We regret to inform you that our wedding is postponed in light of the lockdown and pandemic. The government has forbidden large gatherings to prevent the spread of the disease. We don't want to put our friends and family at risk and we will reach out to you once we have the new wedding/reception dates.
- Neha and Eashwar
Neha stared at the newspaper that her dad had set before her. The wedding was supposed to be next week and now it was not to be. She felt a mixture of sadness, confusion, and emptiness. She had quit her job a week ago in anticipation of the move to Bangalore to join Eashwar. The excitement surrounding the wedding and Eashwar's weekend visits to Chennai had kept her spirits high. Now there would be no weekend visits or last-minute wedding shopping.
She reached for her phone and called Eashwar. After listening to a long-recorded message in Kannada about the virus and what to do if you are infected, she got connected to his phone. It rang twice before Eashwar picked up.
"Hi Neha," he said, sounding distracted. "What's up?"
"Hi! Just wanted to let you know that the announcement about our wedding is in today's paper."
"OK. I think the one my parents sent was published in the Bangalore edition. I'll have to check. Was busy with work from the time I woke up," he said, yawning.
"OK," said Neha, sensing that this conversation was coming to an end.
"I'll call you later, babe. Work calls. Bye. Love you."
"Bye! Love you too."
She threw the phone on her bed and picked up the newspaper with the intention of reading it back to back.
It had just been a couple of days into the lockdown and Neha and her parents had settled into a routine. Mornings were spent cooking breakfast and lunch, followed by a post-lunch siesta, evening tea, walks on the terrace, dinner and a movie. On alternate days they dusted and mopped the house and did laundry. Neha ventured out on her bike in the mornings to pick up milk from the corner of the main road. She didn't think it was prudent to let her dad wander outside with the virus at large, sneaking around asymptomatic people.
In a few days however, it felt like time had expanded and all the chores had shrunk. Cooking was all but done in a few hours and then the day seemed to stretch on endlessly till bedtime. Sleep too was elusive after long afternoon naps and hardly any physical exertion. It was a good thing that she was on the skinny side because the kilos were slowly piling on. She found herself staring outside the grilled windows like a caged bird.
One morning after the cooking and cleaning was done, she pulled out a face pack she had been saving for just before the wedding. She added milk and cream to the brownish powder after throwing it in a bowl. After applying it to her face, she dozed off. When she woke up she went to the kitchen and retrieved two slices of cucumber from the salad she had prepared earlier that morning. Balancing the two slices over her eyes she took a selfie and sent it to Eashwar, all the while giggling just thinking about his reaction. He called an hour later and sounded grumpy as ever.
She had stopped sending him pictures of all the exotic dishes she was making. The poor guy couldn't cook to save his life and sorely missed ordering take away from his favourite joints. One day he managed to burn pasta while he was chatting with her. What followed was a lot of pot banging and cussing. He didn't even bother to mute his phone.
On the morning of what was supposed to be their wedding day, Neha woke up feeling numb. She had pictured this day several times. His touch, his kisses, his presence---she sorely missed all of it after the lockdown began. Her body ached for his, to make him hers once and for all. But today she felt so far removed from all those emotions. The physical distance between them was revealing cracks in their relationship. Cracks even Neha hadn't seen before.
Her phone chimed indicating a new message. Neha picked it up. It was from Eashwar.
"I miss you."
"I miss you too," she typed as if on autopilot.
"We should have been married today."
"I know."
"I want to hold you in my arms."
"Soon. Once this is all over. I gotta go now. Don't you have work today?"
"No. I took off for the wedding, remember?"
"Right. I have to go get milk before 7. Bye! Catch you later."
As she started the scooter, she noticed that the doors to the house across the street were wide open and there were boxes strewn across the porch. And just beyond the doors she could hear voices from upstairs.
Later that evening when she sat on her bed reading, she noticed shadows moving upstairs in the rooms across the street. A woman with her hair tied in a large bun was rocking a small child in her arms. A taller shadow, bent down to kiss the sleeping child. A young couple with a child, thought Neha. After the lights went out, she fell asleep imagining what her new neighbours were like.
When she went to open the gate next morning, she saw a tall man emerge from the house across the street. He was wearing a mask. His eyes smiled when they met hers. He got into his car that was parked just outside the gate and drove away. She noticed the medical cross sticker on his bumper. A doctor? A nurse? She couldn't make up her mind. The fact that he had moved to a somewhat dilapidated house made her want to put him in the nurse category but then again healthcare workers were being evicted from their houses because of the Corona virus scare.
She avoided speaking to Eashwar these days. He was getting increasingly cranky as the lockdown extended interminably. Businesses were running at a loss and his company was no exception. She tried to show him that he had so much to be thankful for. Surely his fate was better than that of the labourers who had lost their livelihood and were stranded thousands of miles from home.
"Bloody beggars! They are the ones spreading the virus by congregating at the railway stations, demanding to go home."
"But they have no home, Eashwar and no food to feed their families."
"The government is supplying them with food. They are thankless, ungrateful idiots," he continued.
Neha saw the futility of trying to evoke some compassion where there was none. She attributed it to the stress that everyone was facing because of the lockdown. Eashwar was just not himself.
When a friend reached out asking for help with feeding stray dogs, she started making several phone calls and sharing on social media to organize funds for this cause. Eashwar loved animals and they had talked about adopting a pet after the wedding. So naturally, she called him and asked him to donate. He flatly refused. She was so taken aback that she didn't even ask him why. But he felt obliged to tell her anyway. His company wasn't doing well and there were talks about layoffs. In the event of a layoff he needed a good lumpsum to tide him by until he found his next job.
Neha thought about her career. She had quit her job right before the lockdown and now the job market was so bad she might not be able to find a job for months together. A sizeable amount from her savings went towards feeding stray dogs in the month of April.
On her way to buy milk one morning, she bumped into the doctor. He wasn't wearing a mask. Neha waved at him and he smiled, revealing a beautiful set of evenly-spaced teeth.
"No mask today?" she asked.
"No, we ran out."
"I read about mask shortages all over the country."
He nodded sadly.
"I'm Neha, by the way."
"I'm Dr. Riaz," he said glancing at his watch, "I'm running a little late. Catch you later."
Neha ran inside, almost bumping into her dad on her way to the kitchen.
"Watch out," screamed her dad, balancing a tray of chopped vegetables on one hand and a knife in the other. He religiously chopped all the vegetables his wife placed before him in the morning after a short discussion on what to make for lunch.
"Sorry Appa," said Neha, without skipping a beat or stopping.
When she reached the kitchen panting, her mother turned around.
"What?" she asked, knitting her thin eyebrows together.
"Sewing machine...need it...," said Neha between two large gulps of air.
"For what?"
"Masks."
"Huh?" Her mom was getting impatient with her cryptic responses.
Neha took several deep breaths while holding her hands up in front of her.
"Remember I told you about the doctor who moved next door? He said they didn't have masks at the hospital. I thought we could sew some masks for him. What do you think?"
Neha's mom's eyes darted all over the place as she processed all that Neha had just said.
"It needs to be oiled," she said after a long pause, "And we need to find some cloth. Ask Appa if he has some new veshtis he wouldn't mind parting with."
Neha ran to the hall yelling Appa Appa but he wasn't there. He was probably working on his latest audit and she knew better than to disturb him.
Several YouTube videos later, the three of them had managed to stitch five masks. Neha and her dad measured and cut out the cloth. Her mom stitched two pieces of cloth together and attached four cloth straps to make a mask. The elastic ones hurt after a while; she had read somewhere. Moreover, they did not have enough elastic at home and no way of procuring it. Only essential goods and services were available during the lockdown.
Neha sipped her filter coffee sitting on the stoop. A small bag lay next to her. When the doctor stepped out of his house, she jumped up and grabbed the bag next to her. She ran across the road and thrust the bag into his hands.
"What's this?" he asked, slowly opening the bag and peering inside.
"Masks," she said happily.
His face broke into the biggest smile she had ever seen. He lifted a mask out of the bag and examined it, the smile never leaving his face.
"Thank you! These are really good," he said, resting his eyes on her face.
"We'll make some more. I think it will be faster now that we've got the hang of it."
"We?" he asked, peering behind her into the dark house.
"Appa and Amma also help."
"Thank you so much," he said putting the mask back in the bag and turning towards his car.
For the next several days, Neha did not see the doctor on her morning trips to buy milk. So, she left the masks at his doorstep every other day.
A car honked and woke up Neha. It was still dark. She reached for her phone and saw that it was a few minutes past 5. Red beams from a car's brake lights spilled into her room. She jumped out of bed and peered through her curtains. It was the doctor. He was loading up the trunk of a blue Honda Brio. His wife stood waiting by the side of the car with her sleeping daughter in her arms. He turned to them and said something through the mask while patting their heads. She got into the car carefully so as not to wake the sleeping child and then drove away. He was probably sending them away to her parents' place for their safety.
"We are stitching masks for the First Med hospital," announced Neha.
"Oh!" said Eashwar absentmindedly. It was obvious that he was trying to get through his email while having a conversation with her.
"That's all you have to say?"
"Huh? Oh! Good! Good! Keep yourself busy," he said, trying to sound appreciative. "But also learn some new skills. Enroll for some online course. So, when this over you can get a job and be productive."
"Right," said Neha as she even began to question the notion of productivity.
Did it have to contribute to the GDP? Did you have to make money to be productive. With the lockdown and everything that came with it, the lines were getting blurry. Everyone had to do housework in lieu of maids. Cooking was a life skill all of a sudden. Everyone was thanking healthcare workers and essential service providers. If you had a job that allowed you to work from the safety of your home and a monthly paycheck, you had no reason to complain. Not that it stopped people from complaining!
Every time Neha saw the doctor, he looked older. His shoulders drooped under an unseen burden and the dark circles around his eyes were more pronounced. Those eyes had seen things that Neha could only begin to imagine. He thanked her for the masks she left at his doorstep. Every night she left rotis and curry for him in a small bag. She figured he wouldn't have the strength to cook for himself after a long day at the hospital. He left the clean Tupperware containers at their door every morning with a thank you note.
One evening, Neha took rotis and channa masala to the doctor's house. She assumed he hadn't returned home as the lights were out. When she stepped on the porch, she saw a dark figure on the steps. Her inital reaction was to turn around and bolt but she realized that the person had not noticed her. She switched on her phone's flash light and directed it towards the house. It was the doctor, doubled over, with his head between his knees.
"Doc," said Neha gently.
The doctor slowly lifted his head. His eyes were red and his unshaven face looked ghostly in the light reflecting off the front door.
"Are you OK?" asked Neha, slowly approaching him.
"I guess," said the doctor in a dead voice.
"What happened?"
"I lost a patient today," he said after what seemed like an hour.
"I'm so sorry."
"And not just any patient. It was a nurse. She..." his voice choked,"...she has worked with me for years."
Neha sat next to him on the porch. Nothing she was about to say could make sense of this tragedy. So she just sat there with him, leaning into his pain and sorrow, hoping that it would lighten his burden. She only left when her mom came looking for her.
She watched him from her room as he sat in the darkness for another 30 minutes before retreating into the house. The packet of rotis and curry lay untouched on the steps.
"You're nuts," said Eashwar, when Neha told him about the doctor and how her family was cooking for him. "Hope you are sending food in plastic baggies or disposable containers."
"Nope! Tupperware," said Neha.
"Are you crazy? He could infect you all!"
"We'll be fine," she snapped.
"Whatever! You are taking a huge risk."
"All right! I gotta go now," said Neha.
The virus and its aftermath had split the world in two. One half was focusing selfishly on their own needs and pointing fingers at everything that was going wrong in the world. The other half was trying hard to ease the suffering and pain by any means possible. Neha found herself labelling all her friends and family based on their reactions and social media posts. She unfriended and unfollowed a lot of people, she withdrew from several relationships. It was like the virus had injected a giant dose of truth serum into the planet. The truth was now exposed. The truth about the government and the truth about ourselves and the structures we had built around ourselves based on lies, deceit, greed, and manipulation. The ugly truth lay bare for all to see. And it was time that Eashwar knew.
One day before the government was to lift the lockdown and things were to return to normal, Neha plucked up the courage to call Eashwar. Things were never going to be the same again. At least not for her.
"I'm calling off the wedding," said Neha softly, choking back tears.
"What? What? What are you saying Neha?" shouted Eashwar.
Neha bit her lip but didn't say a word.
"Say something," pleaded Eashwar, clearly struggling to make sense of this.
"What do you want me to say?"
"It's just all the stress from this lockdown. Once things settle, everything will be fine."
"No, it won't," sputtered Neha.
"Why?"
"Because there's only one thing that's important to you."
"Yes, it's you, Neha."
"No, it's you. It has always been you," cried Neha, "I'm sorry."
So saying, she cut the call, threw herself on the bed and sobbed into the peach blossom covers.
