by Nikita Singh
But first and foremost, the thought that gave her a flicker of hope was reading ‘Being HIV positive is no longer a virtual death sentence’ on a webpage. She had read that one phrase repeatedly, feeling marginally better each time. It motivated her to research her disease as extensively as she could. There were articles explaining how HIV takes time to progress till AIDS and how, when controlled through medication and treatment plans, some patients have lived long lives.
As soon as it was light outside, Lavanya pushed her comforter away and got out of bed. Toughy stretched once and then curled up again, burrowing deeper into the mattress. She showered quickly, dressed and left for AIIMS quietly.
She should have done this weeks ago, when she had first found out. Reading through the articles, she became hopeful that she would be okay, that her condition was not as bad as she had imagined, that there was still a chance for her.
There was a man at the reception, and many people sitting in the waiting area. Lavanya had not made an appointment beforehand, so she had to wait for her turn. She took a seat on one of the shiny metal benches lined against the hospital wall. It was still early in the morning, but the waiting area was packed. She tried not to look at anybody or anything except her hands resting on her lap, picking at her fingernails. She could hear children crying and mothers trying to soothe them. The boy sitting next to her did not have an arm. Another had a bandage on his right eye.
Lavanya looked up more information on her phone just so she would not have to see what other patients and their families were doing. It was all she could do to stay calm and not bolt from the hospital without consulting a doctor.
She got a call from Shourya, which she quickly rejected. She was not ready for it; she had not even thought of a cover up.
Instead, she sent him a text. Hi. Morning.
He texted back. Good morning. What’s up?
Lavanya dodged his question. How come you are up so early? It is not even 9.
Wedding’s tomorrow. Sleep prohibited.
Sounds lovely.
How are you? Feel better?
Fever is all gone. Much better.
‘Lavanya Suryavanshi!’ A short man with a moustache peeked into the waiting area and called.
Lavanya kept looking into her phone.
The orderly looked around and when nobody responded, he called again, ‘LAVANYA SURYAVANSHI!’
She stood up. ‘That’s me.’
‘Come this way.’
Lavanya followed him to the doctor’s office in silence. She had her blood report with her, tucked away safely in the deep inside pocket of her jacket. She had been very careful with it, lest someone accidentally find it.
The orderly knocked on the door before pushing it open and holding it for her. Lavanya’s legs had never felt so weak in her life. They were a constant betrayer. Every time she was faced with a challenge, they were the first to give up. Even now they were shaking. She willed them to stop quaking long enough for her to make it to the doctor’s desk with some dignity.
Dr Meera Shah had many years’ experience in the field of HIV and AIDS. According to the website Lavanya had checked, Dr Shah was forty-seven years old, but in person she looked much younger. She wore a long white coat over a petite frame, her frizzy hair gathered in a bun at the nape of her neck. She looked over her spectacles to greet Lavanya.
‘Ms Suryavanshi, please take a seat.’
Lavanya smiled nervously and sat down opposite to the doctor. ‘Hi.’
‘How may I help you? I hear you requested me especially?’
‘Yes, Doctor.’ Even sitting down, Lavanya’s legs would not stop shaking. She pressed her feet hard against the floor in an attempt to curb the jolts. ‘I read several testimonials and recommendations of your work on the Internet. That is why I wanted to meet with you,’ Lavanya blurted out.
‘That’s nice to know.’ Dr Shah smiled.
Lavanya pulled out her blood report, carefully unfolded it and straightened out the creases. Her hand trembled slightly as she handed over the document to the doctor. She zipped her jacket back up and stared at her fingernails.
There was silence for a minute.
‘Do you know what this means, Lavanya?’ she heard Dr Shah ask.
Her nails were ugly. They were brittle and uneven and discoloured.
‘This report is a month old. How much do you know? Lavanya?’
Lavanya shook her head. ‘Nothing.’
‘Have you met with an HIV/AIDS specialist?’ Dr Shah questioned.
Lavanya marshalled what little courage she had and looked up. ‘I have not met with anyone, Doctor. I have known that I am HIV positive for three weeks, but I have not been able to meet anyone about it since. So, no, I do not know anything about it, other than that I have it.’
‘Okay. That’s an understandable response. Why don’t you tell me whatever you know, first? Then I will guide you through the next steps.’
Lavanya tore off a part of her nail with another nail. ‘I got this standard test done to validate me to donate blood at a drive. That’s how I found out. That’s . . . that’s all I know. I have not seen a doctor before this, so I do not know anything more.’
‘What about how you got it, and when? Would you have an idea?’
‘Needle. A few months ago. Two, or three, I guess.’
Dr Shah held Lavanya’s gaze. ‘That would mean you are out of your infection phase. Do you remember having a fever, or a flu-like condition developing around that time?’
‘No, I do not think so.’ Lavanya was getting less and less agitated as she talked to Dr Shah about it.
‘Well, all right. We will need to conduct a few tests to assess the situation accurately. But the first course of business—I should explain to you what being HIV positive means.’
‘Okay,’ Lavanya whispered.
‘When a person is infected by the Human Immunodeficiency Virus, they go through an acute infection phase. Some experience a flu-like condition, which they mistake for a viral fever. Others do not have it at all. After this first phase, the patient moves into the second phase, which is clinical latency. The virus reproduces inside the patient’s body, the rate of which can vary from person to person, but is usually very low. Are you with me till now?’
Dr Shah was observing Lavanya closely, which made Lavanya uncomfortable. But then, she hadn’t expected this to be easy.
‘Yes, Doctor. I read about it last night. After the clinical latency, we get to AIDS.’
‘Right. It is when the patient’s CD4 cells fall below a certain level—200 cells per millimetre cube—that’s when the patient is considered to have progressed to AIDS. But,’ Dr Shah paused, and Lavanya looked up at her, ‘if you are sure you got infected two or three months ago, I can say that you have passed your infection phase and are in latency. You did the right thing by coming to us; early detection is key. What we do now, in this phase, is what defines the course your life takes from here.’
‘How long will I live?’ The words were out before Lavanya knew it.
‘I cannot say anything until we perform the tests. We have to evaluate how your immune system is working, the rate at which the virus is progressing and your overall health. That’s when we decide what course of treatment is your best fit—’
‘Yes, but, you must be able to estimate, right? I read that people can live full, long lives with HIV and never have it progress till AIDS. And that even if it is left completely untreated, the latency period can last as long as ten years and even after that AIDS can take three more years to kill you!’
‘Ms Suryavanshi, Lavanya, we have to conduct these tests on you and only then can I discuss this with you further.’
‘Yes, yes, of course . . . I am not saying we should not perform tests. We will do that, of course, we must . . .’ Lavanya rattled on. ‘But I . . . I just want a rough estimate, you see. If it’s only been three months tops, and without treatment I could go on for thirteen years, then with treatment I have . .
. what? At least fifteen? Is that how it works?’
‘That is not the way we—’ Dr Shah started saying something but Lavanya interrupted.
‘Or are there side effects of the treatment that can work against me and reduce my lifespan? Does that happen? And what about injuries? If I get hurt, is it going to keep getting worse till I die? Will it never heal, because the virus is going to kill my immune system? Also, what about my quality of life? Will I have to be very careful, all the time? Will I have to be admitted in a hospital all my life, or can I lead a normal life? And what about sex—if I have protected sex, might I still transmit my virus? Can I never have sex then?’
Dr Shah pushed back her chair and got up. It was the scraping of the wood against the floor that made Lavanya pause and look up. Dr Shah walked around her desk and sat in the chair next to Lavanya.
‘Lavanya, I know this must be very confusing and frightening. I wish I could have told you we have only the best case scenario ahead of us, but unless I see those reports, I cannot say anything. Textbook knowledge can only take us so far. I know it must help you to read about it online and there are some forums that I can suggest, which you could benefit from. But first,’ she put additional emphasis on the word, ‘we must perform the tests. That is of prime importance.’
‘I understand,’ Lavanya said quietly. It was as if the energy that had kept her going all this while had disappeared.
‘I can see that you have several questions and your head must be bursting with many more. I will be able to answer them once I have a better sense of your case. Let me write down the tests. We can get them done at the hospital immediately. Then once we have the reports, we can talk more?’
Dr Shah took a pen from the red-and-white capsule-shaped pen stand on her desk and wrote down the tests.
‘Thank you, Doctor,’ Lavanya said and got up.
‘Sure. I will inform you once we have the results and then we can meet and discuss everything.’ Dr Shah offered her hand with a smile.
Lavanya shook her hand, but could not smile.
‘Shreela!’ Shourya called. ‘Has anyone seen her?’ he asked the room in general. There were at least thirty people in the living room just then. Although quite large, the room was not designed to accommodate that many people at once. Shourya wondered, not for the first time, if he should have taken Shreela’s side and had a smaller wedding.
‘Excuse me? Aren’t you Shreela’s friend?’ Shourya asked a tall girl in a fancy sari whom he had seen with Shreela earlier that evening. ‘Do you know where she is? Is she ready yet?’
The girl paused in her tracks and took a second to blush, before saying, ‘Yes, she is in your parents’ room. She was looking for you too.’
‘Was she? Thanks.’ Shourya made his way upstairs. The baraat was about to arrive and he could not believe that no one was prepared to receive it.
He knocked on the door to his parents’ room and walked in. Shreela was sitting on the bed with her head on their father’s shoulder, weeping openly. Their mother was standing next to the dressing table, looking at them with tears in her eyes.
‘Wow. I know, wedding time, emotional time, our little darling isn’t going to be here with us tomorrow, and it’s all very sad and beautiful and we would like to take a minute and cry about it, but can we get on with the wedding first?’ Shourya said.
‘Ugh, you’re so mean!’ Shreela dabbed at her face carefully with a tissue and sniffed.
‘You’re only making it worse. Mom, can you ask someone to get the beautician back in; I think I saw her around somewhere? And Dad, I had expected this from the women, but you too? The baraat will be here any minute. You’re the one person who absolutely has to be there to greet the guests.’
‘Yes. Yes,’ his father shot to his feet. He kissed Shreela on the forehead and ran his hand over her hair.
‘Now you’re messing up her hair! Now they’re going to need another hour to fix it. Dammit! Mom, also get the hair guy here, please?’
Both their parents left in a hurry, leaving Shourya alone with Shreela. She continued to sniff softly. Her dupatta was pinned to her right shoulder and draped across her body. It was red and had tiny sequins all over it that glittered at the slightest movement. Had Shourya not expected to see her as a bride, he would not have recognized his baby sister. Her eyes were lined with thick black liner and her lipstick was the brightest shade of red. The necklace she was wearing was at least three inches wide and her earrings four inches long.
Shreela secured the thin straps of her shiny sandals and stood up.
‘Are you okay? Isn’t all this weighing you down?’ Shourya asked. Her lehenga was a very light shade of peach, and was hand-embroidered in red all over. Teamed with the dupatta and her jewellery, Shreela was balancing a fair amount of weight on five-inch heels.
‘I’m okay,’ she said and walked to the dressing table. She sat down on the stool in front of the mirror and attempted to fix her hair.
‘You sure?’ Shourya asked.
‘Yes. I have been training for this day since forever. It is going to be perfect.’
Her voice was flat and dull. For someone who had trained for her wedding day ‘since forever’ and planned for it for months, she did not seem quite as excited.
Shourya needed to join his father at the main gate to receive the groom.. He could hear the band music getting louder as the baraat drew near. It was the silence he was receiving from Shreela that scared him.
He went and stood behind her. Watching her face closely in the mirror, he asked, ‘Nervous?’
She continued fiddling with her hair, which only made it worse. She inadvertently pulled out several strands from her bun, which fell in front of her face. She pushed them away angrily, muttering, ‘This . . . stupid . . . thing.’
‘Leave it alone,’ Shourya chuckled. ‘Mom is bringing your make-up people upstairs.’
Shreela let her hands fall into her lap and looked up at Shourya in the mirror. ‘Are you going to miss me when I’m gone?’
‘Not really. No more than I already do. Whether you live here or with Manav doesn’t matter to me, distance-wise; I’ll still be thousands of miles away,’ Shourya said, and immediately regretted it. ‘But of course, I will miss you! Is that even a question?’
‘You are always so mean to me.’
‘Older brothers are supposed to be.’
‘Even on their younger sister’s wedding day?’ Shreela’s eyes were larger than ever as she waited for Shourya’s response.
‘Don’t make that face! I am not being mean to you. I’ve been trying my damnedest to give you your dream wedding. Making sure everything is perfect. Except how will it be perfect if I am here when your groom and the rest of his baraat are out there waiting for me to greet them and I am in here chatting with you?’
‘That’s all you care about!’ Shreela sniffed angrily.
‘I thought that’s what you wanted! Isn’t that why you’ve been after my life to take care of every last detail since I got here?’ Shourya was exasperated.
‘Ugh, fine, go.’
‘Thank you! We will talk about this later. I know you must be anxious and scared, but like you said, you’ve been training for this all your life. You’re going to be great.’
Shourya was at the door when he turned around, ‘Wait, aren’t you going to be cold? Do you want a shawl or—’
‘No!’ Shreela stood up hastily and examined herself in the mirror. Inches and inches of midriff were exposed between her backless blouse and the top of the lehenga. ‘I dieted and did crunches every day for three months to get this stomach. This is my day, I’m showing off!’
And with that, Shourya knew Shreela was okay.
He rushed to the front gate just in time to see Manav dismount from the horse he was riding. He was wearing a sherwani in beige and red, very similar to Shreela’s lehenga. The glitter around Shourya made him dizzy. Everyone—women and men—was wearing brightly coloured clothes embellished with sequins
or stone work or embroidery.
Shourya had chosen the most subtle sherwani he could find at the store before his mother and sister could reject it as being too simple. His mother had ulterior motives. ‘You’re the bride’s single older brother. There are going to be lot of eyes on you. I bet we will get at least ten rishtas for you in the week after the wedding.’ Shourya was just glad his clothes did not have colourful stones on them.
Barring one awkward moment when one of the baraatis felt offended because he wasn’t welcomed with a garland, the wedding went by smoothly. Shourya was on his toes all night long, prepared to troubleshoot, come what may.
Lavanya and her parents arrived shortly after the baraat and she stayed by Shourya’s side for the remainder of the night. As the wedding ceremony proceeded, Shourya was asked to tie a knot, binding Shreela’s and Manav’s dupattas together, before the seven pheras around the fire commenced.
Shourya took a seat directly in front of Shreela and Manav and watched as they performed the wedding rituals together. Manav kept stealing looks at her, and Shreela blushed every time that happened. His little sister was all grown up and looking beautiful on her wedding day.
Shourya fought back tears, nearly losing control until he felt Lavanya’s hand clutching his.
11
When Lavanya’s head touched the pillow, she felt herself finally relax, both mentally and physically. She had had a headache all night, which had worsened because of the loud wedding music. She feared it had to do something to do with her illness. Or it could just be a migraine. She had over-exerted herself on the dance floor along with all of Shreela’s friends. When they had first requested Lavanya to join them, she had been naïve enough to think they would go away if she politely declined their invitation. But that hadn’t deterred them; they had dragged her on to the dance floor despite her protests. The party had really got going when Shourya and the groom’s friends had jumped in. Lavanya did not remember the last time she had danced to Hindi and Punjabi songs that were loud, rowdy and, quite frankly, disrespectful to women at times. The dancing had continued for hours and it wasn’t until nearly all the guests had left and the DJ asked to wrap up that they realized what time it was.