to add to the volunteers' visa saga

I am not the first volunteer in India to write about experience with FRRO. FRRO is Foreigners’ Registration Regional Office where as the name implies, foreigners register. Any alien who intends to stay in India for more than 180 days has to go to FRRO and be registered as a temporary resident. That is aside from police registration that has to be accomplished within 14 days upon arrival. And then if you need visa extension you also go to FRRO.

One of the challenges both VSO India and the volunteers face here is the visa extension, and VSOI actually encourages volunteers to write and talk about what it’s like getting our visas extended. One volunteer made 17 visits to FRRO before she was granted extension and no one has broken her record so far. In my case, I attempted 4 times before I was able to actually sit down and submit my documents. First, I went to the wrong offices. Second time, I went to the right office but was not allowed to get in because FRRO Chennai does not process extension for XV type of visa. Third attempt, I went at 2 pm only to be told they accept applications between 9 am and 12 noon, but at least they already gave me a list of the documents that I needed to submit. On my fourth trip to FRRO I came with complete documents and was granted entry.

First stop was the Person of Indian Origin (PIO and no, I am not a person of Indian origin) office. In the PIO office there were chairs arranged in rows, I was instructed to sit next to the last person in the last occupied row. Each time a foreigner gets his/her turn we move one seat closer to the PIO. Several seats later and I was standing in front of the PIO stating my case, documents scrutinized , I was then given an application form I had to fill in and submit together with letters expressing intention to register as foreigner and apply for visa extension, letters from VSO and my organization 1) certifying I am indeed a volunteer, 2)I am not receiving salary, 3)requesting that I be granted visa extension, 4) be registered as foreigner; a letter from my landlord as proof of residence, lease contract entered into between my landlord and my organization, photocopies of my 1)passport 2) page that shows my arrival and 2 passport photos (with blue background, like this shade of blue. All documents have to be submitted in duplicate. Next stop was the waiting room where like in the PIO office there is a seating arrangement. In the waiting room are divans. The last person to come in had to occupy the seat farthest from the door. Each time a foreigner was called in for her or his turn we moved one seat closer to the door. I brought a book with me but I couldn’t even finish 2 pages before I needed to get up and sit down again. Less than 15 minutes and I was already in the office of the immigration officer, third stop.

The immigration officer happened to have the same name as one of our past presidents, but was quick to deny that he is a dictator like his namesake. But I didn’t know that till late, that his name is Mr. Marcos and he’s not a dictator.

A week before that I just finished “Being Indian” by Pavan K. Varma where I read that Hindus (he referred to Indians in general as Hindus in his book) have penchant for brandishing their power. When Mr. Marcos interviewed me, I embellished all my sentences with “Sir” and “Yes, sir” and complimented the state of Tamil Nadu for the good work they are doing about HIV. That won me a potential one year visa extension.

On half a sheet of bond paper he scribbled something and handed it to me. It was my Intimation B form. That one-half sheet of bond paper that doesn’t even have the seal of India is the second most important document in my possession, next to my passport, while my papers are in the Ministry of Home Affairs office in New Delhi. The intimation B is my proof that even if my passport shows an expired visa, I am still a legal alien in India. I thanked Mr. Marcos profusely because it meant I did not have to go back to FRRO after 6 months and try to get another extension, regardless if I have been impressed by their efficiency which I heard is absent in FRROs in other states.

Last stop was an office with 4 glass windows separating the employees from applicants. This time, I could choose any seat I wanted because we were handed a waiting number. When my number was called, I went to window 4, handed all my documents and was told to return after a week. A week later I was back, handed the Intimation B to the woman at window 4, she looked at it handed it back to me and told me to wait for their letter they would send by post. That’s it. No fuss, no payments made. Just sit down, relax and wait, possibly three months. I’m a legal alien and can travel anywhere in India.

Getting an exit permit

In many cases, where a visa extension is under consideration chances are the foreigner won’t get it till the time that the consideration has expired and needs further extension. In such instance, one has to apply again 2 1/2 months before the expiration of Intimation B. A foreigner is required to get an exit permit if he or she wants to leave the country but has a pending application for visa extension. (Also to delist from police registry). Without the permit s/he can’t leave the country.

So now it’s my time to temporarily leave the country on a compassionate ground. My dad will undergo coronary bypass surgery and I want to be there for him. Top priority is to get an exit permit and apply for return visa. I forgot to mention earlier that I learned one lesson while processing my visa extension. That India has a reliable website http://www.immigrationindia.nic.in that provides tremendous information including what documents are required for visa extension. Unfortunately, it doesn’t say anywhere in the site what documents are needed to get exit permit. I found the FRRO Chennai office and called them to inquire. I didn’t get the information I needed and was instead told to go to FRRO and there it would be explained to me.

Let me digress for a moment. You see, Chennai is a huge city with sharks moonlighting as auto-rickshaw drivers. Round trip to and from FRRO is staggering Rs.300 for a mere 10 kilometers, that’s because i know the way and I have learned to negotiate well. At the gates of FRRO are more sharks, er auto drivers, on the lookout for foreigners leaving the premises. Regardless if I projected a mien of nonchalance they would approach me and offer their autos. Hope springs eternal in me so I tell them where I want to go and they immediately say, “come, 300”. I express incredulity if not defiance, “okay, 250”. If I try I could make it go down to 150, but in my one year in Chennai I’ve learned that getting them to agree to my price comes with hitches. They can do either one or all of the following, 1) stop at a petrol station to gas up, 2) drive recklessly and steal glances thru the side mirror to check how fast you lose the color in your face, 3) tsk-tsk and complain about the traffic, 4)pretend that they don’t know the way and ask around for direction, and 5) 50 meters to your destination they whine about the long distance.

As I was saying, that trip to FRRO just to get list of required documents is already taxing, financially and emotionally. I went anyway. A man at the PIO office pored over my documents and asked for my registration paper which I didn’t have because my original visa was only for 180 days. Therefore, I am not a registered alien. I needed to apply for exit permit and return visa, so he said if I came back the next day with confirmed ticket I would be issued both. The next day, I had my confirmed round trip ticket, but there’s a new person in charge and she asked for 3 more documents. She said I am not eligible for return visa because I am not registered and my papers are in New Delhi. As I intend to return after a month I have to get fresh visa in the Philippines.

I returned yet another day (today) with docs, she checked docs, signed and instructed me to go to counter 5. There is no counter 5!!! But there was a man standing right behind me where I was made to wait, he is the Counter 5. Examined my docs, affixed his signature, told me to go back to PIO office. Another look at my papers then was told to pay Rs5580 ($120)by demand draft.

This took much longer than all the previous procedures combined, half an hour at Axis Bank, 2 motorists provided entertainment, a 40 something guy (Man1) was parking his car but was taking a bit long, an old man(Man2) on another car behind his was impatient and yelled at him. Man1 got out of his car and yelled back, exchange of tirades in Tamil. Another man (Man3) joined in the ruckus, Man1 finally parked his car, Man2 directed his rage to Man 3.

From Axis Bank, went back to PIO office, woman issued a receipt, proceeded to Counter 1, papers examined and was handed another half-sheet of bond paper. “Read,” said the woman in Counter 1. It was Intimation A, saying I applied for exit permit and should return the following day between 2 and 3 pm. So tomorrow I go back to FRRO with high hopes that I will be issued exit permit.

On HIV Testing

On June 9 and 10 this year, Francesca held a consultation with members of the INP+ networks for developing a customized advocacy tool kit. One of the essential contents of the tool kit would be case studies of how the networks in varying levels used advocacy as a strategy to improve lives of people living with HIV (PLHIV).

The PLHIVs present in the consultation who are also the leaders of their networks, related stories after stories of the problems many of them confront. One that struck me was the story about two different people from two different states about their HIV tests. And when I said tests, I meant tests for each.

One network officer from Delhi, Hari, narrated the story of Murali (not the real name). Murali has a “concordant family”. In health sector parlance it means he and his wife have HIV, their child has the virus too, apparently transmitted at birth. One day, he got very sick from what seemingly was an opportunistic infection (OI). He went to a hospital to be treated, but before that he was first tested for HIV. A surprising revelation, the test said he was negative of HIV.

Due to dearth of details, I am making up this paragraph. Assuming Murali belongs to the lower economic stratum of the society - a safe assumption because statistics say majority of the PLHIVs is from low income groups – him being sick but HIV negative would not be able to avail of treatments reserved for people with HIV, unless maybe he has a Below Poverty Line (BPL) card that would allow him to avail of government schemes reserved for BPL card holders. But he was found not to have HIV, so that’s still good news. I can imagine his relief. But wouldn’t you now wonder how the wife and the child had become positive?

Anyway, Hari went on to say that Murali had another test in a different testing center after a few months. There he was found positive again. If I were in his wife’s place, I would be relieved; at least any doubts cast upon me when he tested negative would be erased. But would Murali be happy too? Probably not. So after some window period elapsed he went yet again for another test, and the result showed…. make a guess.. no traces of HIV was found in his body. Hari said, “so far he is negative”.

In Tamil Nadu, Sarovanan (not the real name again) tested positive with HIV. Like many of us Sarovanan wanted to get second opinion, or third, or fourth when ill. Second test showed Sarovanan negative, third showed him positive, the fourth said negative. Given the odds if he took a fifth test it would show he is positive. But if he wants to even the score would go for another round and may end up negative. Sarovanan has probably had enough blood extracted from his veins because of these tests that he just decided to approach a person with HIV and asked, “Am I positive or not?” But as Indians are wont to say in helpless situation, and the guy Sarovanan approached did, “what to do? I am not a doctor.”

I wouldn’t blame Murali and Sarovanan if their moods would start to swing extremely back and forth from depression to jubilation. In a country where discrimination (still) exists on the basis of caste and with an HIV stigma to complicate the matter I wouldn’t be surprised if their mood swings develop into bipolar disorder. Fortunately, they still haven’t lost their wits.

It’s alarming enough to know that the number of cases of HIV in India is still uncertain. According to reports half of this has already been identified, but about 15% of the identified cases may be duplication, because many Indians go for several tests in different testing centers under different names. (According to a National AIDS Control Organization (NACO) representative who gave a presentation during VSOI’s HIV workshop in Faridabad in December 2009 when asked about possible duplication of data). It is also alarming that the people who took guts to get tested could test positive and negative alternately. Murali and Sarovanan are just two cases, what is it when a government has to worry about 2.3 million people estimated to have HIV? It may not be enough to cast even an iota of doubt on the reliability of testing centers, but wouldn’t you want to pause and wonder how this could happen?

I took HIV test twice in the Philippines. During the first time in 2005, I agonized while waiting for the test result. (don’t ask why if you want this one short, just read). I was told then of the procedure, that if at first analysis it would show that my anti-bodies were reactive to HIV they would do another test to confirm the result. The second test result would be final. Back then test results could not be known till two weeks later. Well, I tested negative and everyone who knew congratulated me as if I won a lottery. Anyway, that’s how the test is done, as far as I know. The second time I had an HIV test was in 2009 to fulfill requirement for visa application to India. I was 100% sure that the result would be negative. If it showed otherwise I was prepared to demand another. But while waiting for the result I thought of possible reasons how the result could be otherwise. I thought wildly about my dentist’s syringe and my surgeon’s scalpel, though I was confident I could not possibly contract HIV with sterilized medical and dental tools.

My point is, taking an HIV test alone could be tormenting, even more when done repeatedly and getting different result each time. It takes gumption to do it. This is HIV we are talking about, not only could it be a fatal virus, albeit not instant, this could also be a psychologically and socially debilitating virus that could alter the course of one’s life. Without proper and adequate support someone with HIV can be killed faster by humiliation, remorse, guilt, grief, social exclusion, discrimination. Times of India reported in late July that HIV stigma and discrimination still persists in India.

I also heard stories about quack doctors prescribing meds to PLHIV, but that’s a different story. As I said, Murali and Sarovanan’s may only be two isolated cases, but isn’t it worth checking by NACO? This made me ask if the government of India regulates HIV testing. This deserves attention if those working on HIV issues could gather ample evidences that this is happening in a larger extent. The estimated HIV population in India is overwhelming and by now I am no longer surprised. True, there is so much more issues the government, thru NACO, are concerned with as regards to HIV. But I believe a lot could change, even policies could change, if the first step to knowing the prevalence of HIV is addressed. It is one thing to provide crores of rupees for care and support of identified PLHIVs, it is another to ensure the reliability of procedure for identification.

The effort to prevent further spread of HIV starts by encouraging people with high risks to get tested, NACO should guarantee that testing centers are legitimate and dependable.

the story of my 48-hour train journey

I’ve forgotten all the fun I had co-facilitating the Capacity Building workshop with Michael in Ranchi, Jarkhand and Patna, Bihar and all the nice people I met there when I boarded the train in Patna to Chennai. From the onset, all indications showed it was going to be a horrible journey. First, I had RAC10 (reserve against cancellation) ticket which meant I could get on the train but not have a berth of my own. Well, I would get a berth but I would have to share it with another commuter. Unless 10 people backed out, I would be sitting up all the way to Chennai, over 1500 kilometers, 42-hour journey. I was already on panic mode 2 hours before when I learned about the status of my ticket. Half an hour before my ETD, I almost begged Michael to just let me get on his train to Delhi and proceed to Chennai from there.

A guy from JM Institute (JMI), the organizer of the workshop in Patna, assured me he would talk to the TT (the Train Inspector, please don’t ask how it became to be initialed TT) to inquire about how long I would be on RAC. At the railway station, Khan approached the TT who was either blind or deaf as he was just oblivious to Khan and me standing right in front of him talking. Suffice it to say that we didn’t get any assurance, not even a recognition that we existed. I no longer feigned any weakness and just started to shed tears out of frustration. What was I to do?

The train arrived on time at Platform 2, Michael, Khan and another guy from JMI helped me settle down on the berth assigned to me, second class with air conditioner, coach A1 seat no. 39. The heat inside the coach was ominous of my impending tribulation. Both fan and a/c were off, commuters edged their ways in the narrow aisle. Someone said fans are usually switched on at least 5 minutes before departure. It was 19:45 PM, the ETD was 19:55. Most of the passengers in A1 got out of the train for some air. The train left at 20:05.

July 22, 2010 - the ordeal begins.
20:05. as I said the train departed the Patna Junction station, passengers in my coach used their hands or whatever piece of paper they could get hold of to fan themselves.

20:15, the fan went on, to our relief. The train made an unscheduled stop.

20:20. Fan went off, train moved, lights flickered, then total darkness.

20:25. Train stopped for 5 minutes, still without a/c nor fan, lights back on.

21:00. Fan went back on, train gained speed. It ran at a steady speed, but not fast enough.

21:20 the fan was out again.

21:45. Fan on

22:10. Fan off. I couldn’t hide my consternation anymore and started cussing. I asked the college students in my coach if we could at least lodge a complaint. Said they already did, but I had no idea how when the TT hasn’t even shown up yet. Asked about the railways management’s response, they looked at one another, smiled and shrugged their shoulders.

22:20. Train stopped at Buxar station, no fan, no breeze from outside. A Tamilian woman working with AID India was visibly annoyed (who could blame her?) and grumbled. ‘they should change the bogey even before we left Patna”. One of the college guys came to tell us the management wanted a proof that complaint was filed before they did anything. What the f…. He added though that ‘problem will be solved’ at Mughal Sarai station, 1 ½ hours from where we currently were.

22:50. Train started to move again still without a fan, dragging all 20 coaches to the next station. I went to the vestibule to get some air. I wanted to say ‘fresh air’ but the stench from the commodes dominated the air. The Tamilian woman came and told her companions who were also at the vestibule, two of them white people, that they could temporarily occupy empty berths in the next coach where the AC was working.

23:05. Fan was back on. Notice how I barely mention a/c now, I’ve dumped any hope of AC by this time.

23:10. The TT came to inspect our tickets. It was my chance to ask about getting my own berth, and be noticed. A woman named Sumitra was to share the berth with me but there was no sign of her so far. I thought I could get a confirmation that I’d have it to myself. If I had to fan myself all night, I was hoping that I could at least do it with my back rested on the bunk. “just a minute, just a minute,” the TT told me. And then he was gone before I could say another word.


23:25. Fan out as it neared a minor station, lights flickered, teasing us they’re going off anytime. The train stopped again, it seemed to me an unscheduled stop. Or maybe not, cops got out of the train.

23:32. Train left the station, fan on.

23:35. Train crew distributed pillows, bedsheets and blankets. The guy occupying the berth atop mine wanted to make sure he got a blanket. I couldn’t help commenting, “what do you need a blanket for? We’re being stewed alive here”. Regardless, i made sure I had a complete set and immediately spread the bed sheet. I marked my territory. I decided that if ever Sumitra came on board I would dissuade her, tell her to get off while she could for it was infernal on the train.

July 23, 2010 – the ordeal continues

00:30. Feeling more confident that Sumitra had already changed her mind, I dozed off in spite of the heat. I was roused from sleep when the fan went off again as train slowed down. I noticed the pattern; obviously there was not adequate electricity to power the train and the fan at the same time. I was thinking we could have fan on all night but the train won’t move, or the train moves and the manual fans get into action.

I looked out my window, from the look of the station we had reached Mughal Sarai, where ‘problem will be solved’. We were still in the state of Bihar. From my window I saw several men got on our coach with flashlights and cables. A glimmer of hope, I must say.


1:00. We were exactly where we were half an hour ago. There was no sign at all that the train was going to depart soon. The sauna, er the train still didn’t have the fans on. Most of the passengers were awake, save for a few older women who seemed impervious to the atrocious temperature inside the train.

The Tamilian woman came back to our coach, more outspoken now and carped at the ineptness of railways authorities. “All these railways people, they don’t care. Bhanerjee is not doing anything, and the railways system employs the most number of Indians.” I don’t know who is Bhanerjee, I supposed s/he is the top honcho in the Indian Railways System Authority.

Situation update, no fans, no water in the bathroom, all men were outside the train, swarming around the TTs, demanding the bogey be changed or we all stay till they get the problem fixed. Five hours on the train without any ventilation finally got Indians to rise up and didn’t just accept the often bad customer service accorded to them.

I was back in the vestibule, for want of some good news, I curiously watched the commotion just outside our coach. A red-haired Indian was being pushed and screamed at by an angry railways authority while men gathered around them. Normally, I would be wary if I witnessed a brewing clash, but being here in India for a year (1 year and 2 days to be exact) I’ve observed that Indians are not at all violent. All these pushing, shoving and shouting would dissipate in seconds and no fist would land on any person’s face.

1:11. I went back to my berth, skipping my way over cables that power charged the train generators. For a brief moment a droning sound came from the ACs only to quiet down after about 10 seconds. The AC went on and off but wasn’t cooling the bogey. The stench from the toilet filled the air, flies multiplied by the minute.

1:30. The AC was officially on but was still not cooling the coach. Everyone was still up and about, I started chatting with the Tamilian woman. She and her companions were in Bihar for 6 days, they visited remote communities where their organization provides education assistance. They had a chance to visit Bodh Gaya, site of Buddhist temple with colossal golden statue of Buddha. Michael and I didn’t have the same luck, it was 100 kilometers away from Patna; we didn’t have the luxury of time to see the touristy places of Bihar.

I was tired, sweaty, sleepy, hungry. The pantry crew didn’t serve dinner the night before.

2:54. The train finally revved up its engine and we resumed our journey. The AC failed to work.

3:29. I awoke with the train in total darkness, silence and heat. Too exhausted to even bother I forced myself back to sleep.

6:00. Chai wallas bellowed, “chai, kapi”. I wonder if they knew that we, on that coach, were wide awake through most of the night and would rather doze off than drink tea or coffee. And surprise, surprise, AC was on.

7:30. Allahabad Junction, Uttar Pradesh. We were at last out of Bihar. Got up and had a cup of coffee. AC was still working, thank goodness.

9:30. Still in Allahabad Junction, AC gone, replaced by fan that was threatening to die any minute. Rumor had it that bogey would be changed.

9:45. Police, media people and railways guys in familiar black vests huddled just in front of the coach. Miss Tamil was back to grumbling and me, to cussing. I wanted to defenestrate myself but the window was made of fiber glass and there was a fine of several hundred rupees for breaking the glass windows without a valid reason.

The authorities ultimately got hold of the complaint filed 12 hours ago and decided to do something, ‘we’ll change bogey at the next station’. This phrase was becoming like their ‘tomorrow’, it almost never comes. What’s really infuriating was that they were aware of the problem while we were still in Patna, it would have been the best place to get new coaches but instead delayed any action till people protested against the inhumane condition. Man, the people in these coaches could very well belong to the middle class and paid high price for comfort (not me, mine was paid by JMI). The passengers in the general coach I assumed were in better condition.

9:55. The train left the station sans the AC. Just fan now. Same old inoperative bogey.

10:19. Pantry crew came to take orders for lunch. If they were taking orders now it meant we would be in the same coach till at least after 1 pm, after lunch has been served and consumed. AC was working now, quite stably. Halleluyah.

12:00. Train stopped again. Arggh! It didn’t look like a major and scheduled stop, maybe they were just giving the engine a break.

12:40. Long break the engine had, the train started moving again. The AC was still working. By this time, there was no more agitation, my fellow commuters have submitted to the fact that we’d all never get to our destinations on time. I was still struggling with myself, I thought of invoking the powers of Brahma, Shiva and Vishnu.

14:00. Lunch time was over. The young man atop my berth set up his laptop on the tiny table next to my bunk. We watched Bollywood film called ‘Melenge,’ an obvious and forthright adaptation of Serendipity (John Cusack and Kate Beckinsale). It was in Hindi with occasional subtitles; the curtains in our section of the coach were pulled up so everyone could watch. It was a better treat than the Hollywood movie we watched earlier with my laptop, Turner and Hooch, an old movie that starred Tom Hanks and a brown Rottweiler (don’t trust this one, I have limited knowledge of canine breeds).

From then on, the journey was uneventful, or we were unmindful of the journey. Train still stopped almost every quarter of or half an hour, but with the AC on it was a more comfortable ride.

July 24, 2010

7:30. I decided to get up. My next-bunk neighbors have had their chai. We were already in Andhra Pradesh (AP), just one state away from Chennai, two from Bangalore. I could not hear the drones from the AC, but it was raining in AP so it was okay. I sensed enthusiasm in the people aboard the train. We were just 10 to 16 hours to our destinations, Chennai and Bangalore respectively. The crucial station was Vijayawada. If we reached there without any incident, the next leg would be smooth.

12:00. Train reached Vijawada. Whoopee! Fed up with unsavory meals on train, many got out of to buy provisions for the remaining hours on the train, popcorn, fruit salad, biscuits, ice-cold juices, bananas, ice cream. I got my chocolate ice cream bar for Rs25, while Ms. Tamil got hers for only 20. Darn, I should constantly carry a badge saying “I’m a struggling volunteer. Don’t rip me off”. I can flash it every time I have to purchase something or haggle with rickshaw drivers.

14:00. Another Bollywood movie, comedy this time. I’ve completely lost claim to my berth as there were now 3 people snugly roosted on it as they laughed heartily. It didn’t have subtitle but one of the stars is a finer version of Jude Law, so I stuck it out and finished the movie. The AC was completely out, but it was still cool inside

.18:00. I readied my baggages, only to find out that we wouldn’t reach Chennai till 8 pm. I looked at signages, I couldn’t read them. I was frustrated.

19:30. Suddenly regained my reading proficiency, we were already in Tamil Nadu, half an hour to my destination. Even my neighbors who didn’t speak English, bound for Bangalore were excited.

20:00. Train reached Central Station, there were exchanges of relief, gratitude for the fleeting yet indispensable friendship and wishes of good luck for those were to stay on board for another 6 hours.

After 48 gruelling hours, I am now thinking of my next trip, 28 hours, 2000 kilometers, Chennai to Delhi. Aside from the three major Hindu god this early I’m invoking the powers even of their avatars.

Red Ribbon Express

Because I promised to rave next time in my blog that I am posting this.
I started this last April and then completely forgot about it.

I was glad to have caught the Red Ribbon Express that arrived in Chennai Central on April 1, 2010. Chennai Central is the largest railway station in Tamil Nadu, with tens of thousands of passengers coming and going from different parts of India every day and night. It’s a strategic location for the Red Ribbon Express.

The Red Ribbon Express (RRE) is a 7-coach train, touted as world's largest social mobilization campaign against HIV, launched by the National AIDS Control Organiztion (NACO) in 2007. It is now on its second phase that flagged off in Delhi during the World AIDS Day (December 1) last year and had been to states of Rajasthan, Gujarat, Maharashtra, Karnataka and Kerala before reaching Tamil Nadu.

The train was stationed at platform 11 for two days. Unlike the other trains i've been on, this one didn't have bunks to sleep on and was not meant to ferry passengers from one point of India to another. The train was transformed into an integrated venue for information and education, counselling and testing center. At least three coaches were bedecked with multi-media HIV awareness materials, posters, pictures, videos, and my favorite, telephones that when you lift the handset you could listen to canned messages explaining more about HIV. There were at least 6 phones and each one catered to specific needs of young professionals, familied person, women, and others. There was also counselling and testing center in one of the coaches. Anyone who needed counselling and wanted to be tested for HIV could go right there and then.

Unfortunately, everything was in Tamil, I could have raved more about it had I been able to comprehend their messages. What’s amazing is how much sweat and preparation were put into it by NACO, other HIV organizations and volunteers, because all the materials were produced in different languages and scripts and appropirate materials would be mounted for every state.

Outside the train, over 50 booths were set up for various organizations engaged in HIV issues. The entire platform 11 was a market of condoms, contraceptives, info materials, and some knick-knacks produced and sold by people with HIV. I didn’t know there was that much organizations concerned with HIV in Tamil Nadu.

But that’s not all, medical practitioners and volunteers also went to proximate districts and villages while the RRE was stationed in Chennai Central, to reach more people. They also brought with them HIV testing kits. According to a report in The Hindu, Chennai edition since phase 1 of this campaign, over 16,000 people have voluntarily submitted to testing and about 50% were identified as positive.


There’s an estimated 2.6 million cases of HIV in India, half of this has already been identified and recorded in NACO. I am not sure how many of them are in Tamil Nadu, but this is definitely one state with high prevalence of HIV. Years of arduous advocacy and networking with government, and education at grassroots level helped curb further HIV transmission in this state.

It was interesting to note that in Chennai Central Railway, throngs of people came to see the RRE and came in close contact with people in HIV manning (don’t know a gender neutral synonym, apologies) the booths, a good indication that there is reduced stigma and discrimination, the main adversary of the people with HIV.

Photo from http://www.tribuneindia.com/2008/20081108/aplus.html

more photos later

Warning: I'm in a foul mood today

During our Preparing for Change training (PFC) in VSO, soon after we passed the assessment, we were told that volunteers are a rare breed of people. For one, it is not easy to decide to just leave your country and live among people in a cultural setting that one is not used to. One thing that was given so much focus was the aspect of culture, how to be sensitive, how to handle culture shock, how to be adapatable. Rare might we be but volunteers are not saints.

Enough of disclaimer, I am simply in a foul mood today and I want to rant.(I promise to rave next time) For a valid reason I cannot talk about what’s making me feel short-tempered but I do need to vent , and I’ve decided to pick on the construction workers in our compound as my hapless victims.

There’s a construction going on in our compound. The landlord is building three more apartment units in the second floor. It was started by two sari-clad women carrying 15 to 20 kilos of cement bricks each on their heads. The bricks were stacked outside the compound and transferred to what used to be our rooftop. Then more women came, and then men came, maybe not in that order. Now there are about 10 people working in the compound everyday; the construction according to my landlord will take three months.

I must thank these people who work so fast that in just a couple of days they’ve erected the walls that insulated our apartments from the scorching summer heat. It doesn’t feel like an oven anymore and I’ve stopped using my air-conditioner every night.

Now just as fast as they build the second floor the garbage accumulates faster. Our junkyard, er, our front yard already looked like a junkyard even before the construction began. There are steel bars that might have been used as scaffolding when our part of the building was constructed, slabs of wood, surplus bricks, a corroded motorbike, a guava tree, a coconut tree, and dry fallen leaves, all of them forms the landscape of our junkyard, er front yard.

The construction workers have their lunch in our walkway, right in front of Francesca’s (the other volunteer) flat. I want to digress for a moment, F and I often come home for lunch and every time we give them cold water, whoever gets home first. We’re volunteers, we’re a rare breed of people so we don’t complain if we must supply them with drinking water daily which we buy from the landlord‘s store. If only they could be more polite and request rather than always command us to get them cold water.

About the trash, some of them (the workers, not the trash) bring food from home packed in stainless metal containers that is common in India. Others buy food from the hotels (restaurants). A typical Tamil Nadu lunch you get from hotels is ¼ kilo of cooked rice wrapped either in plastic bag or banana leaf, sambar (a tasty mix of smothered vegetables), wrapped in small cellophane bag, rasam (clear soup with coriander and I dunno what else) wrapped in small cellophane bag, a dahl also wrapped in cellophane bag, and curd (diluted milk with onion, coriander, chili) yes another cellophane bag. Curd helps in digestion, rasam cools the body. Sometimes there’s an extra treat of papad, wrapped in old newspaper. These come in set and contained in a bigger plastic bag. So if at least half of them (the workers, not the trash) didn’t bring lunch from home and throw their garbage in our front yard, that’s 5 banana leaves, 20 to 30 plastic bags and 5 sheets of old newspaper flung haphazardly in our front yard e-very single day. And I’m not even counting the disposable tea cups (morning and afternoon, they each have a cup of tea).

One morning during the first week of construction, I wore my pink rubber mitts and picked up all their rubbish. I made sure they saw me did it with a grimace. The women, with cement bricks on their heads, stopped to watch me and chattered in Tamil. Soon I realised they wanted me to stop and told me they’d clean up later. I didn’t. One woman who just deposited her bricks on the second floor joined me and quickly reaped all litters she could. I gave them an old bucket they could use to collect their garbage, “deyavu seda” (please). For a good two days there was no visible trash. But soon enough, more rubbish piled up, now this time with cement bags, empty tins, more slabs of wood, more metals. F talked to the landlord that he should have it cleaned, he said ‘uh, yes maybe after construction’. MAYBE???? Now tell me if I shouldn’t rant.

My Indian friends and colleagues will pardon me when I say that lack of environmental sanitation is an obnoxious characteristic in India, and this is true anywhere. I hear some of them who complain about these themselves and said that educated or not, majority of Indians don’t care about sanitation.

I come from a developing country and garbage collection system is never at its best. In fact annual inundation in some parts of Manila during the rainy season, are partly to be blamed on uncollected solid wastes. But the difference is that people in the Philippines would always at least think twice before disposing their garbage just anywhere, and try not to get caught doing it. There are huge garbage bins in the major streets here but are often only half-full (or half-empty, depends on the type of person you are) while around it are piles of litters. What is so hard about making sure a small plastic tea cup they throw lands inside the bin and if they missed pick it up and try shooting again? This and the frenzied streets of India are two things I’ll never get accustomed to.

Oh, I feel better now, enough of ranting for tonight. I have to save some so I’ll have an excuse to rant the next time I feel down again. Apologies to the construction workers in our compound, more cold drinking water coming up.

A brief trip back to the Philippines on Election Day

For the first time since I came of legal age to vote I am waiving my right of suffrage in exchange of a volunteer service in India. It’s one right that I have always enjoyed to exercise despite the fact that not of one of my choices emerged as winner. For some reason I am glad not to be in my country today and unable to vote because of the stultifying inanity in the conduct of this year’s elections. I’d start with the outgoing president running for Congress, two notch lower than her current position. Many sincerely believed that with her unquenchable thirst for power, this is a ploy so that if she made it to congress she, along with her would-be congressional cohorts can amend the constitution and orchestrate a shift from presidential to parliamentary system that would catapult her to the position of prime minister. Others think that this is an attempt to still still hide from the cloak of impunity, elude the copious charges of corruption that will be thrown at her feet once she is no longer in power.

Then there’s a former president ousted less than a decade ago and is trying to stage a comeback even after being jailed, convicted of plunder, then pardoned and released. There’s also the candidate overtly supported by the administration but all indications show that there is another candidate who woos the voters with his rags-to-riches story, who has the clandestine backing of the administration. And then there’s the former president’s son not known for stellar performance in the senate but banks on the legacy of his parents. There are other candidates vying for presidential post but surveys showed their poor ranking as people’s choice. That they sling filthy mud at one another needs no mention . Sadly, this is a norm rather than an exception.

For another reason I feel that I want to be there and be part of the historic national elections. It is yet the most crucial election since 1985 when I was a year short of the age to vote. Today, my country decides on its plight through an automated election, something that people have been clamoring for years, weary of the constant cheating and protracted canvassing that keeps filipinos in suspended animation and anticipation of whether those who were expected to rig the results could actually carry it out .

It is also a crucial day because the country has been muddled in deep political and economic crises for the last nine years that many Filipinos, and this is just my own take, have been worn out with actions to replace an unwanted government through another people power. Today, Filipinos decide with a glimpse of hope for genuine change thru reviving virtues and morals that eluded us for the last couple of years.

Doubts about the cleanliness of this election still looms but people are more engaged and vigilant now. I don’t know what will happen 36 hours after the polls officially close and the new president is announced. Talks about another people power are floating, just as I was writing this I saw a video of a former military officer, now at large, one of those who staged mutiny against the current government announced that they will support another people power, if the election results do not turn out the way the people want it. Other more popular leaders however disapproves of another marching on the streets.

I am not registered as an absentee voter. I am simply not a voter this year, period. All I could do now is hope that this year election is clean and that the true voices of the people will emerge. Together with the Filipinos casting their votes today I dream with them that we have a new government that will genuinely lift the country from economic and political despondency.

Go with the flow

As someone who is used to going against the tide I was surprised with myself that during the last three days I just went with the flow. I’ve heard some volunteers say “go with the flow” referring to how they dealt with happenings in their placements. I couldn’t really grasp it until the retreat our organization had last week.

It was called a retreat but it didn’t fall under my category so I’d rather call it a welcome break from monotony of work. The departure from office was set at 3 pm, Thursday; went to office in the morning and did whatever work I could finish before we took a three-day off. I already packed in the morning but left my luggage at home as my flat is one-minute walk away so I just picked it up right after lunch at 2 pm. I was back in the office by 2:30. Two maxi-cabs were waiting outside, everyone was just getting tidied up and prepping to go. I smiled at the thought that we might just leave on time. Alas, we didn’t.

For some reason, even as we have all loaded up our bags in the vans we just didn’t leave right away. Most of us were either standing next to the vans or at the front door of the office, waiting… waiting… No one appeared impatient but I and F, the other volunteer. The time that passed seemed like eternity because we didn’t know what we were waiting for. We found out later that some people went some place to get a few more things we’d need for the retreat. (took a deep breath, no use grumbling).

Fast forward to the retreat up in Yelagiri Hills. (A post about Yelagiri Hills coming up soon, or you can just google)

April 29, 8:30 pm. With the one hour delay in departure time the planned agenda instantly changed. After dinner we had a brief orientation and postponed playing Tambola till the following day. Tambola is an Italian game like BINGO, but without the letters B-I-N-G-O, and the numbers to be drawn were up to 90 instead of 75.

April 30, At 6:30 am the men were already in the field readying for our cricket match when I and F got there. Indians are passionate about cricket and know the sport by heart. While I, being a Filipino, am utterly ignorant of how the game is played, and couldn’t make a sense out of it even after trying to watch the IPL. Still unacquainted with the rules I found myself a member of one team. Asking about the rules didn’t help because no one explained. They know the game and it was enough. Just go with the flow.

I took the bat and positioned myself in the base, I didn’t know that I had to protect the wicket behind me (three poles standing at the base) and just tried to hit the ball thrown at me by the bowler (the pitcher in baseball). I managed to hit a no-run ball a few times, and one when I was told to run and exchange places with one of our team players standing next to the bowler. Run I did. My Indian colleagues seemed to be enjoying the game, some of them shouting words that didn’t mean anything to me, “5 balls, 7 runs”, “over”, “four”. I didn’t know what was happening but at least I knew who were my team mates. I cheered for them regardless if it was called for or not. My team lost the game, how and why I had no inkling at all.

After breakfast we went to the session hall, located in the basement of our hostel, to play Tambola. This time, because not every one knew how the game is played, there was an instruction. Cool. What I couldn’t understand was why D who directed the game after every number was called, kept blowing the whistle with great intensity in a large almost empty room that a whisper would be amplified ten times. I was sitting next to him. Remember that there were 90 tiles to be drawn, winner emerged only after one managed to block out all 15 numbers in his/her ticket. There was no winner until the 85th tile, that meant 85 times he blew the whistle. If ever I won, the prize wouldn’t have been enough to pay for the ear doctor.

When one round of Tambola was over, F and I ran an activity on communication. We divided the group into 3 and asked each of them to complete their puzzles as quickly as possible. We were given an hour for the entire activity, including a short discussion afterwards. Half an hour passed and the teams were still struggling with their puzzles (for kids aged 3++). What made it difficult was we had the pieces mixed up, and didn’t tell them, so each team needed to negotiate with another if they wanted to complete their puzzles. The activity took longer than expected because no one wanted to stop. No amount of whistling from F helped, they just did what they wanted to do. Everything I learned about facilitation of group dynamics exercise vanished. Well, they were having fun and it was a rest and recreation for them. Just go with the flow.

The power was on and off the entire day, towards the afternoon the sky dimmed and it started raining, the bonfire in the evening was out of the question now. Other plans changed as well and I didn’t know why. Going to the local market was not in the to-do list but after lunch we went anyway, it being Yelagiri’s market day. The market day meant producers from all over the town assmebled in one place. We saw enormous jackfruits and homemade honey, other than that there was nothing to fancy.

It seemed like we were taking each hour at a time, did whatever was convenient at the given time. From the market we proceeded to Nature Park, though the YMCA compound where we stayed looked more natural . It was basically a huge fenced garden with few benches and a tea stall. The fun thing to do was skipping your way around the park dodging the sprinklers which were all turned on the time we visited.

We wanted to check out a waterfall downhill but from where we were standing we could not see water falling. A visit to Wikitravel confirms that April is not a good time to see the falls, which I just found out is called Jalagamaparai. In fact any time of the year may not be a good time because again, according to Wikitravel, there has been no water in the falls for the last five years.

Power was still out when we came back to YMCA, right in time for tea. I had no idea what we’d do next. I don’t know if it’s because my colleagues spoke Tamil most of the time that I could barely make out what they were discussing. I had a copy of the 3-day program with me but that seemed to be completely useless at the time. Obviously the plan was being revised every hour but no one would explain to me and F unless we asked. And often, even if we asked the reply we’d get was “polama” (let’s go) . When it got dark, I followed some colleagues as they walked towards the chartered maxi-cab. K, the ever-efficient staff was counting the people standing next to the vehicle, next thing I knew we were boarding the maxi-cab to go back to the market. Oh well, I could use another bottle of Sprite and a bar of Kitkat.

May 1. Back in the field at 6:30, tomatoes and water in sachets were laid on the ground like a maze, the original cricket players were there. We would play a game called Boys versus Girls (i wonder if there was any debate before they arrived at the best name for the game). Only one person knew what was the game about so there was an instruction in Tamil and English, thank goodness. All men in one team, all women in another. One at a time, a team member was blindfolded, the rest of the team will guide him/her through the maze. The objective is to get to the other side of the maze without stepping on the tomatoes and packets of water. Men scored 3, we scored 2.

To my delight, there were very specific instructions today. After the Boys versus girls, there’s breakfast, “pack all your things, we meet at nine am”. “Where do we put our bags?”, asked F. “Pack your things and I will tell you later”, was the reply. Aghh, was it too much to ask?

Someone said we’d depart at 9, but we gathered at the basement instead. Half of us were already there, the other half… waiting..waiting.. faces gloomy now. Half an hour later everyone finally came. there was an awarding ceremony for the game winners. If I knew it, I would have joined more games. (I missed the volleyball match). Then time to go, move out, go for boating and a biryani lunch on the way back to Chennai. The trip back to the city was uneventful, and so was the waiting before we actually left YMCA. For a good one hour we were just sitting inside the vans waiting…waiting… by this time I no longer cared what was keeping us.

I didn’t pack a good amount of patience from home, being here in India however the little supply I have seemed to be multiplying on a daily basis. Months of being here taught me that there is no sense of urgency here. I think this is what is meant when they say life is slow in India.

The other thing is lack of fluency in the spoken language inhibits me from fully grasping t the minute details. I feel my colleagues have become well acquainted with me that they tend to forget I can’t understand their language, without meaning to exclude me from any discussion.

As a volunteer i know that in some ways i have to create a flow, but there are times when the best thing to do is to just go with the flow. It makes life bearable and i don't miss the fun.