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The social isolation, lockdown, and the war against the virus reminds this writer of the 1971 war she experienced as a child, and draws interesting parallels.
The year was 1971. My father was in the armed forces, and we were posted to a town in J&K, near the Indo Pak border. I was a small child, and my sister even younger. The war came. We did not know much except that our father stayed longer and longer at the office and later had night duty.
We used to go to school as usual. The only change in routine was that when the air raid sirens sounded, we had to quickly go to the trenches, jump in and sit quietly until the all clear blew. We had to either stuff a kerchief in our mouth, or bite down on a pencil between the teeth. This was for the possibility of a bomb falling in the vicinity, in which case, the tongue would get bitten in two due to the shock wave!
I remember: our exams were going on at that time. When the siren sounded, we would turn our “cardboards” with answer papers face down, and file quietly to our assigned trenches. It never occurred to anyone to cheat even—or maybe it was because the situation was so grave.
At night, we had blackouts—total darkness for miles around. The windowpanes of the houses were painted black, or were masked with black paper. If the air raid siren sounded at night, and we could not go to the trenches, we would huddle under a table or a door frame or in a corner of the room. It was impressed upon us continuously that not a speck of light should be seen. My father would explain to us that even the tip of a glowing cigarette could be seen by the enemy planes and would give away our location. This would then lead to bombing by the enemy.
My mother would sit outside with the other ladies who would be waiting for the Army mailman to bring messages from their husbands posted at the Front.
Vegetables and provisions came in trucks as ration. People collected groceries from there. We used to have dinner before sundown, so that even candles were not required to be used.
There were “uncles” we did not see again—they were taken prisoners of war.
Well, needless to say, we came out of that war triumphant. We won many other battles after that too.
Now in 2020, we are prisoners in our own houses, and people are bucking and filling at the thought. They are sulking like grounded teenagers. Trying to find loopholes to get out of the house. Hiding travel history. Hoarding. Irritable at having to do all the housework. Cribbing that some preferred items or brands are not available.
Meanwhile, the poor literally don’t know where their next meal is coming from. As I write this, a fresh wave of contagion threatens to become a tsunami.
Yet, this is not a “count-your-blessings” harangue.
Let us simply learn and practise self-discipline. It comes easy in the Army, because one is trained that way. So also celebrities in different fields. They have great bodies because they are disciplined in their diet and exercise. Musicians, dancers and sportspersons are at the top of their performance because of endless hours of practice.
Let us discipline ourselves. Let us do this bit for our country and ourselves. To quote Milton, “They also serve who only stand and wait.” And, I may add, “___who stay home”!
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Neena was the sole caregiver of Amma and though one would think that Amma was dependent on her, Neena felt otherwise.
Neena inhaled the aroma that emanated from the pan and took a deep breath. The aroma of cumin interspersed with butter transported her back to the modest kitchen in her native village. She could picture her father standing in the kitchen wearing his white crisp kurta as he made delectable concoctions for his only daughter.
Neena grew up in a home where both her parents worked together in tandem to keep the house up and running. She had a blissful childhood in her modest two-room house. The house was small but every nook and cranny gave her memories of a lifetime. Neena’s young heart imagined that her life would follow the same cheerful course. But how wrong she was!
When she was sixteen, the catastrophic clutches of destiny snatched away her parents. They passed away in a road accident and Neena was devastated. Relatives thronged her now gloomy house and soon it was decided that she should be married off.
Women today don’t want to be in a partnership that complicates their lives further. They need an equal partner with whom they can figure out life as a team, playing by each other’s strengths.
We all are familiar with that one annoying aunty who is more interested in our marital status than in the dessert counter at a wedding. But these aunties have somehow become obsolete now. Now they are replaced by men we have in our lives. Friends, family, and even work colleagues. It’s the men who are worried about why we are not saying yes to one among their clans. What is wrong with us? Aren’t we scared of dying alone? Like them?
A recent interaction with a guy friend of mine turned sour when he lectured me about how I would regret not getting married at the right time. He lectured that every event in our lives needs to be completed within a certain timeframe set by society else we are doomed. I wasn’t angry. I was just disappointed to realize that annoying aunties are rapidly doubling in our society. And they don’t just appear at weddings or family functions anymore. They are everywhere. They are the real pandemic.
Let’s examine this a little closer.
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