After All This Time (11 page)

‘Why are you saying that now . . . now when I can do nothing to change it? To rub my mistakes in my face? To prove that I was wrong?’

‘No. I’m sorry. I did not mean it in that sense.’

‘I had to go. I
had
to. And at that time, I honestly believed that that was the only way I would ever be able to forget things and start over. I believed that it was the only way I would feel normal after . . . You have no idea what I went through.’

‘I do, Lavi. Trust me, I do.’ Shourya’s tone was almost pleading. He could sense the agony she was in, and he wanted it to end.

‘You don’t!’ Lavanya hissed.

Shourya reached out and held her hand. He felt it burn his skin for a second before she pulled away.

‘We need to get you home. You have a fever.’ Shourya started the car.

‘No! You think it should have been easy for me. To forget about it, to forgive him and move on. Turn a new leaf, begin a new chapter, or whatever fancy name you want to give it. But it is not as simple as that. Once you’ve seen your father . . . naked in your science teacher’s bedroom . . .
You
try to live with something like that, and tell me if it is easy!’ Lavanya said heatedly, tears flowing down her cheeks. ‘Nobody had any respect for me. I was the butt of all jokes. He was the one having an affair, but I became the school slut.’

Shourya could see what the conversation was doing to Lavanya, but he could not stay quiet. He had to speak up. ‘I never said it was easy. But running away was never the solution. What’s changed now that you’ve come back so many years later, other than the fact that everyone is almost a decade older? You’re picking up from where you left off. If anything, judging by that night when I was over, things have only become more awkward.’

‘Of course they have! He never even apologized!’

‘How could he? Have you even given him the chance to speak to you? How is he supposed to say anything to you, when you don’t talk to him at all? Have you ever stopped being angry with him long enough to consider how tough it must be for him?’

‘
Him?
’ Lavanya shrieked. ‘What do you care about him? Why are you always taking his side?’

‘Lavanya! Be reasonable. I did not say I was taking his side, I am just trying to see how it must have been for him. One mistake and that has defined the way his daughter is going to treat him for the rest of his life.’

‘It was not a small mistake, Shourya!’ Lavanya snapped. ‘You know how tough it became for me to even go to school.’

‘I know. And I understand what you went through. I was there through most of it, and I am here now. You know that.’ Shourya tried to hold her hand again, and this time, she let him. ‘Listen,’ he continued after a pause, ‘you just got here. It took you long enough, but the fact that you were able to come here shows that you are stronger than you give yourself credit for. Give it time.’

‘Weren’t seven years enough?’ she sighed, resting her back against the car seat and closing her eyes.

Shourya reached out and touched her cheek. ‘Seven years when you weren’t here. Now you are, and it’s only been, what, seven days?’

‘It’s too difficult, Shourya.’

Shourya could see her closed eyelids pressed in deep pain. Her breathing was slow and deliberate. He did not want to argue with her any more. She was running a fever and becoming groggy—she clearly needed rest. ‘Yes, it is,’ he said. ‘But it’s going to be okay soon.’

He made her fasten her seatbelt and drove her back home. Her eyes were closed the entire time.

Lavanya took the long way around the huge lawn in front of All India Institute of Medical Sciences (AIIMS). She walked briskly, intently, wasting no time. Even though it had been a long time since she had lived in Delhi, she feared being spotted in the hospital. It was the last thing she needed.

She had stayed up all night, reading up on the Internet, which was overflowing with countless resources for people infected with HIV. The websites she found were very . . . kind. She Googled ‘what happens if i am tested hiv positive’ and read from the first ten sites that were listed in the search results. After four hours of reading through government and healthcare sites, she had a sense of what the next steps for her would probably be.

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.