Life under lockdown: a memoir

[The following is the ranting of a sleep-deprived, anxiety riddled mind. Part fiction, part hallucination, part desperate attempt at humour. Try not to read too much into it]

This is day 526^th of the national lockdown, or some figure close enough to that. I am not sure. Time has stopped holding much meaning for me. I register the passing of days through my sweeping ritual. Every time the broom hits the corner square at the back end of the master bedroom, and the long grassy tail-end moves in the exact same curvature to the next square, carrying the exact same amount of dust every single time, I realise with a jolt that a new day has come.

The house is sparkling. Baba has cleaned every single surface, every unreachable corner, every forgotten piece of furniture and decorative item. I am not kidding about this; he has even scrubbed the walls with soapy water. I think he is planning to start on a second round soon. (To all the men still sitting on their asses with wives or mothers or sisters waiting on them hand and foot: now is a great opportunity to show that you have some social utility beyond the bedroom. Oh, also shoot your female relatives; they are largely the reason why you are the way you are to begin with).

Speaking of household chores, doing the laundry is quickly topping the list of vital to-dos for me, even more than cooking. Here’s the thing, when I came home to Baba’s, I had planned to stay the weekend, not for a month. Guess how many sets of clothing I brought along, not to mention the unmentionables. I have raided old wardrobes and found stuff from my high school days. If nothing else causes a mental breakdown for me, there is always the thought that some of these skirts and pants actually fit my derriere once upon time. Once this whole thing gets over, I am going on a shopping spree the likes of which has never been witnessed in this family. Never again will I undermine the value of retail therapy. Minimalism is a beautiful thing for some, but if you really want to kill me, try knocking me out instead.  

Entertainment, you say? Maybe I should read more. Yeah well, I have had the same idea, except it has to be a choice between Fifty Shades of Grey and The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying. My mind refuses to concentrate on anything else. There are other self care options too, of course, such as hair and beauty treatments. I could always try at-home nose-piercing with a sewing needle, but I’m afraid that the mere hint of something like that will make Baba decide that it is finally time to pack me off to Ranchi.  But once the lockdown lifts, I am definitely dyeing my hair neon pink. Or electric blue. The details still have to be finalized.

My respect for Anne Frank has increased manifold. She managed to survive for two whole years inside that secret annexe without losing her mind and biting one of her co-habitants. Two weeks, and my resolve is already weakening.

For someone who used to think that she enjoys solitude and a solitary lifestyle, I clearly love human contact far too much. So much, in fact, that I am contemplating downloading Tinder and swiping on candidates in Durgapur. That bad? That bad.  And I miss work – or whatever it is that I pass off as work in the office. It is no fun being lazy and then be pulled up for it by your manager unless you can complain about it to your co-workers who for some strange reason still believe that you are a highly productive person.

My circadian cycle has gone for a toss. Until a few weeks ago, my ability to fall asleep quickly and deeply almost on demand was a source of equal degrees of awe and envy for many. Not anymore. Now I stay awake (or worse, nearly awake) almost the entire night, tossing and turning in bed and seeing all sorts of cockroaches, serial killers and demons lurking right outside my bedroom window, making the stray dog yelp pitiably every now and then. Whoever cast the evil eye on my beauty sleep, congratulations, it worked. My diet, on the other hand, has improved exponentially. This has little to do with my willpower, of course. I had forgotten what a painfully healthy, snack-less life my father leads. Now my afternoon refrigerator raids produce fruits, and I have even taken to eating salad twice a day. On top of that, I am actually working out to stave off boredom. Wonders never cease. I only wish my acne noticed my virtuous lifestyle shift and bade me farewell.

Of course,  unlike the government, my body hasn’t forgotten about the existence of menstruation, and more importantly, about PMS. As if getting through the day was not difficult enough already. Now I’m crying enough to water the entire garden. And when I am not, it is because I’m mentally writing hate mails to all my friends. I miss you all terribly, but I have prepared detailed lists that jot down every last trait that make you really hateful people to spend time with. But don’t worry, I won’t be sending them to you; I do intend to have friends to visit after the self isolation period is up. Also, quite frankly, I’m not keen on seeing any return lists of the same variety about myself.

Phone calls and video chats are the saviours, the unsung, oft-ignored heroes of the hour. Or at least they were in the first few days. Now I am running out of things to talk about, particularly non corona-related things. Even there, if you can be dramatic and join me in railing about the absurdity of the pandemic and the lockdown, that’s fine. Maybe join me in a co-grumbling-and-moaning session about humanity being ridiculous, and about my not getting a steady supply of ice cream and external validation. That is something that my tempestuous mood swings can handle. If, on the other hand, you want to take a staid, stoic, realistic/pessimistic stance on how long it may be before things get back to normal, and how it is in everyone’s best interest to accept the uncertainty without throwing a tantrum, I do not want such negativity in my life right now, thank you very much. It will be at least another week before I achieve that level of Zen, so don’t hurry me.

For now, I’ll just have to decide whether I want to go to the Himalayas or Las Vegas once the lockdown lifts. Maslow’s hierarchy, here I come!

“In the midst of winter... an invincible summer”

We are living through trying times. There seems to be a scary new virus that has managed to escape from one tiny district of one massive nation and gone on a world tour, leaving thousands dead and millions more panic stricken in its wake. Entire nations have come to a standstill, with social isolation, work from home and lockdown becoming buzzwords for the day. The most disorienting part of it all is the speed at which the entire scenario has unfolded. The virus was first identified in Wuhan in November 2019, but it arrived in India only in early March 2020, and became the all encompassing area of focus for the entire country barely in the last week or ten days. Right now though, it seems like all there is left in the world to talk about.

I do not want to talk about the virus, or the disease, or the death toll, or the lack of adequate healthcare resources should community transmission progress aggressively in this country. There is far too much of that out there already. I want to talk about the social and personal fallout of this entire scenario, a factor that seems to have gone largely unnoticed or at least unaddressed so far. The country – and the world, in large parts – has been plunged headlong, without warning, into an era of social isolation, bringing everyday life to a grinding halt for millions.

Over many days now, the vast majority of the conversations I have been having with friends and peers have revolved around the virus. It had started off casually, and there had been a fair bit of excitement at the prospect of being able to work from home. At that point, it had seemed like the perfect opportunity to laze and spend time with friends, a mini staycation of sorts. I myself had imagined that it would be fifteen days of reliving summer vacations, waking up at noon and eating ungodly amounts of dessert. Maybe this would be the time when I would finally be able to convince my partner to stay over for a couple of days without spending a majority of that time bent over his laptop, working on the latest assignments from work! The reality turned out to be vastly different, of course. The panic moved rapidly, and with more and more social institutions shutting shop and governments enforcing lockdowns, people went home to their families and hunkered down in quarantine for the foreseeable future.

This is where the trouble starts. It must be acknowledged that a situation of enforced isolation, particularly as a means to combat a contagion, is bound to create panic and mass hysteria. And this hysteria creates artificial crises that often supersede the real, existent dangers. Around the world, there has been a large scale shortage of basic groceries and staples, including ridiculous items such as toilet paper, because people have started hoarding essentials to prepare for shortages in the upcoming months, ironically precipitating the very thing that they most fear! This has, of course, left the old and the infirm, as well as the financially badly off, out in the cold. Similar patterns seem to be unfolding in India, despite repeated assurances from the government that essential services and products will continue to be produced and made available in markets. 

Panic buying is perhaps the most visible impact of the disruptions unfolding through the virus scare. There is another, much deeper malaise that is bound to wreak its own variety of malignant havoc. I do not think that people appreciate how devastating isolation can be, particularly when it is coupled by the prospect of an indefinite future. Dark thoughts threaten to overshadow the human mind, and apathy sets in. The current scenario is rife for the worst sort of emotional and psychological disruptions in people. Many are isolated alone, in cities far away from home, and this causes increased levels of anxiety for the family’s well-being. A lot of others have been forced to return to family homes that are abusive at worst, and distant and uncaring at best. Some of us have the privilege of being able to continue with our work remotely, but for others, this is an enforced holiday that they had never wanted in the first place. Not knowing with any kind of certainty when life will be able to return to some degree of normalcy makes the situation many times worse.

The days seem interminably long. It has been less than a week since I started working from home, and a little less than ten days since I last saw my friends. Yet time has slowed down to a painful crawl, and every minute that drags by is laced with some thought – or conversation – about the virus and the upheaval it has caused. Social media has shown once again what a phenomenal pain in the neck it can be during times of crisis. Every Whatsapp group conversation is filled with incessant videos, articles, circulars, notices and updates about the virus’s latest victims. The tone ranges from somber to hysterical, adding fuel to an already steadily heightening and pervasive fear psychosis. It is becoming increasingly more difficult to log on to any site or platform without your senses being assaulted by factoids about the disease. And the worst part? The focus is entirely on the fatalities, the gruesome nature of those who are seriously ill, and the ostensibly indefinite duration that this outbreak and quarantining will continue for. If one were to take some time out to research, one would also come across enough encouraging articles – this one is a good example – about people recovering from the disease, and about possibilities of the outbreak getting controlled and life going back to normal at a reasonably early date. But of course, these stories are not highlighted, because where is the sensationalism in that?

One good thing has come of this entire series of unfortunate events, though. More and more, people are reaching out to friends and family that they had fallen out of touch with, and really talking to the ones who have been around. Over the last week or so, I have been making full utilisation of Whatsapp’s video calling facility to talk to friends from all over the country. I also feel closer to my partner, keeping more closely in touch with each other than we’ve ever done before. Crises of these kinds tend to bring out life’s priorities with a lot of clarity, and I for one am glad to have realised that there are so many people that I care about. This is also the time to slow down and reflect. Far too much, we have become dependent on external sources of joy and entertainment. Gatherings with friends are dependent on the spirits on offer, romantic relationships are founded on the amount of money spent on dates and dinners. The joy and depth of conversations are lost in the midst of loud party music and psychedelic lights. Now, maybe, is when we go back to communicating with people because we like to talk to them, to know their minds, rather than because we only care about dressing up and going out together! Even more significantly, now is the time to think about non-personal hobbies and occupations. This is the time for the introvert to come into her own, and the reader, the thinker, the artist to flourish. These identities do not have to be the exclusive reserve of a tiny handful. Most people find some creative instincts if only they dig deep enough, and what better time to do so than now?

So let the news channels and the disease updates be, for a while. Pick up the phone and call someone. Or better still, pick up your pencil and practice doodling. Read about mindfulness, and then try incorporating it in your life daily. Go for a walk if your town still allows it, or sit out on the terrace, and let the sun fall on your face.  Dance, for no other reason than you can. Give your maid paid leave and do some household chores while listening to podcasts. And the next time you get to hug your friends or kiss your lover goodnight, remember that human proximity is a privilege, and be grateful. Human beings have an extraordinary well of resilience in them, and time and again the world gives us the occasion to delve into that “invincible summer” inside ourselves, pull ourselves back on our feet and carry forward with life. Now is such a time, and it would be a sorry waste to allow oneself to fall prey to the gloom of uncertainty and desperation. Life derives both beauty and meaning from some of its toughest phases. I sincerely hope, for myself and everyone I love, that we are able to look back on this phase years down the line, and pat ourselves and each other on our backs for how we conducted ourselves during this time.