Journey from homesickness to home for sick
Amonth ago, I was homesick in San Francisco. It had been great to visit our son, daughter-in-law and newborn grandson but we preponed our flight back by a few days because things were getting sticky in the US due to the coronavirus outbreak.
We returned by a Japanese airline and touched down at New Delhi after 22 hours at 11.30pm on March 20. Unaware that the government had ordered a health check on all arrivals, I thought we would be home soon. The flight was just about one-third full and so immigration should be a lark. So I thought, but just the opposite happened. A staffer took charge and marched us down to a counter where we lined up and filled our travel details.
After our body temperature was checked, our forms were stamped and we headed for the immigration counter. We found ourselves in the midst of a crowd. No social distancing here!
Our turn came after three hours and our passports were impounded. After two more hours, we got hold of our baggage and sat down with our group. From there, we moved in batches and finally reached where the medical teams were positioned. By now, we had spent nine hours in proximity of all and sundry. We were given a packet of food and water.
There were 30 tables where a couple of guys asked those arriving about their travel history. The cause of the rush lay here. Too few counters to manage the people.
We were told to sit in a corner and wait for the briefing. The briefing was that since we were over 60 years of age, we had to go into compulsory quarantine for 14 days. I asked them if this was the case why were we not segregated right at the beginning and brought straight to this place? The doctor said that this was not his responsibility since he only worked at the end of the chain. So that was that.
We were told that we had the option of going to a government accommodation in the Police
Lines which would be free or go to a hotel where we had to hire separate rooms and pay for it. The cost would be about Rs 1 lakh. I had no hesitation in going for the second option because I knew what the Police Lines dormitory would be like.
We were loaded into a bus and taken to the Red Fox Hotel in Aerocity. In the hotel, we were treated like infected people and taken in through the basement where an ad hoc check-in counter had been created. Everyone was in white jumpsuits with protective goggles and gloves.
So, here I am in my room with my wife next door. We are not to meet each other or anyone else. We get three meals a day delivered by guys in protective clothing. The doctors come twice a day to ask about our health. Our passports are in police custody and we cannot leave this floor.
I am sick of the lousy old movies on TV. The news channels have only one subject to discuss. Now that the Prime Minister has announced a 21-day lockdown during which all public transport, including taxis, are suspended, means my ordeal will last till April 14 though my quarantine finishes on the 4th! That is a depressing thought but hopefully the police personnel downstairs have a plan of sending us home.
The root cause of my problems was that feeling of homesickness. We could have stayed on in San Francisco, which is also in stay-at-home mode. Now my homesickness has landed me in a home for the sick.
UNAWARE THAT THE GOVERNMENT HAD ORDERED A HEALTH CHECK ON ALL ARRIVALS, I THOUGHT WE WOULD BE HOME SOON