Should I be afraid of COVID-19?

 In March or perhaps in April  this year, quite at the beginning of the pandemic, I had written a short post on COVID-19 in my professional capacity as public health specialist. That post had proved pretty popular, an inference I reached when someone re-circulated my own post back to me. Now nearly six months into the pandemic, I feel the need to once again write about this disease. Today's post, just like the one before is motivated by the urgent need I feel within myself to cut the clutter and talk about the most important issue with respect to this disease. 

Today, the pertinent and all encompassing question about covid-19  is

"Should I be scared of COVID-19?" 

And the answer is both a Yes and a No, which means that there is both good news and bad. 

So let's take the bad news first.

Yes, I should be scared of COVID-19. But only if I am a babe-in-arms, an elderly or  someone with a pre-existing disease viz. diabetes, heart disease, cancer, obesity and lung disease. Just like that seasoned bully who preys on the bullied's insecurities, the SARS-CoV-2 virus preys on those whose body's immune system is compromised by certain pre-existing illnesses. In such people the disease can be relentless and often fatal. Even as I write this, a close relative of mine is battling covid pneumonia in a hospital back home. The gentleman is a diabetic with an extremely poor record of blood sugar control. He is overweight, has high blood pressure and is a chain smoker. And it no surprise that SARS-CoV-2 is playing havoc in his lungs.

Now let's come to the good news. For the vast majority of people in the world, COVID-19 disease is either asymptomatic or only mildly symptomatic. This means that if you are the average human being with no major health issues even if you happen to be infected by the SARS-CoV-2, in all probability you will not develop any symptoms at all. And in case you do, these symptoms would be very very mild or at the most moderate in severity. That means you would probably have some Sardi Zukam Khansi Bookhar and nothing more and you would be up and about in four or five days. 

Having said that I think I am duty bound to explain the little rider that accompanies the good news which is that in a very small percentage of cases it is seen that the virus causes florid disease even in an apparently healthy young person with no pre-existing illnesses. Though we are still not completely sure as to why this happens, scientists conjecture that certain genetic defects or differences in the immune system of such persons render them vulnerable to severe disease.

The question that logically follows my statements is in that case what is it that we should do?

I will divide my answer into four parts:-

A. Protect the vulnerables. That means the elderly and those suffering from diseases like diabetes, lung disease, heart disease, old strokes, cancers and obesity. Pay special attention to their medication and if diabetic the control of their blood sugar levels. Explain to them why they should remain at home and avoid public places. Incase you are exposed to crowded environments in your day to day life then it is wise to restrict your interaction with these vulnerables.

B. If you would like information about COVID-19 disease, then consult your doctor, or better still genuine internet sites like the CDC, the MOHFW and the like.  Even the WHO is not bad, though it has suffered some loss of credibility, mostly media fuelled. Please avoid mainstream TV media and the WhatsApp/ YouTube University.

C. You must accept the fact that the virus is here to stay. Once the first spate of attacks is over, the virus in all likelihood would go into what is known as endemicity and in the the years to come, its ugly head will crop up now & then, manifesting as the odd, sporadic severe pneumonia. We have to therefore,  learn to live with this disease like we have learnt to live with thousands of other diseases like TB, malaria, dengue, Ebola, heart disease, cancer and the like.

D. If you are a reasonably healthy person on the lesser side of sixty, then the only advice I have for you is  : "जा सिमरन जा, जी ले अपनी जिंदगी" (with due apologies to Amrish Puri in DDLJ)😂

Reclaim your Life, friends.

( and I'd also like to mention how I keep remembering the Shakespeare's Julius Caesar: Cowards die many times before their deaths....)

PS. Would be happy to answer any query you may have about this disease. Feel free to contact me on email or on WhatsApp.

TOILET TALES

 Toilet tales

The Netflix biopic Kargil Girl on the Indian Air Force woman helicopter pilot Flight Lieutenant Gunjan Saxena has had social media buzzing like indignant bees, nay hornets with heated discussions about the purported misogyny of the Indian Air Force and by larger inference,  of the entire Indian Armed Forces. I must confess that not having a subscription of either Netflix or Amazon Prime, I have not had the opportunity of watching the film itself, but having read the raging controversy on social media, I did take time out to watch critically the official trailer of the film. Of course, I am acutely aware that a trailer is just that: a trailer and therefore  forming an opinion about a film based solely on it's  trailer is rather premature and kind of juvenile. But having said that, a trailer does give you some indication as to the the tone and tenor of a film. And while I am in no position to comment or to review the film not having watched it completely, given the histrionics of the few frames of the film I did see as it's trailer, I can say with conviction that the portrayal of the Armed Forces in this film too is typically and  tediously Bollywood : very larger than life and quite, quite dissociated from reality. And as for the misogyny bit, the sad truth of life is that while no organisation or institution or society however hallowed, is completely, hundred percent free of this scourge, in real life misogyny is not the dramatically blatant and hysterically loud discrimination as has been portrayed in the film. In real life, wherever it exists, misogyny does so as a subtle undercurrent of deeply ingrained prejudice against the female sex concealed under a thin veneer of modern-ness.

But today, I am not going to give a discourse on misogyny. I am going to talk instead, about more pressing issues: about women's changing rooms, specifically about women's toilets.Not many years back I was posted to an institution which till I joined had only one woman employee. I remember not without some amusement, about how my only female colleague came up to me on the very day of my reporting for work and handed me a key. 

It's the toilet key. She informed me. Ladies' toilet.

It seems that this toilet had been won by her as right after a fierce and bitter battle with the admin and invoking the sacred bond of sisterhood, she bade me never ever to let anyone, any male that is, to use this toilet. And thus for the next  one year my female colleague and I had exclusive access to this toilet which was always sparkling clean and fragrant with Odonil, unlike the vomit inducing ammoniacal odours that emanated from the male toilet just 5 feet away. Then my colleague was posted out and I went on vacation. When I returned to work and asked for the key to the toilet I was told peremptorily that the toilet would henceforth also be used by a male colleague who shared the same floor with us.  The reason given was that since this gentleman was a little unwell, he found it convenient to use our toilet which was at a distance of about 20 feet from his office rather than use the toilet for male colleagues which was quite far away from his office: at a distance of 30 feet.

 This ludicrous explanation got my gall and I marched up to the admin (a male). I positioned my elbows on his desk, leaned forward, pulled my glasses down to my nose, fixed him with my iciest stare through their tops and declared, " Partner, if the ladies' toilet is not returned to the ladies, I will not hesitate to raise the level."

Now "raise the level" is something that everyone in my institution is petrified of. This thinly veiled intimidation along with the steel in my eyes convinced the admin that retreat was the wisest and only option left for him. He quietly handed back both the keys to the toilet. I sauntered back to my office smug in victory, dangling the keys as trophy; and enjoyed the use of the sparkling clean and Odonil perfumed Ladies' toilet uninterrupted for the next 2 years.

Before you tsk tsk in sympathy and empathy with me at the the rampant misogyny in my organisation, let me tell you to other toilet tales.

Both happened again many years back while I was part of a relief team that moved to Orissa during the super cyclone of 1999. The first tale is from the time I was on my way to Odisha and the second is from my journey back.

We were a group of three doctors and a few paramedical staff who moved early one rainy morning from Ranchi to Cuttack by road. It was a long and tiring journey of almost 24 hours punctuated by many stops because of the bad roads made worse by the rain and storm. The man in charge, Dr P was a very senior doctor colleague of mine and I was the only woman in the entire convoy of vehicles that night. At the start of the journey , Dr P who was sitting in front of the vehicle turn around and said to me, "AiBee, do let me know whenever you need to take a toilet break. Please do not hesitate. We will stop and make sure that we find a suitable toilet for you."

 Those days I was a complete novice just out of Med school and thinking that I might be shy, he repeated his reassurances to me many times throughout the entire journey and true to his word, whenever I did request for a stop he stopped and made sure  a toilet was found for me. I also remember how that night we camped at an old PHC which had only one toilet without a door and how in the morning, our attendant told me, " Madam, I have kept the toilet free for you. You see, it does not have a door." At my horrified expression, he was quick to reassure me, "Don't worry, Madam, I will stand guard at the corridor entry. No one will come inside." And he stood, at a distance to ensure propriety, not unlike a lioness defending her cubs till I had finished my job safely. He was just a waiter and his name was Barik. I will never forget him.

On the way back we covered the distance again by road but this time there were no doctors with me. Instead I took a lift in the vehicle which was part of an infantry convoy. Again I was the only woman. The man in charge this time was not a doctor but an infantry person, again a very senior colleague. And this time too, just like my onward journey I faced no toilet travails. On the contrary I remember how accomodating and good natured everyone was when I suddenly needed to answer nature's call in the midst of nowhere (this was '99 and there were no roadside swanky dhabas with luxury washrooms on highways and this was just a poor state highway) and we had to move off the road right into the village in search of a suitable toilet.

(Now those were Aswachh Bharat times and even the only pakka house of the village  did not have a toilet. When I requested the lady of the house if I could use her washroom she happily pointed to little enclosure behind her house fenced off by palm leaves. I pushed the rudimentary door and peeked in to check whether it was clean. But there was no toilet; it was just a bit of ground overgrown with some suspicious looking vegetation, fenced off by the palm leaves. I looked back at the lady askance and she nodded encouragingly: "Toilet!' she told me. I had no other option but to to resign myself to the pleasures of an open air  washroom that day.......)

So then, coming  to the point that I wanted to make by telling you these toilety tales : I strongly believe that misogyny is not inherent to an organisation. Rather, misogyny is very much an individual ailment and  personality based. A organisation may have many misogynistic MCPs within its  folds  and at the same time have many many more men who are completely free of such prejudices. Therefore, to label the entire Indian Air Force misogynistic due to a melodramatic film is I think, doing them a grave, grave injustice.

PS. As I was telling this tale to Other Half, I found him counting on his fingers: "Hema, Rekha, Jaya, Sushma.."

"Girlfriends?" I queried.

"We have four women doctors in the hospital." He told me. And then murmured to himself:" I've never tried to find out whether we have separate toilets for them..."

" Well, you can start now." I smiled at him 

Winter Rose

Having painted this rose, I was floundering over a piece of poem I was trying to write which I had titled "Frozen Love".

But inspiration is scarce today and so I've borrowed this beautiful piece of verse written by Hannah Flagg Gold called "Winter Rose".

Till inspiration flows once again, I'm happy to let Ms Flagg talk about how memory kept in bloom the rose that had brightened the bleak winter days....

Here's the poem.

O, why do I hold thee, my fair, only rose,
My bright little treasure—so dear;
And love thee a thousand times better than those,
In thousands, that lately were here?

Because, like a friend, when the many depart,
As fortune's cold storms gather round,
Till all from without chills the desolate heart,
My sweet winter-flower, thou art found!

Because that for me thou hast budded and blown,
I look with such fondness on thee;
That, while I've no other, I call thee my own,
And feel thou art living for me.

I know thee. I've studied thy delicate form,
Till reared from the root to the flower,
That opens to-day, in a season of storm!
To brighten so dreary an hour.

How could I so lavishly scatter my sight
On those, that the gay summer-sun
Had nursed with his beams, when I find such delight
In having and loving but one?

And while thou dost modestly blush at the praise,
That thus I in secret bestow,
It heightens thy beauty, and only can raise
The strain, high and higher to flow.

Although thou must droop, as our dearest ones will,
I'll tenderly watch thy decline;
And, in thy sad moments, I'll cherish thee still,
Because thou hast cheered me in mine.

Then, hallowed like dust of a friend in the tomb,
I'll lay thy pale leaves safe away,
Where memory often shall give them the bloom
That brightened my dark winter day.

COVID Memories

"Madam, ye log mujhe andar aane nahin de rahein hain...."The woman's voice sounds frantic on the phone

"Why?" I ask.

"Bol rahein hain: aap aspatal mein kaam karte ho, isliye andar nahin aa sakte. Corona faila doge!"

"Bol rahein hain, baahar hi rahon...," her voice first rises in desperation and then trails off in abject resignation..."Roz aise karte hain, Madam...roz, roz...!"

I'm appalled. 

What the hell, I tell myself and feel the sharp spark of anger form at the pit of my stomach and shoot right up to my head. "What the bloody hell........!"

I tell her, "Security vaale se baat karao.....!"

The guard agrees to talk to me since I hold some clout in our RWA.

"Namaste Madam."

 I ask him what the problem is.

The woman is a nurse in the local district hospital and resides in our colony. The RWA of our colony has committed itself to protecting its residents from "Corona" and apart from drowning the entire colony in 5% sodium hypochlorite ( that's bleach), it has decreed that all residents working in hospitals must either take voluntary leave or live elsewhere. In pursuance of this policy, the security guards at the gate of our RWA has refused this woman entry.

I know he is only following orders but I'm fuming. I bark at him, " Aane do unko!"

The man knows me and acquiesces, after a brief war of words. He hands the phone back to the woman.

I tell her, "He will let you in now. Don't worry."

The woman says thank you and then bursts into tears. Through the phone, I can hear the soft sound of her tears and her incoherent words ring in my ears..."Roz aisa karte hain Madam, roz, roz...kya kya kehte hain...mujhe apne ghar mein aane nahin dete Madam... mujhe ghar aane nahin dete...."

🥀🥀🥀🥀

The Persian poet-saints from many hundreds of years back assured us:

"īn nīz bogzarad" or "this too shall pass"..

And so COVID will also one day pass and we will relegate it's memory to the very back of our consciousness as a big bad dream. But certain things about this disease, these times will never really go away and will continue to haunt us for many many years to come. For some it could be the pictures of migrant workers dying on railway tracks as they try to return home during the lockdown, for others it could be the wry humour of the tales of people stooping to fisticuffs over toilet paper rolls, for many it could be the poignant video of the COVID stricken old woman bidding her last goodbye to her family over video chat....

And for me it will be the sound of that nurse sobbing on the phone, "Madam, ye log mujhe apne ghar nahin aane dete...."

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

On the Road: From Tezpur to Jorhat

On the Road from Tezpur to Jorhat

A wide-winged horn bill

Glides gently by;

Against the azure

Of an autumn sky!

 

Green, green paddy fields

And greener trees;

Women pluck tea leaves

Busier than bees!

 

Cloud wisps tumble

In their windy game;

White kohua fringes

Complete the frame!

Fourth August

The music remains.

Friends leave. 

Mates forget. 

Memories dim.

Brick, mortar and plaster is broken down and replaced by more brick, mortar and plaster. But this time the silhouettes are unfamiliar, sepia deficient.

Old camaraderie finds it hard to spark joy, stilted as it is by ambition and by life's nagging demands.

Even nostalgia turns tedious, unless lubricated by a generous helping of Old Monk or some spirit, stronger.

The music though, remains.

Deccan Queen hums Carpenter's "Such a feelin's coming over me" under a monsoon soaked Lonavla sky. 

Someone's Sony cassette player croons "Careless Whispers" on a tawny afternoon after Dissection class.

Two naughty young women sings Lionel Ritchie's "Hello" behind a Cunningham placed strategically to duck Attre Ma'am's disapproving gaze. Sylvester, the hurly-burly cadaver smiles his eerie, cute smile as he listens to them sing of summer skies and warm Julys.

In the dimly lit reading room an HMV LP's Barbara Streisand renders Memory over and over again in her powerful bass. 

Occasionally I sit inside Chow's forever topsy-turvy room all alone and try to decipher the method in its madness aided by Farida Khanum's Aaj Jaane ki Zid Na Karo.

On some enthu evenings, Dire Straits has a field day, thumping, throbbing, thundering from Nikhattu's room on the ground floor and reverberating round and round the quadrangle.

On certain lonely weekends, EssESS lounges on the low-lying armchair outside her room as  Bacardi white rum and Jon Bon Jovi lulls her to sleep.

And on Social Nite, Deccan Queen ditches her boyfriend for just that night and links her arm in mine: "Chal, let's listen to the music."

So we sit away from the old Insti on the steps of the Parade Ground and watch the dancers who look for all the world like writhing ET's on a charsi high. To pass time we give and take a few stars of the Orion constellation and then sit back to listen to the music: Smokie's song of love and regret 'Living next door to Alice', the scandalisingly sexy " Oh Carol", Scorpion's beautiful epic "Winds of Change", Laura Brannigan's "Self Control" (my personal favourite), Bryan Adam's nostalgia agonist "Summer of 69"........

Our summer was Fourth Term but the memories are fading fast, becoming inconsequential with each day......

This Fourth August, I'll place all those songs back to back on my iPod. Then dim the lights and let it be yesterday once more....

For only the music remains: strong, loyal and true.