The context is such that it feels indecent to show signs of happiness (if not attached to a sense of guilt). Covid is leaving a trail of illness and death in its wake making it stressful to have clear minded views about how to go about with our daily routine. The simple fact of extracting a little bit of joy out of any situation tends to be quickly washed aside by a string of dramatic news.
Kiran called the other day. His mum had just passed away and he wanted to hear my voice. My first reaction to the news was to run and provide him with a shoulder to cry on but a quick reality check made me step back and pull myself together knowing I had to be cautious when attending the funeral. Someone leaving this world is hard enough but when the crowd showing up for a last homage is almost inexistent, it becomes even more depressing for the children. So, I went and the sight of Kiran made me realize how the aching loneliness in his chest kept growing as he watched the body of his mother leave her home. I can't even fathom the isolation and obscurity of people in his position, really heartbreaking. I didn't come back home depressed though, just reflective.
It will soon be two years since the disease has been in our lives and it has now got to the point where we’ve stopped counting the deads, instead praying and hoping that no member of our family be part of the statistics. Each time we thought things were settling a little it was only to realize that a more serious outbreak was around the corner. Becoming paranoid is of no use, so I have decided to keep on doing the few things I enjoy: reading, writing, purifying my home, doing practices, working, enjoying my daily conversations with Antish, going out in nature, taking pictures, drawing small cartoon characters, connecting with my family and also trying to make people happy and helping strangers and keep laughing with mum. There is always so much to do in one lifetime.
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