the night and cry out aloud. We let her be because we didn’t want to disturb her moments with herself. ‘Does it hurt to die?’, she would ask. ‘I don’t know,’ I would answer. ‘I don’t know because you are not going to die,’ I would repeat. And we both knew that I was lying.
This whole year was spent shuttling between Delhi and Dimapur for her treatment but ironically those were her happiest days because she visited all the places she always wanted to and ate everything she wanted. Most were weekend breaks for her chemotherapy sessions and the only times I get off from work. Her parents would most often be left behind in their rooms while, despite her delicate health, she would insist on making countless trips to Sarojini Nagar for pani puri, McDonalds (and that too only at South Extn) for french fries and PVR Priya for movies. She loved South Extn because that’s where my favourite bookstore ‘Landmark’ is located and we would spend countless hours browsing the new arrivals. She loved reading and during her last days when she could not read any longer, I would read aloud storybooks and she would listen with her back towards me. She would, at all times, sob behind my back.
Friday was her favourite day because that’s when we met and Monday was the day she would feel lonesome. Till today I fail to understand the extreme fondness she had for me, so much so that at the end, even in her delirious state, she would take her medicines only after I tasted them and pronounced that they tasted like chocolate. Countless hours were spent in making plans for her birthday (Nov. 7th) and for Christmas. But that was not to be. She died on 22nd Sept just few weeks ahead of her fourteenth birthday. It was a Monday and I was halfway on the highway to Kohima. Her mom later said she thanked me in her last conversation and not to cry over her … She left behind a myriad of nostalgic memories, some happy, some sad but all special. Gone but not forgotten, her death has made me realize that life is short, that I should not take things for granted; her death has taught me to live…
Her ability to endure pain sometimes scared me and as I reflect I believe that she was God’s special child and that is why she left an indelible mark in everyone’s life that she touched. She knew her bleak prognosis pronounced by the doctors at AIIMS and Apollo Hospitals and always slept with a Bible underneath her pillows. She missed school initially, but later as her condition deteriorated, she didn’t want to meet any of her friends or well-wishers because it was just too much for her frail emotional state and tears would well up her pretty almond shaped eyes.
Very often she would wake up in the middle of the night and cry out aloud. We let her be because we didn’t want to disturb her moments with herself. ‘Does it hurt to die?’, she would ask. ‘I don’t know,’ I would answer. ‘I don’t know because you are not going to die,’ I would repeat. And we both knew that I was lying.
This whole year was spent shuttling between Delhi and Dimapur for her treatment but ironically those were her happiest days because she visited all the places she always wanted to and ate everything she wanted. Most were weekend breaks for her chemotherapy sessions and the only times I get off from work. Her parents would most often be left behind in their rooms while, despite her delicate health, she would insist on making countless trips to Sarojini Nagar for pani puri, McDonalds (and that too only at South Extn) for french fries and PVR Priya for movies. She loved South Extn because that’s where my favourite bookstore ‘Landmark’ is located and we would spend countless hours browsing the new arrivals. She loved reading and during her last days when she could not read any longer, I would read aloud storybooks and she would listen with her back towards me. She would, at all times, sob behind my back.
Friday was her favourite day because that’s when we met and Monday was the day she would feel lonesome. Till today I fail to understand the extreme fondness she had for me, so much so that at the end, even in her delirious state, she would take her medicines only after I tasted them and pronounced that they tasted like chocolate. Countless hours were spent in making plans for her birthday (Nov. 7th) and for Christmas. But that was not to be. She died on 22nd Sept just few weeks ahead of her fourteenth birthday. It was a Monday and I was halfway on the highway to Kohima. Her mom later said she thanked me in her last conversation and not to cry over her … She left behind a myriad of nostalgic memories, some happy, some sad but all special. Gone but not forgotten, her death has made me realize that life is short, that I should not take things for granted; her death has taught me to live…
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
NUKSHINARO : HIV POSITIVE AND RARING TO GO
She comes across as just another quintessential girl next-door – warm, friendly and inviting. She could be mistaken for a College going girl with her petite frame and bubbly smile adding to her spunky persona. She is well qualified, highly informed, intelligent and walking the journey of life like any other. Nukshinaro, 28 years old, is HIV positive and this is just the beginning of the story.
When I first met her a week ago during an IEC skill-building workshop at Guwahati, she had this familiar aura and I wondered if I had met her somewhere earlier. And when she candidly asked me whether I had seen her in the documentary ‘Candles of Tuensang’, I was left clueless for a while. This kind of a guileless pose can come only from a person who does not mince words in putting things across. I asked her what she was doing in ‘Candles of Tuensang’ and she replied that she was seen giving her life testimony. Then it struck me and how.
I vividly remember the screening of the documentary at Durbar hall, Raj Bhavan, Kohima two years ago. HIV/AIDS was something about which I had read a lot about but still to get familiar with the reality check of this chronic manageable disease prevailing in our society. ‘Candle of Tuensang’ was an eye opener for the fact that it poignantly portrayed the HIV/AIDS scenario and the stigma attached in our social set-up, especially in interior areas. I remember the impact it left in all the audience.
How did she feel when her positive status first came to light? Fear, frustration, despair, anger? Nukshinaro says she felt only the sense of responsibility at that hopeless moment, to ignore the supposedly dark cloud looming over her and despite being singed and pulled apart, she knew she had to pick up all the lost threads and become whole again. That was in May 2005.
After declaring her status on World AIDS Day that particular year, Nukshinaro attended a PLHA (People Living with HIV/AIDS) fellowship and found her calling. She refused to succumb to the grim despair that other PLHAs were going through. What about social stigma and discrimination? With all the support from her family (after initial hiccups) and friends, especially her siblings, Nukshinaro says she is not bothered by any. And she has enough reasons to say so.
Nukshinaro considers herself as one of the very few fortunate PLHAs with a strong emotional support system for which she is very grateful. And this is the motive why she wants to contribute her bit for PLHAs, Presently working as PLHA Coordinator she wants the society to do away with hypocrisy and accept PLHAs as part of the society, to make the society aware that HIV/AIDS is not something to be looked upon with disdain. She wants to be the voice of the PLHAs living life confidently and further motivate them to lead emotionally stronger lives, to be able to stand up and spread consciousness among the people and to carve out the message of constructive livelihood. The task ahead is colossal but she is confident of facing the challenges with hope, perseverance and heart.
I tell her that once, just once, surely she must have woken up at night and pinched herself thinking where the hell she is heading to and maybe even shed few secret tears… With a pregnant smile she tells me a story about a sixty plus woman in the West who has been living healthily for the past 20 years with HIV and still hale and hearty. That is a real food for thought. Presently Nukshinaro is on Anti Retroviral Therapy (ART) and life cannot get any better than this.
My association with her has been brief as half-way through the workshop she had to leave for Delhi to attend another Conference. I could visualize the tapestry of dreams she had woven around her unsinkable soul. Meeting her was a gift. And truly, she does not have a list of ‘100 things to do before I die’.
When I first met her a week ago during an IEC skill-building workshop at Guwahati, she had this familiar aura and I wondered if I had met her somewhere earlier. And when she candidly asked me whether I had seen her in the documentary ‘Candles of Tuensang’, I was left clueless for a while. This kind of a guileless pose can come only from a person who does not mince words in putting things across. I asked her what she was doing in ‘Candles of Tuensang’ and she replied that she was seen giving her life testimony. Then it struck me and how.
I vividly remember the screening of the documentary at Durbar hall, Raj Bhavan, Kohima two years ago. HIV/AIDS was something about which I had read a lot about but still to get familiar with the reality check of this chronic manageable disease prevailing in our society. ‘Candle of Tuensang’ was an eye opener for the fact that it poignantly portrayed the HIV/AIDS scenario and the stigma attached in our social set-up, especially in interior areas. I remember the impact it left in all the audience.
How did she feel when her positive status first came to light? Fear, frustration, despair, anger? Nukshinaro says she felt only the sense of responsibility at that hopeless moment, to ignore the supposedly dark cloud looming over her and despite being singed and pulled apart, she knew she had to pick up all the lost threads and become whole again. That was in May 2005.
After declaring her status on World AIDS Day that particular year, Nukshinaro attended a PLHA (People Living with HIV/AIDS) fellowship and found her calling. She refused to succumb to the grim despair that other PLHAs were going through. What about social stigma and discrimination? With all the support from her family (after initial hiccups) and friends, especially her siblings, Nukshinaro says she is not bothered by any. And she has enough reasons to say so.
Nukshinaro considers herself as one of the very few fortunate PLHAs with a strong emotional support system for which she is very grateful. And this is the motive why she wants to contribute her bit for PLHAs, Presently working as PLHA Coordinator she wants the society to do away with hypocrisy and accept PLHAs as part of the society, to make the society aware that HIV/AIDS is not something to be looked upon with disdain. She wants to be the voice of the PLHAs living life confidently and further motivate them to lead emotionally stronger lives, to be able to stand up and spread consciousness among the people and to carve out the message of constructive livelihood. The task ahead is colossal but she is confident of facing the challenges with hope, perseverance and heart.
I tell her that once, just once, surely she must have woken up at night and pinched herself thinking where the hell she is heading to and maybe even shed few secret tears… With a pregnant smile she tells me a story about a sixty plus woman in the West who has been living healthily for the past 20 years with HIV and still hale and hearty. That is a real food for thought. Presently Nukshinaro is on Anti Retroviral Therapy (ART) and life cannot get any better than this.
My association with her has been brief as half-way through the workshop she had to leave for Delhi to attend another Conference. I could visualize the tapestry of dreams she had woven around her unsinkable soul. Meeting her was a gift. And truly, she does not have a list of ‘100 things to do before I die’.
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