It was last May that India was reeling under the screams and forthcoming silence of the second wave. It was last May that the news of death was the purpose of every call. It was last May that I heard that my dearest friend passed away due to the virus. It did not seem real for a long time.
My parents watched the news all day, kept track of the daily Covid-19 tally and talked in hushed tones of what might happen if one of us got infected. A struggle for something so basic led to his death, lack of oxygen.
While the world leaves behind the memories of a year before, I cannot help but reflect upon it from time to time. The second wave brought about so many fears to reality. I hadn’t come across death. I didn’t know loss. I didn’t know how to understand the fact that someone I talked to everyday was just not there.
I remember the news from my hometown, of how there was a huge queue of ambulances outside the cremation ground; of how there was a shortage of priests for the funerary rituals.
“I Feel Guilty For Moving On”
Death was surrounding the world, yet it seemed so far. Flashes of heaps of bodies lying near the Ganga ghats were emerging. Social media was rampant with leads for hospital beds, oxygen cylinders and ventilators. The air smelled of helplessness and loss. The pandemic took a lot from us.
It took out normalcy, our comfort zone and our safety net. It transformed the world as we knew it and threw us into a confined, cold place. Lockdown forced families back together; some for the better, others for worse. It took time from me; time with a loved one.
It took away conversations, laughs and tears that were supposed to be together. It took away a lot too soon. Now, as I move on from the horror that was 2021, I sometimes feel guilty. I feel guilty for moving forward.
As time passes, memories begin to fade and I realise that I don’t recall the exact sound of his laughter. I remember the conversations, but I can’t put together the words said. I feel guilty for hanging up on our last phone call too soon.
“Covid-19 Took A Lot Away From Me”
May 2021 taught me fear; fear of being someone’s last call, or hugging someone for the final time. Celebrations alight for every new year. But the onset of 2022 was only a prayer. I, along with so many, prayed for a better year; a year that mustn’t reek of death and howls. It was a call for hope.
Now, the world has returned to an-almost normal routine. But the families that bore the loss, lost their normal. A year after, I sit on the exact same chair, on which I was sitting when I had answered the dreaded phone call.
It’s midnight. The air is crisp and the room dangerously quiet. I pick up my phone, find their number and linger. Covid-19 took several phone calls from me. It took away a lot too soon.