Butterflies and Hurricanes

I don’t know how to deal with this coronavirus situation. None of us do. All of it seems so surreal. I feel anger, because so many people have lost their lives and their jobs. There’s widespread suffering, fear and panic. I feel grief, because none of them deserved to go this way. Being attacked by your own immune system and gasping for air is a horrible way to die. I feel despair, because it seems to be a bigger threat than we could have imagined. It’s like a giant tsunami wave that’s taking its time to gain momentum and threatens to ultimately fall with a gargantuan crash and cause unprecedented damage. 

It’s making me feel so much, this minuscule, deadly, vile little microbe. How can anyone ever be mentally prepared for a pandemic that can potentially harm millions of lives? We’re all coping with it in our own ways. Amidst all the jokes, memes, funny Tiktok videos, there are people who are taking social distancing seriously. But thousands of doctors, healthcare professionals, daily wage earners, drivers, shopkeepers, street vendors can’t afford to do so. Self-isolation (in the truest sense of the term) can be carried out only by the rich and privileged. What, then, are we supposed to do? Yes, we expect our government to be better equipped for this. We expect them not to make statues that cost thousands of crores of rupees and spend more on hospitals. We expect them to allay our fears by offering financial help and medical aid. But as citizens we need to do much, much more. We need to take this seriously and stay indoors. I don’t see that happening to the extent that it should. I also see a lot of fake news, mass hysteria, panic buying, “miracle” products and misinformation being spread on every channel possible. It is all so distressing.

Sometimes I feel like it was inevitable. We have used this planet to our benefit and abused it for years and animal cruelty has been a huge part of it. These outbreaks have happened before, and scientists had already warned us it was bound to happen again. It is situations like these that bring us down to our knees and make us realise all our differences of caste, class, religion, skin colour, geographical boundaries are laughable. The virus doesn’t discriminate. It only attacks. Suddenly, we’re all at the same level. Someone had posted this on Twitter, “It’s like the Earth just sent us all to our rooms to think about what we have done.” Suddenly, we’re in it together, fighting this crazy battle at the same time. Somehow, this makes us see beyond all our man-made facades and unites us as a species. I’m trying to refrain myself from romanticising this as much as possible, because I’m one of the lucky ones who get to do it. There are many who will scamper and suffer much more than I will. 

An artist sang a song on social media the other day. “Jab apni jaan pe aayi, toh bhool gaye kaun Hindu aur kaun Musalmaan.” Which basically means that now that our lives are on the line, we forget whether we’re Hindus or Muslims. Which is true for so many communities and so many religions all over the world. What’s unfair, however, is that upper class people living in affluent societies will probably get through this unscathed. At times like these, our own privilege stares right back at us, doesn’t it? 

You know what we can do though? Use it. Use your privilege. Pay your maids and helpers a little more than what they earn and ask them to stay home. They need this, and they deserve to be safe too. Stay at home as much as possible and wash your hands frequently. Share vital information. Use your art to reach out to friends, express your feelings, create music and poetry and make people feel less afraid, and less alone. As a species, we will survive this, but I’m not sure what it will do to us. The uncertainty gets to you. The unusual quiet makes you feel uneasy. We don’t know what to expect, and we don’t know how bad it will get. But I heard this somewhere recently: sometimes the only way to get across, is to get through. And get through it we shall, though the journey will be long and painful. 

As I sat this evening and watched some wonderful souls share their poetry, paintings, and music live on Instagram, I realised we are probably living through a time that will be written about in stories and depicted in movies, music, research papers and history books. This is unlike anything we’ve ever seen. Maybe it will teach us a thing or two about ourselves. Maybe we will appreciate the little joys of life. Like stepping out of our homes and going grocery shopping without any fear of getting infected. Like attending concerts with our friends and giving high-fives and massive hugs to people we love. Maybe we will be more grateful just to be alive and to have the ability to take long, deep breaths freely. We’ll be thankful to be out in the sun and exchange a few good laughs in our favourite bars or cafes. 

The only thing keeping me sane is hope. I hope this doesn’t cause too much devastation in its wake. Yes, self reflection is good, and getting time to cook and nap is nice, but to tell you the truth, I’m bloody scared. I’m happy being safe in the familiar confines of my home where I can eat and sleep and live, but I’m afraid that the invisible monster is rearing its ugly head outside and is scheming and coming for us all. How do you see the silver lining when the cloud is so large and grey? All one can do is pray, and hope and believe that it will eventually pass without wreaking too much havoc.

There’s a poem by Rumi that I came across the other day, and it seemed to fit our lives today:

Today, like every other day, we wake up empty

and frightened. Don’t open the door to the study

and begin reading. Take down a musical instrument.

Let the beauty we love be what we do.

There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.