sign of the times
“Hola Linda”. This
phrase translates to “Hello Beautiful”. These were the two words printed on a hand
sanitizer I had. Another commonplace item which has become a symbol of a weapon
to ward off the newly famous COVID-19. This sanitizer though, for a long time
was laughed at by my wing-mates for its outlandish name and I would only ever
use it for its disarming smell. Little did I know that this object signified a
full-fledged war that humanity would wage against this obscure virus with
cryptic origins and a far more elusive cure.
I didn’t start
taking this virus seriously until it was mentioned on the night of our farewell.
The speaker was Shirali sir and in all classes other than maybe the 11th
and 12th, he was seen as the embodiment of authority. He said that
there are two kinds of viruses that he heartily hopes we are never affected by:
the recent coronavirus and the other subtle virus of hatred, of images, of ideas
and simply, of prejudice. The next thing we knew was that the school was
sending the juniors packing home.
“Oh, they’re
valuing examinations over our very lives!” we screamed in indignation when this
decision excluded us from its provisions. “But you’re safer on campus, morons!”
those who were departing retorted, sad that such a sudden farewell had to be
bidden. That was when the gravity of the ordeal began to hit me but it was
mixed with my own feelings of emptiness and a contrasting emotion of gratitude
that the tenth and some of the twelfth graders would have the campus to
themselves.
On the bloom of
one fine singing assembly, there came Shirali sir again. Once again he gave us
a moving speech about how he was sad to have made such a decision. “But let us
draw comfort from the fact that we will be seeing each other again, next term,”
he declared as an assurance. This was indeed not a very universal idea because many
of us would not, in fact, be returning to the hilltop.
Thus, we resumed
and resettled into our routine of giving Board examinations when Shirali sir
once again passes a small group of students studying outside the library. There
were six of us huddled close together, trying to study a rather dull subject
when he stopped in front of us and smiled. After enquiring about the remaining
exams, he went on to say, “Let’s hope they don’t change the days of your exams.
That is the horror of horrors.” I laughed it away then, because the idea of such
a thing didn’t even cross my mind. After all, Board examinations were seriously
essential, right? How could they possibly postpone something like that? Nobody could
do something like that.
But once again,
the school summoned us to the senior auditorium and gave us the news that our
exams had been postponed. Havoc was wreaked and things went haywire. The computer
lab was conquered and everyone was screaming. All our personal plans of Maggi
parties after the dorm parent left, of early morning walks scheduled for the
last week, of that conversation, that confession, that confrontation,
everything was given a deadline. A short notice. A non-negotiable. Trekking to
the dhobi ghat, breaking chappals while
speeding on bicycles, eating the leftover personal tuck donated by juniors,
urging teachers to transfer pictures clicked on farewell, hastily writing away
farewell letters, stripping the bed, the last folk dance, the last film. So many
events that that one day felt like a lifetime.
Amidst all the
rumors on social media and the ghastly numbers that never drop, I don’t know what
I actually feel about this virus that no one really saw coming. It makes for quality
memes and a good community activity, but at the end of the day, it’s not really
another Adolf Hitler who you appease or wait for to commit suicide. I feel
annoyance towards it for sure because there were just four exams left which I could’ve
breezed through and into a life of ease. It also messes with my plans of a far
from ordinary life which I had planned starting from August.
On the contrary,
I am home. I’m reunited with my whole family, all four of us, after a while. Not
on the group chat, but within my reach. It’s hard to come to a calm state of
mind with the reporters incessantly ranting away on the television and the
deluge of texts from friends. After years, the issue of global warming sees
some breakthrough. Everyone is forced to break free from routine, that same
cycle, that continuous fabric of time is creased and conversation is made.
Sitting on the
terrace under the firmament, planes are scarce and the night is silent, I think
as the swing sways. I see my family through new eyes, each member like a fresh,
bright character waiting to be employed in an exciting tale. My mother would be
the first to find her place. She has the ability to speak her mind, to talk continuously
till her train of thoughts is completed and these are attributes writers crave
for. Today she reminds me of Maya Angelou’s Phenomenally Phenomenal Woman. Full
of theories, she is poetic, emotional and philosophical today.
My father and
brother stand some inches away. Nodding along to the speech my mother is
giving, my father prompts her with some facts and prods in with numbers here and
there. Sometimes doubtful, otherwise welcoming, he listens closely to mom while
I eye my brother. He is a diplomatic one, standing farthest from us, lips
pursed and eyes averted. Silent for most of the time, he seldom talks and careful
with what he says, although he’s mostly incredulous and possibly nonchalant.
Just as mom
manages to compare the water cycle to the evolution of humans, I walk to the
open space of the terrace with dad. It’s a typical terrace with many plants,
some with flowers the color of the sun and others drooping with winsome oranges.
It’s a serene night and I’m in a mood to write, so every little detail is
material for this very piece. I close my eyes and listen for a while.
Many, many
things have happened in the past week. Small and big things. Random and
important things. Everyone is perplexed, people are dying and sacrificing. Something
great could happen or humanity could vanish. What uncertain times. For once
tomorrow is shrouded in doubt and people are simply waiting. It’s not pleasant
but it doesn’t completely mortify me. I hope to have made some insights by the
time this tide subsides.
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