That familiar, inexplicable fear and secret guilt
We all have our idiosyncrasies and habits, though my husband would like to believe I deserve the crown for being blessed with the quirkiest! In the past, I have often alarmed him with my shrieks and sudden yelps on sighting a harmless nocturnal intruder scurrying on the kitchen floor or burrowing in a drawer and now he is somewhat immune to my extreme reactions.
Without meaning to, my heartbeat quickens if our car is randomly stopped at a check post and I actually expect the policeman, while rummaging through the boot, to pull out a contraband item gleefully and haul me out amid wild protestations of innocence on my part.
At the airport while exiting the green channel without anything to declare it is not unheard of to be stopped by the casually dressed lady by the pillar and directed back towards the luggage scanner. It happened to me once or twice and every time though I pretend nonchalance, a guilty blush suffuses my face as I imagine them finding illegal goods, which while I know is impossible, nevertheless has me quaking in my boots.
The panic and tumult caused by Covid-19 has turned all our lives upside down. There seems no let-up and we are living in its shadow constantly, fearing infection, contamination and maybe even death.
After over two months of observing the lockdown meticulously and not even stepping out of the gate, my husband and I went to the bank once the curfew was relaxed. It was surreal and strangely uplifting to sit in the car and look around at familiar surroundings, driving past the juice shop, jewellers, car dealers, newspaper vendors, all of which I would usually ignore while on my daily chores. That day, I eagerly looked at each shop as if acknowledging an old friend and felt oddly happy to see them open and going about their businesses.
On entering the bank, we were stopped by the guard and directed to a nearby table. A man was taking everyone’s temperature and noting down the names and telephone numbers. While waiting for our turn, I was struck by a familiar, inexplicable fear and secret guilt. The thermometer was bound to reveal that I had fever and I would be in trouble for concealing it. In those few seconds, I felt a little ill and the sight of a bleak, not too clean quarantine ward of the local civil hospital swam before my glazing eyes. I had a vision of lying all alone in a dank room, allowed no family visits and left to the mercy of the virus.
Little beads of sweat sprouted on my brow and my heart was in my mouth as I stuttered my phone number. For the first time, my husband instead of laughing off my reaction was quiet and disturbed as we solemnly discussed the magnitude of actually contracting the disease and our helplessness in the face of this invisible menace as we drove back home.
THAT DAY, I EAGERLY LOOKED AT EACH SHOP AS IF ACKNOWLEDGING AN OLD FRIEND AND FELT ODDLY HAPPY TO SEE THEM OPEN AND GOING ABOUT THEIR BUSINESSES