Field Visit Report 2: DOSTANA

Wednesday, March 18 2015

 Pallavi, a fellow intern who graciously does all of my translating at the cost of her own note-taking, and I met Khrisna, an outreach worker at the Dostana Drop-in Centre, near the Irani Hotel and followed him to the office, which has the steepest set of stairs I have ever climbed. Think of something over a foot in elevation per step. Not the kind of entryway you sled down in a cardboard box as a kid.

 The staff at the Dostana centre is composed of 4 outreach workers, a doctor, a counsellor, and some twenty peer-educators. Originally, the site was supposed to have 6 outreach workers, but two have taken their leave, and a third was sick at the time of our visit. This particular drop-in centre is probably covers the most territory, as outreach workers are dispatched to 5 different train stations: Andheri, King’s Circle, Mahim, GTB, and Sion. The most active sites are the MacDonald’s at Andheri station, where clients feel more at liberty to get acquainted with their dates than the station’s restrooms, Dadar Plaza, and the Mahim station lavatories.

Mahim Station

 We are told that, about 2 years ago, a group of men beat to death a Panthi (Top) at a nearby cruising site that has since been demolished. I am told that harassment is a common problem and that scenarios where goondas force Khotis (Bottoms) to undress in public and humiliate them are a recurring issue. Because NACO’s guidelines assess Panthis as lower-risk individuals, the drop-in centre staff does not register them. I’ve also learned that the term “Double-decker” applies to MSM who are both tops and bottoms.

 The Dostana project was initiated in 2007 as a collaboration between HST and the Mumbai District AIDS Control Society (at the municipal level), the Maharashtra State AIDS Control (at the state level) and the government’s Public Health department. The Dharavi area, which is the biggest slum in Mumbai, counts at least 98 registered MSM of which 46 are active at various sites. Unfortunately, we are told that the counsellors cannot cover the whole area due to lack of funding. In total the drop-in centre counts over 1, 500 registered clients. .

With regards to condom distribution, the staff at the drop-in center keeps an account of the average number of sexual acts per week of every client, and then estimates the demands for the upcoming month, which are then presented to the municipal officials in charge of supplying the goods.

 The age bracket for the center varies from 18 to 50; however, because NACO’s guidelines view  the 50+ demographic of MSMs to be less at risk than their younger counterparts, they go unaccounted for.  

An POW starts on the subject of what is means to be young as an MSM, and portrays a rather sad picture of growing older. “Sometimes the older guys interrupt other couples and start fights,” he says. Because MSMs have a tendency to grow less popular as they age, this demographic tends to resort to sex workers to fulfil their needs. One young man tells me that older men are often willing to offer money to sleep with him, but that he usually turns them down, “I have so many friends already,” he adds, ”my gay Facebook account has over 4,000 friends, people I have met all over the country. Besides, old people tend to go crazy on us.”

He also confides that before meeting with a counsellor regarding his HIV testing, his understanding of condoms were that they were only used to prevent pregnancy. Despite his young age, he says he has known about the existence of Humsafar Trust for a few years now, “We are all gay. Everyone knows about Humsafar Trust. They have all these events,” he adds.

We ask him whether or not he is out to his parents: “I started my gay life in 4th standard, when I was about 10 years old,” he says. His parents have been relatively accepting, telling only that he is a boy and that he should behave like one. “When I got to travel, or college, I realized that there were many gays,” he confides, enthusiastically. At the age of 18, he admits to having had sexual intercourse with 10-15 men. He defines his only serious, failed, relationship as ‘a way of passing time’ and again offers a pessimistic view of aging. When I remind him that the times will have changed when he grows older, he answers that “despite that it will always be a question of choice.” What if nobody chooses him?

 Teenagers are not registered because it would require obtaining their parent’s consent. We are told, sadly, that HIV+ clients under the age of 18 are often left to their own devices, and tend to react rather aggressively. Pallavi enquires about the amount of information regarding STIs that is circulated in the community, to which we are told that most of the prevention work centers around HIV.

We talk briefly about the risks of going to new cruising sites. One outreach worker tells us he had a tough time integrating the circles at first, “the others think we are trying to steal the men away from them,” he says.

A spot between Juhu Beach and Carter road has a history of violent acts against MSMs and transgender people. The POWs go on to describe accounts where good-looking boys lure gay men into the mangroves, only to have them ambushed by a group of slum-dwellers after they’ve hooked up. We are shown a couple of photos of a man who has been severely beaten with sticks because he was standing around at a cruising site. Refusal to cooperate generally meets with further taunts, and beatings. What marks me the most about these situations is that no one steps in or stands up for the victims.  People just stand idly by, watching attentively as violence unfolds.

Another young man tells us that a police officer, who lives right across from his parents house, has a of raping young MSMs in the street for everyone to see in order to shame them, and then beats them up. This has happened on 4 or 5 occasions to one of his friends.

I watch the young boy fiddle nervously with a paper garland, and am suddenly reminded that they are just kids, after all. A part of me wants to question the veracity of some of the more outrageous stories that have been bestowed upon us. It is not that I don’t believe them necessarily, but parts of it does seem sensational, like a hardship story that has become to embody some ideal of a perverse right of passage, 

Field Visit Report 1

Support and Outreach is the heart of what Humsafar Trust (HST) does as an organization. Essentially, it provides a place for people to meet, and rejoice, and learn from each other. A space to be anything you want to be, maybe even yourself. It gets people, every day, who otherwise would not have gotten tested, to a clinic where they can meet face-to-face with doctors and counsellors. It comforts the young and the old unequivocally; offers solace, an ear to talk to, something to lean on. Mostly, I think, it gives people hope.

Let’s be honest, being different is never easy. And I bet there is a difference between mending someone who is broken, and mending someone who feels whole.

It is my humble presumption that in a country so discretionary as India, a primary and very fundamental tool for (any kind of) minority development is to learn to take care of themselves.

Emancipation is the lot of the resilient, the loud, the cunning & the brave.

There are simply too many in need for an outside appeal, and I believe that in so crowded a climate, you do have to make up your own space.

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Saturday, March 14 2015

For my first field visit I was invited to HST’s first drop-in centre, Aarambh I, which is situated near the Borivili Train Station. Arambh translates loosely into beginning.

I met my coworkers at Santacruz Station.

After a brief game of “where on the platform?” and “How many 2nd class women’s compartments can there possibly be?”, we hopped onto a local train and enjoyed the big breezy gusts of watching the world go by. These field visits provide me the latitude to ask all the questions I can possibly think of, so I am extremely thankful, albeit I’ll admit that needing a translator for most of my conversations can be a tad frustrating.   

When asked about how the beginning had begun, a counsellor told me that the first real outreach worker had been “Amma,” which means mother. Mom, in this instance, is Ashok Row Kavi. 

Co-founder and current Board member of HST, Ashok is the only one of the original 3 members I have had the opportunity of meeting thus far. A journalist by trade, Ashok (pronounced Ashook) was, nay, is a pioneer. He has spent most of his adult life personally nurturing, consoling, encouraging, and motivating a large portion of the current staff at HST.

Coming from a North American culture, I admit it is strange to be evolving in a work environment where people genuinely look up to each other. This isn’t to say that everyone always gets along, but I feel that there is a mutual respect and empathy in the common struggle they share that transpires throughout most of their interactions.

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We arrived around 4pm, and climbed up the steel ladder towards the second-floor office.

HST currently operates 6 sites like Aarambh I in different districts across the city, providing client counselling, health services, and general sex education.  

This particular site caters to approximately 1,500 people, and has specialized in HIV treatment and counselling. Most of the groundwork, however, is carried out by local community members at a ratio of 3 to 4 peer outreach workers (POW) per counsellor. POW’s are responsible for tallying the number of MSM (Men who have sex with Men – Gay is considered a Western label) that frequent each of the cruising sites. Cruising is slang for looking for a sexual partner in a public place. Hot Spots are places to have sex, also in public.

Because homosexuality is pushed underground, an older generation of gay men tend to hang around train station bathrooms (in the darkened areas) and compartments, hoping to establish meaningful eye contact with a new conquest. Which, in my mind, constitutes a whole new world of come-hither staring contests. Often, used condoms are flushed down the toilet, which blocks up the whole system. Judging by the fantastic haut-le-coeur that overtook me even at a safe distance from the lavatory, this set-up isn’t the most alluring of prospects. 

POWs generally survey 4-5 sites, in 2-hour rotations, from 6pm onwards. Most of the POWs are recruited from the community, they have an easier time making contacts with Key Stakeholders (local peddlers, stall-operators, etc.) who facilitate the distribution of supplies, like condoms, by serving as point of contact during off hours. There are also condom stashes, one is under the main staircase railing, for clients who are running later operations, and wish to remain discreet. Stakeholders can also be key community figures who act as negative influencers. This sector of the outreach work constitutes a crucial part of the operations, and aims at leveraging these agents, mostly because they are the frontline source of first-hand information gathering. While outreach supervision was originally designed to function asymmetrically, practice has proven that a more lateral and holistic practice is better adapted to serving the needs of the community. Planning generally occurs on a month-to-month basis, adjusting to site objectives as they surface, and allows for more flexibility and quicker responses to program deliverables.

 In India, the National AIDS Control Organization (NACO) is responsible for establishing a standardized set of guidelines and rolling out support programs, like free condoms. The Aarambh I site, however, launched in 1999, and thus predates any kind of large-scale government initiative. One of the problems with NACO’s policies is that they define high-risk individuals as a person having more than 10 sexual encounters a week, with moderates averaging around 5 encounters or less. These data delimitations were transferred from an assessment of typical female sex workers client rations, and I am told that it is very rare for an MSM to have so many in a week. Male sex work generally pays much more, and can sometimes be seen as a way to get some quick cash or a lifestyle choice, rather than as a means of subsistence. Because of the high rate of HIV infection in the MSM population (estimated at 14.3% by NACO in 2012) the fact that these parameters fail to produce a realistic assessment of the situation, is a genuine cause for concern. For targeted interventions to be effective, it seems imperative that guidelines be based on accurate representations, and addressed in light of their specific dynamics. This is where the research team at HST steps in.

 Apart from doing prevention, there is also a need for regular advocacy sessions with local law enforcement in order to raise awareness about prevention efforts. Lack of information seems to be a recurring problem, as most police officers are unaware that the free condoms being distributed are part of the government’s anti-AIDS policies. I am told that there have been cases where police officers, in civil dress, perform sting operations, where they attempt to extort or blackmail MSMs or sex workers by threatening to disclose their identities to their families, requisitioning mobile phones in order to appropriate contacts. In certain cases, the would-be victims have retaliated, insinuating that law enforcement could not possibly bring a solid case in court, because their motives for being at the scene are certainly questionable. I am of the opinion that these situations hold a potential for rapid escalation regarding direct and indirect violence, where law enforcement may feel threatened or challenged and be tempted to assert their authority further by using coercive means. With regards to predatory behaviours, the Borivili staff has also confirmed that the cruising sites also house a number of local hustlers/goons (gundas) who pray on more the effeminate or weak sections of the clientele.

 Beyond getting clients to open up about their problems, other obstacles, such a class differences, denial and fear of identity disclosure, create further challenges for MSM outreach. More significantly, because the main motivation for frequenting a cruising site is to hook up, attendees aren’t necessarily interested in about prevention. Admittedly, it’s not a very sexy subject.

“If they see the Humsafar Trust backpack, they will often interrupt and say they have already been tested,” confides one outreach worker. Other clients are reluctant, and use a number of subterfuges to introduce touchy subjects: one gentleman was using his brother’s identity, claiming that he was a migrant worker, and that the upcoming visit with his wife was problematic because he had noticed STD symptoms. Partners are another hard-to-reach demographic, because so many of them are kept in the dark (consciously or unconsciously) and usually completely unaware of the risks their husbands bring home. It also the general assumption of the staff that Kothis (Bottoms) most often bear the responsibility of securing contraceptives, because they run the higher risk of contamination.

 It generally takes 2 to 5 meetings with a counsellor, over a period of 1 or 2 months, before a client gets comfortable enough to start addressing his or her issues. I am told that clients usually feel more comfortable discussing their issues with people their own age. Most of the younger MSM crowd, however, doesn’t usually hang around cruising sites. They are more easily found on sites like Planet Romeo or using Grindr. Furthermore, because POWs aren’t allowed to distribute condoms to minors, this removes the carrot and stick incentive for certain clients. On a side note, I was told that most of the pilot projects for condom vending machines were largely unsuccessful.

Health programs also include networking with partner organizations to provide complimentary services, like nutritional counselling for the HIV+ or ration support. I was told that the government has a food subsidy program that offers 2 meals a day, but that the registration process is so lengthy and tedious, that most people in need don’t even bother. There is also the issue of a counsellor’s or a POW’s own emotional well-being, as emotional dependence is common. In a social structure that encourages “chaperoning”, taking someone under your wing bears the risk of becoming the sole source of salvation for an individual in need. Expectations tend to run quite high, and this as proven to be problematic at time.

Before we took our leave, I decided to ask the staff how many among them were “out” to their parents. Five out of the 11 present responded affirmatively, with one young gentleman raising his hand quite high and quite proudly. This, for me, epitomizes the work HST has managed to accomplish in supporting their members. 

BEING QUEER IN INDIA

“There are different types of people in the world, some in greater numbers than others. Who do we discover? Who do we invent? What we discover is deemed natural. What we invent is deemed unnatural, artificial, manmade or cultural.

Significantly, different people discover and invent different things because people have different notions about what constitutes nature. In the Hindu world, culture remains an artificial imposition on nature, enabling humans to discover their humanity by offering a chance to make room for, or reject, diversity. 

A world where you believe there are many lives to live is very different from one where you are convinced this is the one and only life. In the karmic worldview, you are queer because of karma, and it may be a boon or curse. In the one-life worldview, you are queer because you choose to be so, to express your individuality, or to defy authority or [because] God/Devil wills it so.”

-D. Pattanaik, Shikhandi and Other Tales They Don’t Tell You

 It is rather self-consciously that I pen this upcoming post. I have been shuffling ideas and concepts in my mind, over and over, debating about how to get this 'right'.

Let me begin with a bit of a disclaimer: I don’t pretend to speak for others, or to be objective, for that matter, I am simply, and humbly, trying to further my grasp of the whole situation. Please take it as a personal narrative pieced out of a process of discovery.  

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 Some people have asked me:

“Why India?”

“Why this cause?”

And they are valid questions because in all honesty last week’s Annual Celebration at HST (Humsafar Trust) was my very first LGBT event. Ever. It’s not that I wouldn’t like Pride Week, or that I don’t support my friends… the opportunity had never really come up or rather I had never made the effort, mostly because sexual orientation is rather irrelevant to me. I mean, apart from being a foundational block of someone’s identity, I think we are attracted to people on all sorts of levels, gender being just one of the many factors.

So, apart from the fact that this is where the posting I found was located, there were many other reasons why India and this cause were a good fit:  

This country is possibly one of the most stratified societies in the world. Between the Hindis, the Muslims, the Christians, the Sikhs, the Buddhists, the Zoroastrians, and all the shades of sects and denominations in between, the particularities of each person’s faith is still a dominant part of how they see the world. It influences what they eat (veg vs. non-veg), who they are expected to marry, what they do for a living, etc.

But segregation and social differentiation take place on so many other levels, as well. And although the caste system was formally abolished some 60 years ago, it is still quite present at the political level and continues to dominate an individual’s path to upward mobility and lifestyle choices.  

Traditionally, homosexuality in India is swept under the rug, and remains acceptable as long as its community holds to the “don’t ask, don’t tell” rule.

The overwhelming pressure to conform (meaning to marry into a hetero-normative relationship and seek love/passionate relations in extra-conjugal spheres) is, in my understanding, anchored in the notion that family is what binds this society together. The idea that your social and economic support group is primarily composed of your extended relatives makes most of a young adult’s life choices almost entirely up for review by people who are perhaps distant in identity, values, beliefs and worldviews, but closely tied by kinship.  

Being gay, in most circumstances, thus implies that you will not bear children. And this begs the questions of who will take care of you in your old age? Of who will light your funeral pyre? And of how these intricate circles of service, filial duties and traditions are preserved in a rapidly changing society confronted with globalism and the tenets of modernity.

To be brutally honest, and to check in with some of my biases on the topic: I come from a society that abandons it’s elderly to foster care, and has very little openly-discussed qualms about removing them from their traditional roles as the vanguards of tradition and wisdom. I recognize, of course, that both these models have drawbacks (I doubt any of my relationships with a potential mother-in-law will ever be so contentious as if she and I were living under the same roof for the rest of my adult life, while competing to be the second-in-command of the household). Still, it remains essential for me to keep an open mind.

Beyond religion and class, there are politics, and the economics, the sheer overwhelming statistics of some demographics, and the every day struggles. It’s my outsider opinion that growing up in India isn’t simple, for there are a wealth of social conventions to navigate, to embrace or reject, to justify or ignore; and most of the time an account must be made to the people closest to you. Yet I have met individuals from a younger generation who have ‘come out’ to their families fairly early, and are in the process of being understood, if not entirely accepted. 

HIT THE GROUND RUNNING

It has been almost a week in the city of rickshaws,

And I am glad to report that the honeymoon phase is still in full swing.

It's no secret - I like to go fast. Mumbai's traffic simply has not yet been made aware of that fact.

Realistically, there is just too much work and catching up to do.

I have no time for formal complaints.

Save this: Mosquitoes. 

The onslaught has come full force, and I am finding it quite unfortunate to be such an appetizing buffet. Perhaps the time has come to unpack one of the many bottles of Watkins Great Outdoors (30% Deet - 0% Messing Around) I carefully lugged halfway across the world.

Secondly, my attempts to find housing have been a lesson in Indian diplomacy. 

Lesson acquired: Brokers, just say no.

My first rental visit introduced me to a retired couple, offering a king size bed, my own bathroom and balcony overlooking the district of Bandra, as well as an array of home cooked meals.

Sadly, I couldn't reconcile myself with the fact that the landlady would have walked through my room several times a day to perform her pujas (prayers).

Shall we say it was a semi-private sort of arrangement, one where the portrait of her husband would have auspiciously hung above my bed for the extent of my stay in the household.

But it was the chai, which finally broke the camels back. Burnt.

 Never judge a woman by her chai you say? Oh, but I do.

Fun fact: I broke my bed. 4 days. That's all it took. I am a walking disaster.

My second attempt at housing began with a very hurried introduction as the owner of the apartment informed me, immediately upon arrival, that the fridge was hers. So were most of the cupboards, the television, and the pantry. She was certainly willing to make some space for my things here or there, however, and (wait for it)... I could pick whichever side of the bed I wished to sleep on. Ah, to rely on the kindness of strangers.

I bolted, straight out of there, like a hare caught in a fox run.

 Unabated, I’ll be trying my luck again this weekend.

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I work Monday to Saturday. 

Sunday being my only day off, I did what any good and proper Commonwealth lass would, when left to her own devices: I went to the races. Because, really, with a name like the Poonawalla Breeders' Multi-Million, it just seemed like too good to pass up.

Plus, I spend most of my time alone.

So why not add gambling to my list of vices?

That’s what lonely people do, no?

Religious fervour was an obvious next on the list.

So I moseyed on over to Haji Ali, a shrine with a pathway only accessible in low tide, to pay my respects and see where the Muslim population of Mumbai once began their pilgrimage to the Hajj (Mecca). 

And onto the Gateway of India, a basalt archway 26 metres high, built during the British occupation. This part of Mumbai has beautifully intricate architecture, which admittedly is not always well kept up. Marvels to behold at every street corner nonetheless.

I met a nice Norwegian man, Kejtil, who shares my enthusiasm for beer. We spent the rest of the afternoon sightseeing together.

As a duo, it would appear that we embody a spectacle of tallness which the Indian masses, I think, have rarely seen. At least that is how I explain the numerous good tourists politely requesting photographs with their numerous children. "Oh look! White people," was perhaps on their mind.

Many queries were made about our place of origin. The North Pole was our most consistent answer. One police officer, who bullied me into taking a cab, took half a dozen mediocre photographs of us at arms length. It is my guess that I am to be the new girlfriend for the folks at the office. 

We rode in a gilded chariot along Marine Drive; caught the sunset on Chowpatti Beach; shot a few rounds of pool at the Ghetto Pub, and called it a most interesting end to our week.

FINDING YOUR BEARINGS

If New York is the city that never sleeps,

Then Mumbai must be the city that never rests.  

Everything about this place is busy: the people, the traffic, the smells, the sounds… it is a perpetual hustle and bustle of activity. You notice the quiet instants, because they are so few and far between. Honking here is equivalent to the most basic communication between drivers, rickshaws, people on bicycles and pedestrians. There are sidewalks, but they go mostly deserted, perhaps because they sometimes resemble a war zone of cracks and uneven treads.

I meandered the streets for a few hours yesterday, both to and from work, in search of the tastiest looking street food. Even on a full stomach, every 4 or 5 street corner will bring a waft of something delicious. I’ve found it proves quite rewarding to follow your nose.

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On my way home I strayed from my route and ended up in a covered slum, which I surmise was home to a Muslim community. While looking for an exit I almost stumbled into a Mosque; with various hand signs and a look of utter dismay on the poor man’s face, I was made to understand that I could not enter, and directed towards a dark tunnel of an alleyway, where women in niqab eyed me suspiciously. I finally found the light, and navigated my trusty GPS home.