It is nearly two years that the Coronavirus allegedly showed its first appearance in Wuhan, China and spread soon after that world over. The thousands of travelling Chinese of their new year, returning to the U.S. and Europe hastened the spread of the Covid. The information is known to all, save the Chinese, who refute all of it.
Be that as it may, the object of writing this post is to record the travails and the near end of humanity scenario that everyone faced. It was a bundle of fear, anxiety, helplessness, and suspicion against one another, with neighbours, friends.
Here was a lethal virus, named Covid 19, roving everywhere, and ready to devour anyone coming close. The media had already given it a red ball-like shape thrice the size of a football and with spikes all over like the ones on Martian aliens, antenna type, but for the opposition- with threatening eyes like you know who, sharp teeth and even sharper fangs. Then there were films, a pub, where the slimy virus was going from one place to another, infecting all. The pubbers emerge like Will smith in the zombie film, ‘I am a legend.’ It was scary.
People securely locked their Doors, and maids were given off. Newspapers and milk were the only two items that were delivered at home. The health ministry suggested paracetamol, and presto the medicine in every trade name vanished underground. They talked about Remdesivir, the medicine from a few hundred rupees touched Rs.60000. Masks became mandatory, and the saviour then against Covid 19. The abundantly available piece of surgical cloth selling for Rs.3 fetched Rs.400 to the hoarders.
Newspapers came in soggy and wet, sprayed with Sanitizer, the latter an obsessively overused product. Short of drinking, people applied it in every way. The PPE clad persons came with long pincers to carry those affected. They were humane in front of CCTV cameras, but a few exhibited their deep fear and revolt when they were forced to pull the dead and cremate.
Bodies floated in the rivers, mass cremation and burials became the order of the day. The news was limited to Covid numbers, sick and fatalities. The lifeline, Oxygen, became scarce, and again a few made a fast buck from the sufferings. Every medicine, from Basil to concoctions offered by a Baba, swindled people. The World Health Organisation was a comedy, doing their job better than Steve Martin and Chris Rock put together. A few well-heeled flew out in the chartered flights to take a vax shot in Dubai or London.
The reminiscences of licensing Raj re-emerged. Passes were required from serious-looking mask-less police officers in the thanas for checking on the family elders staying a few blocks away. Doctors had to be coaxed for the privilege of comorbidity certificates for early vaccination. To force a smile at the vax centres and at the injector who became more important than doctors.
Trains stopped. The government released advisories, often confusing, one after another for people to follow. Crowds were controlled, save in the election meetings and pujas. Many cried fouls as many others rang bells, cymbals and blew conches. The political divide was more apparent during the Covid times. Amid the pandemic, India brought out its vaccine, vaccinated more than 108 crore people, and the work seems to return to normal. India had 3.44 Crores affected, of which 4.11 lac people sadly lost their lives, which could have been far lesser, had we been careful in preventing flights in the initial stages and learning from the other countries with an intense pandemic.
In all, every survivor will have something to share with the next generation as escapees of the greatest pandemic in a century.
Sampath Kumar
Intrépide Voix
