The Covid Epidemic

Dear Future Me,

This isn’t a rant or a fear inducing, eye catching story. Nor is it a scientific piece detailing the covid-19 virus. This is a reminder to you, my future self after everything goes back to normal, that things won’t be normal.

The year is 2016. I’m a depressed teen looking idly out of the classroom while the teacher drones on about something I won’t remember the moment I get out of this place. Our school had a peon, of sorts. He was a short, middle aged man who couldn’t speak. He had speech impairment. I sorta knew him. So that morning I was looking out the window and i saw him out in the school driveway. Standing towards the sun. Praying. To the sun. I watched him pray for 10 minutes before I was forced to look back at the teacher and his incessant ranting. When I looked back out the window, he was gone.

The Year is 2018 I didn’t get into a medical college. So I dropped for the national entrance exam. My dad was in an explosive mood. I guess it was just another one of those evenings. I ran out of the house and kept running, I’ll run away from everything, I kept thinking. I’ll never stop running. I ran and ran, my head pounding, pounding, reaching a cresendo until– “Hey there Champ! You okay?” I heard a familiar voice. Over the years, I’ve spent the better part of my life in the city getting to know the streets. During my labours, I met and befriended a middle aged man, who had a streetside bookshop. His name? Hitler. But he was nothing like the person you’re thinking of. He always greeted me with a big smile and a book in hand. This time was no different. I looked up at him. He always smiled. “What’s wrong?” I stayed silent. He offered me a chair. “Sit. You know, there was a boy like you once who used to visit me. He was an avid reader like you too. Devouring novels. And guess what!” He paused. I looked up at him. “He failed to get into a college too. He used to come here when his family pressure was too much to handle.” My head finally stopped pounding. “And then? What happened to him?” “He gave up a medical seat, took dental, and is in US doing some specialty. I get postcards on my birthdays.” He pulled out a box from below his desk. He opened the lid, motioning me closer. I saw a bunch of postcards, all shiny, glossy. “See? Not getting a college isn’t the end of the world. But parents don’t understand. Sometimes, you need to lose to win. But don’t get distracted too much, okay?” He winked. “I was a kid too you know. Now go home. Do what you have to do.”

The year is 2020. I was in a college. Dental college. Not exactly as plan, but you take what you get. It’s been almost 9 months I’ve been here. I took on-campus hostel. I changed a lot after coming to hostel. Did things I’d never thought I’d do, including drinking tea. Me and my friends would go out every evening to Sambhu Da’s teashop. It was 5 minute walk but preferred Sambhu da’s because for one, he served in clay pots. He was open from noon to almost midnight. Also, he kept stuff from some local bakeries, including cream rolls and cookies. I had a penchant for a particular cookie while my friends had a penchant for, let’s just say, more grown up, bangali stuff. I was the only guy who ever hardly touched them. After a few months he knew us all, and always served me with my cookies. One day, me and my friend went to a concert. It was pretty late and pretty far away. When we returned it was almost 3. “Shit, there’s no guards. They locked the gates and went off.” My friend said, peering through the cracks of the big metal gates. We looked at each other. The campus opened at 6. The sky was still dark. Aimlessly, we started walking. All the shops were closed. Then, like a oasis in midst of a desert, we saw Sambhu Da’s shop, emanating a light. Like lost ships following a lighthouse, like moths drawn to the flame, we walked towards his shop. we heard noises inside. We looked at each other. Nervously, we knocked on his almost closed shutter. The voices stopped. We waited breathlessly. The shutter opened. An older woman opened. “Yes, who the hell are you?” “Umm we- we-” I stammered. “We are looking for Sambhu Da” my friend squeaked. “Who do you think you are?” The woman snarled, angrily. Just as we were debating to run or explain ourselves, we heard Sambhu Da’s voice from inside. “Is that Cookie Boy?” He laughed. I laughed nervously. ‘Oh let them in, I know them.” The woman stood aside, letting us pass. Sambhu Da peered at us from the back. “The shop’s closed boys. I hope you aren’t out doing illegal stuff?” He eyed us suspiciously. “No no, nothing like that. We were out for a concert and missed the last metro. Now the campus gates are closed.” He stared at us. I felt a bead of sweat trickle down my temple. Suddenly, he burst out laughing. We stood there puzzled. “So you boys wanna spend the rest of the night here? ” He asked. We both nodded. ” That would be nice, I mean if it’s not too much of an inconvenience?” My friend pleaded. Sambhu Da laughed. “It’s okay. You two aren’t the only boys from your college who got locked out and had to spend the night out here. Me and the missus are sleeping in the back room. Pull out a chair. I’d offer you to join the tables and make a makeshift bed, but I’m afraid my tables won’t handle that much weight”

Now it’s been 6 months since lockdown. A lot of time. Sometimes I find myself wondering about the people I’ve known. Sambu da. Hitler. The peon who’s name I never bothered to find out. I wonder if they are okay. The focus shouldn’t be on how we are getting insane stuck inside the house. How another celebrity got pregnant. (Come on, it’s obivious). It’s men like them, who are worse hit in this epidemic. Not because of the virus. But because of the fallout from the virus. It’s like the domino effect, or the butterfly effect. I can’t pretend and saw they’re fine. How can they? And sometimes I feel as if I’m the only person thinking about them. Wanting to help. But stuck. How did society become like this? Perhaps, if people focused less on the snacks and food they were missing, and remembered the men and women who made the food. Many insomniac nights I’ve wondered. How can we go so wrong? If at a crisis, the government cannot take care of people like them? Instead fight over temples and politics. I cannot begin to understand what people returning to their war savaged countries must feel. There’s so much things we’ve taken for granted. But if you have a roof on your head and food on your table, you’re well off than so many other unfortunate people.

I know you’re an adult. So am I. I know things change when you get older. But don’t get carried away in life. Remember this. Remember the people you met, who might not have changed your life, but for a brief duration, made it better. I know you’ll be a great man. Just don’t forget to be a good one.

Love

20 Year old Arattrik