Covid chronicles of real and surreal times
The heirloom of bedtime stories that my grandma wove made childhood an enchanting experience with fairy tales and supernatural characters. By the time I grew up, I knew that they were all a figment of imagination.
However, the kind of stories I’m collecting today for my future generation is not only real but also surreal. People falling prey to an unknown, unseen perpetrator have left a trail of narratives hard to fathom. Playing arenas and train compartments have become makeshift hospital wards and some countries are running out of burial space.
These are strange times. The big bad wolf seems to have come to life. The unthinkable has happened. The world has come to a stop. The game of statue that we played as children has manifested itself more seriously in our lives as adults.
Grappling with the ongoing situation, I wonder how I’ll ever convince my grandchildren about what seems a bit of garbled nonsense. Living in the heart of the city, I’m afraid to let my dogs out after dark for fear of a panther lurking in the backyard. That our shoes became home to lizards because it had been long since we touched them; that we all had to cut our own hair because barbers were closed for months together.
How hard will it be to prove that a little might of a virus was a great leveller and that it brought thewholeworldtoitsknees.this is something no superpower in the world could do.
We are etching that chapter of history where half the world that escaped the virus gained weight, overate and became unfit all at the same time. The new anthology of narratives that is taking shape has no precedence and perhaps will be the only examples of their kind.
The fact that every busy airport, railway station and mall bears a deserted look is not a long rambling story. The never ceasing city of Vegas is in slumber. Airplanes are languishing in the hanger and the ships have stopped their sails.
Thousands of prisoners all over the world have been let out on parole and allowed to go home till the pandemic subsides. The illiterate farmer in India has become tech-savvy within days and is going online to sell his produce. No education programme could have achieved this feat in such a short span. Criminal activity has been reined in without the help of policemen.
Imagine living on a tree! A migrant labourer from Udaipur district had to quarantine himself on a tree for three days till suitable arrangements were made. Another hapless soul could not believe that he was arrested for venturing out to dispose of a mouse.
There are some who got married at the borders of the state because they had to adhere to the norms of green and red zones. Both the bride and the groom would not have dreamt of a quick-fix ceremony by a few policemen.
I am assimilating, absorbing and preserving these times in the form of newspaper clippings for the sake of posterity. For these are the tales, I don’t want the nextgenerationtobrushasideas just another illusory chronicle or figment of imagination.
I’M ASSIMILATING, ABSORBING AND PRESERVING THESE TIMES IN THE FORM OF NEWSPAPER CLIPPINGS FOR THE SAKE OF POSTERITY