A Shot in the Arm!

 

84 days.

 

I could have circumnavigated the world in this time - like Phileas Fogg. Instead I stayed locked up in a poky apartment waiting for an injection. Well, not just any ordinary injection but one that will keep the horrid coronavirus at bay. At least I hope it will. From what I hear, the sneaky Delta variant is giving all the vaccines a run for their money. So we have to get our shots, keep our masks on and carry on social distancing till kingdom come.

 

Sigh.

 

I have a list of things I want to do when I get the shot in my arm. I want to hop over to my favourite café – stuff my face with my favourite chocolate, almond and orange cake (under my mask of course) and stare at folks within safe distance. It’s been years (literally) that I have sat at a public space and eavesdropped on conversations. I want to go grocery shopping and run my fingers along the spines of books at a bookstore. Online shopping is no fun at all!

 

I haven’t been this excited about anything in a long while. I keep telling myself it’s only an injection when it feels more like a magic potion. Hopefully soon, when we have all been vaccinated, the world will become safe to navigate again. 

 

With masks on.

 

Mughal E Azam 2.0 - Brick in the Wall

When I decided to write a modern-day fictional adaptation of Mughal-e-Azam a couple of years back (still writing it BTW), I didn’t realize my art (if you can call it that) was going to imitate life. Cut to the present. April 2021 - the condominium in which I live, is inching close to being sealed by the authorities in Gurgaon as we have had a significant outbreak of coronavirus infections. 

Now I truly understand what Anarkali must have felt like when that first brick was laid. 

Okay, I guess I’m being slightly dramatic here. I’m not being walled in. One of our gates has just been sealed and residents have been asked to clamp down on visitors and domestic help. Not just that, there are a couple of Plods manning the main gates and several inside the condo making sure folks don’t break rules. So if you are out without a mask or two, gossiping in a group or trying to sneak out after curfew hours for a drink with your buddies, you will be marched to prison. Do not pass go. Or collect the 200 dollars. Straight to prison I expect. Or worse, the entire condominium will be sealed off from the world at large. 

 

Mughal E Azam 2.0. Except my Salim is sitting beside me, balding and spectacled, completely zoned out from being on zoom calls with clients. On my part, I’m jumping around from one room to the next like a cat on hot bricks. I don’t think that qualifies as dancing.

 

I’ve been told our condo is a containment zone. That’s what they call places that have a huge spike in infections. By policing it, the authorities hope to bring down the cases. A few of my friends whisper conspiratorially (over the phone) that they are in Large Outbreak Regions. All of these sound like names out of a dystopian novel -- so you have to excuse me for hyperventilating a wee bit.

 

Breathe in, breathe out.

 

I haven’t had any visitors or domestic help for over a year. From the first week of March 2020 to be precise. I’ve been scrupulously washing my hands using up gallons of liquid soap, wearing an array of masks and staying away from everyone and her aunt. Other than minor episodes of cabin fever, things have been mostly fine. But now, things are getting tricky.

In my version of the story, Anarkali escapes by taking a flight out of Gurgaon. I’m not sure that will be possible in real life. Perhaps I could be a fly on the wall instead?

 

(To be contd)