She once weighed just 38 kilograms—but she’s still here, still fighting, and still helping others do the same. Maya Kate’s journey with HIV is not just one of survival; it’s a story of hope, resilience, and transformation. But here’s where it gets more powerful: she turned her suffering into service, now helping others living with the same diagnosis that once terrified her.
“Don’t stay silent. Speak up, get treated, and move forward,” were her mother’s words back in 2005—a message Maya still lives by today. At that time, she was just 24 and had lost her husband to AIDS. Within days, her newborn son also passed away. Overcome with grief, she feared she would be next, leaving her young daughter an orphan. That year marked a painful turning point that would reshape her life forever.
A new life built from loss
This World AIDS Day, the 44-year-old peer counsellor from Bel-Air Hospital in Panchgani, Maharashtra, reflects on two decades of survival and self-discovery. The girl from Pune married soon after finishing high school in 2000, welcoming a daughter a year later. But by 2003, her husband’s constant fevers and fatigue hinted at something more serious. The truth came out only when Maya became pregnant and took routine blood tests—she was HIV-positive, and so was her husband. “That’s the day our lives changed completely,” she recalls.
Back then, HIV was a word whispered in fear. Her husband insisted they tell no one, believing disclosure meant social death. “People thought AIDS was the end,” Maya remembers. Keeping the secret was agonizing. Eventually, she confided in her mother while living in her in-laws’ village near Wai in Satara district, struggling alone with her husband’s declining health and her own diagnosis.
Breaking silence, battling stigma
When her husband died in 2005—just a month after she gave birth—Maya’s newborn son followed shortly after. Her world collapsed. Haunted by nightmares and drowning in despair, she clung to one thought: “I have to stay alive for my daughter.” That determination brought her to Bel-Air Hospital in Panchgani, which at the time was among the few places providing compassionate and comprehensive HIV care.
Her first test showed a CD4 count of 450 cells/mm³ (the normal range is 500–1,500). Though emotionally shattered, Maya began volunteering at the hospital under Father Tomy Kariyilakulam, who encouraged her to share her story with patients. Her health wavered as her CD4 count dropped to 250, but her courage deepened. “It wasn’t just about taking medicines,” she says. “It was about finding purpose again.”
The treatment that gave her more time
By 2007, Maya was placed on antiretroviral therapy (ART). “I weighed only 38 kilograms then and could hardly eat,” she recalls. Her initial medication, Triomune, caused constant vomiting, but she persevered until doctors switched her to a more tolerable regimen. A series of changes followed—from ZLN to TLE, and most recently to second-line treatment after 2022. Each shift required readjustment and strength. “Sometimes the medicine felt worse than the illness,” she admits. “But I’d remind myself: this is keeping me alive.”
For years, getting her monthly medicines meant a grueling one-and-a-half-hour journey each way to Satara Civil Hospital. “In those days, there were only a few ART centres, so the queues were endless,” Maya explains. “You’d wait for hours after tests before finally getting your medicine.” Later, smaller satellite centres reduced travel time, but the effort never truly disappeared.
Two years ago, doctors changed her regimen again due to joint pain. Now back to the long commute for her new treatment, Maya remains steadfast. “Yes, it’s tiring,” she says, “but every trip is proof that I’m still fighting, still adapting.”
Her perseverance has paid off. With sustained ART, her viral load is now undetectable. Even the pandemic couldn’t shake her spirit. “Some days, I stop and feel grateful—I’m still here. My daughter, who tested negative, is now grown, married, and settled. That’s what keeps me going.”
The bigger picture: India’s HIV fight today
India’s HIV Estimations 2024 report paints a complex picture. There are around 2.6 million people living with HIV in the country, including 70,000 children. While new infections continue to drop—to 64,000 last year—AIDS-related deaths still exceed 30,000 annually. “The world’s biggest breakthrough—access to ART—was possible largely because of India’s pharmaceutical leadership,” explains Dr. I. S. Gilada, President Emeritus of the AIDS Society of India. “Today, over 92% of people worldwide living with HIV receive medicine that came from Indian-led efforts.”
But the true challenge, Dr. Gilada warns, is no longer medical—it’s social. “Stigma and discrimination remain the invisible barriers,” he says. “If those aren’t addressed, progress slows.” He also cautions that infections are rising again in areas like the northeastern states and Punjab, driven by injectable drug use. “Complacency could unravel decades of effort,” he adds.
Towards an AIDS-free generation
Modern ART can reduce the virus to undetectable levels within months, turning HIV from a deadly diagnosis into a manageable condition. Preventing mother-to-child transmission (MTCT) remains one of India’s top priorities. However, gaps persist: though 80% of pregnant women get screened, only about 64% of those testing positive complete full MTCT prevention. That leaves thousands of babies still at risk.
“Every new infection is a preventable tragedy,” Dr. Gilada stresses. “Every AIDS-related death is a reminder that we already have the tools to stop it—we just need consistent action.” For Maya, those tools meant two extra decades of life, a daughter’s future secured, and hundreds of patients counselled through her story.
But here’s the thought that might divide opinions: Is society doing enough to fight the stigma that nearly silenced people like Maya? Or have we become too comfortable thinking HIV is ‘solved’ because medicine exists?
What do you think—are awareness and empathy growing fast enough, or are we still failing those silently living with the virus? Share your thoughts below.
