You know what? This was going to be yet another dour post. Fortunately, around the halfway mark I realised that it was turning into the world's most sanctimonious write-up. Like Granny Weatherwax, I can't be having with that kind of thing.
Instead, I'll tell you about something amazing that happened on Friday afternoon. Under normal WFH circumstances, I'd have been plonked at my desk, slurping some tea, staring at the wall or into the laptop. Instead, I was gazing out the window, slurping beer. For this, I must thank the friend who came over to shoot the breeze. Do I hear gasps and outrage about violating distancing norms? We were sitting pretty far apart. Also, while the rest of India may be limping back to normal from tomorrow, jolly old Maharashtra - Pune and Mumbai particularly - will continue this curfew till the end of the month and possibly beyond that, in drip-fed 2-week bursts, till the man on the white horse rides up for all we know. Anyway, this is all kal-ki baatein.
As I was saying, he came over and we were chit-chatting about life at home. The poor chap was reeling under the effects of being in close contact with family for an extended amount of time and who can blame him. So, there we were, seated at the window, drinking beers and lost in the reverie that sometimes blooms within a comfortable conversation. My gaze moved to the stone wall dividing our society from the government grounds, which, due to years of quiet neglect, have now taken on a slightly jungly aspect. That's when I saw it. At first, the brain said it was a mongoose because they used to be a common sight in yesteryears, using our society as a bit of a thoroughfare on their adventures, after which they'd quietly slip away through one of the numerous cracks in the wall. They seem to have quietly slipped away forever now. However, this was no mongoose but a creature I have heard about but never, ever spotted anywhere, least of all on the wall opposite my house. Friday, 15th May, 2020, round about 4:30 pm, I saw my first ghorpad.
The moment was so surreal, if it weren't for another pair of eyes bearing witness I could have sworn it was a hallucination. I tried taking a photograph but the phone camera just wouldn't focus correctly. Wisely, I gave up and we just sat there, enjoying the show. The ghorpad glided slowly and steadily across the top of the wall, giving us occasional glimpses of its forked tongue. And then, someone appeared on our side of the wall, taking their evening constitutional. True to its shy nature, the ghorpad quickly slunk away into the dense shrubbery on the other side. It can't have been visible more than 3-5 minutes but it felt like a lot longer.
Those few lovely moments brought something home pretty hard. You need an incredible amount of fortune to find yourself in the right place, at the right time... in the right life. If my friend hadn't decided to drop in, I would have seen nothing and written nothing. That's just the tip of an endless philosophical iceberg. If you are reading this blog, my life and your life is okay. Allow me to be the first to put my hand up and admit how bloody hard it is to accept that; to be constantly grateful or even remember to consider the emotion as often as possible. In many ways, great and small, we are holding on to our pre-Covid lives, plans and expectations. It's not exactly shocking as we are nothing if not a hopelessly hopeful species.
This week, I saw footage of fellow Indians trying to walk home. In one, a journalist holds the mic up to a man whose voice is breaking down in tears, rage and absolute helplessness. I could stomach less than 30 seconds of the video. Here was this man in his 20s, pushing a cycle loaded with goods, trailed by his family, trying to walk home... a home that was likely far, far away. That right there is fortune and the lack of it.
The thing is, no one truly knows a damn thing about what will happen to us this year. The virus manifests in such innocuous ways. Imagine if it triggered suppurating sores or caused strokes instead. We wouldn't be in such a tearing hurry to meet one another. I say 'largely' as we're only human and there's always some joker who'll channel William Wallace. If the powers that be are moving towards the herd immunity model, many of us may die; our loved ones too instead of some conveniently anonymous stranger.
It's not just the virus that caused this man's life to fall apart. Giving Indians 4 hours to understand that their daily existence as they know it is over, is pure and simple murder. To shrug ones shoulders 6 weeks later and talk about galvanizing the economy is breathtakingly inept, regardless of "the greater good". Because this ineptitude has now led to people having to make a choice - between risking infection or risking starvation.
The real victim of all this bullshitting is that man on the cycle, not me. And not you.
Sure, this is a "in the greater scheme of things" kind of outlook and mighty hypocritical of me to even type it considering the theme of this blog sometimes feels like one long whine... but, maybe I'll whine less. At least, I'll try. Meanwhile, I will say a quiet prayer for luck and look out the window more. Maybe you should too.
Song for the moment: Stop your sobbing - The Kinks
Instead, I'll tell you about something amazing that happened on Friday afternoon. Under normal WFH circumstances, I'd have been plonked at my desk, slurping some tea, staring at the wall or into the laptop. Instead, I was gazing out the window, slurping beer. For this, I must thank the friend who came over to shoot the breeze. Do I hear gasps and outrage about violating distancing norms? We were sitting pretty far apart. Also, while the rest of India may be limping back to normal from tomorrow, jolly old Maharashtra - Pune and Mumbai particularly - will continue this curfew till the end of the month and possibly beyond that, in drip-fed 2-week bursts, till the man on the white horse rides up for all we know. Anyway, this is all kal-ki baatein.
As I was saying, he came over and we were chit-chatting about life at home. The poor chap was reeling under the effects of being in close contact with family for an extended amount of time and who can blame him. So, there we were, seated at the window, drinking beers and lost in the reverie that sometimes blooms within a comfortable conversation. My gaze moved to the stone wall dividing our society from the government grounds, which, due to years of quiet neglect, have now taken on a slightly jungly aspect. That's when I saw it. At first, the brain said it was a mongoose because they used to be a common sight in yesteryears, using our society as a bit of a thoroughfare on their adventures, after which they'd quietly slip away through one of the numerous cracks in the wall. They seem to have quietly slipped away forever now. However, this was no mongoose but a creature I have heard about but never, ever spotted anywhere, least of all on the wall opposite my house. Friday, 15th May, 2020, round about 4:30 pm, I saw my first ghorpad.
The moment was so surreal, if it weren't for another pair of eyes bearing witness I could have sworn it was a hallucination. I tried taking a photograph but the phone camera just wouldn't focus correctly. Wisely, I gave up and we just sat there, enjoying the show. The ghorpad glided slowly and steadily across the top of the wall, giving us occasional glimpses of its forked tongue. And then, someone appeared on our side of the wall, taking their evening constitutional. True to its shy nature, the ghorpad quickly slunk away into the dense shrubbery on the other side. It can't have been visible more than 3-5 minutes but it felt like a lot longer.
Those few lovely moments brought something home pretty hard. You need an incredible amount of fortune to find yourself in the right place, at the right time... in the right life. If my friend hadn't decided to drop in, I would have seen nothing and written nothing. That's just the tip of an endless philosophical iceberg. If you are reading this blog, my life and your life is okay. Allow me to be the first to put my hand up and admit how bloody hard it is to accept that; to be constantly grateful or even remember to consider the emotion as often as possible. In many ways, great and small, we are holding on to our pre-Covid lives, plans and expectations. It's not exactly shocking as we are nothing if not a hopelessly hopeful species.
This week, I saw footage of fellow Indians trying to walk home. In one, a journalist holds the mic up to a man whose voice is breaking down in tears, rage and absolute helplessness. I could stomach less than 30 seconds of the video. Here was this man in his 20s, pushing a cycle loaded with goods, trailed by his family, trying to walk home... a home that was likely far, far away. That right there is fortune and the lack of it.
The thing is, no one truly knows a damn thing about what will happen to us this year. The virus manifests in such innocuous ways. Imagine if it triggered suppurating sores or caused strokes instead. We wouldn't be in such a tearing hurry to meet one another. I say 'largely' as we're only human and there's always some joker who'll channel William Wallace. If the powers that be are moving towards the herd immunity model, many of us may die; our loved ones too instead of some conveniently anonymous stranger.
It's not just the virus that caused this man's life to fall apart. Giving Indians 4 hours to understand that their daily existence as they know it is over, is pure and simple murder. To shrug ones shoulders 6 weeks later and talk about galvanizing the economy is breathtakingly inept, regardless of "the greater good". Because this ineptitude has now led to people having to make a choice - between risking infection or risking starvation.
The real victim of all this bullshitting is that man on the cycle, not me. And not you.
Sure, this is a "in the greater scheme of things" kind of outlook and mighty hypocritical of me to even type it considering the theme of this blog sometimes feels like one long whine... but, maybe I'll whine less. At least, I'll try. Meanwhile, I will say a quiet prayer for luck and look out the window more. Maybe you should too.
Song for the moment: Stop your sobbing - The Kinks
Comments
We are so incorrigible as a society that I am unable to even empathize with us as a collective. You can only hear individual stories and empathize with whichever unfortunate soul happens to be the protagonist in that story. But beyond that, it is one of those situations where a singular just does not scale into a collective. Your heart can bleed for an individual, each individual, but you absolutely cannot waste a tear for the society that these individuals are part of.
We have been perilously close to anarchy since I can remember; we have just done a great job willfully ignoring it. Now, with this virus, shit has suddenly gotten too real. Entropy is a bitch and we are about to find out just what that means. Nothing more, nothing less.
Btw, spotting a monitor lizard from your apartment window is significant stroke of good luck! Hope you rode that high for as long as you could!
But, even if, this time around, we can't escape our actions, what does it mean for those of us fortunate to have a white-collar job, a bank balance and other ordinary bits of life that have been called 'privileges'? Will the hungry, angry, faceless and jobless masses begin rioting, revolting and attacking those who are better off? I wonder and I vacillate between feeling fortunate (on seeing our extremely hard-up fellow Indians) and feeling hard-done-by (when I see other countries). The post was really about how our lives are seemingly just fortune. And I hope mine doesn't run out.
:) Yes, the monitor lizard spotting was extremely good luck and I am still riding that high because of how surreal it was.