Mask Hai Na Ma'am

When I say "soldier" what is the image that appears before your mind's eye? I'm quite sure it is that of a tall, strapping young man in a bulletproof vest worn over combat fatigues with a gleaming AK 47 rifle slung across his shoulders.....

Well, I know of a soldier, a soldier who is very different from this picture. This one is about five foot and zilch, with a single hurriedly constructed plait hanging over her petite back and of the wrong gender. I've seen her mostly in drab navy-blue trackpants worn with crumpled grayish T shirts walking briskly for her evening rounds at the hospital. She doesn't have rifles and nor bullet proof vests; and if given one, she would be very awkward with it. She's more at ease with the stethoscope she hangs around her shoulders, her steadfast, dependable weapon. I know also that she has limpid eyes and a flawless complexion but that secret is hidden safely behind large thick framed glasses. I'll call her Anahita, not only because it rhymes with her real name but because when it comes to pseudonyms, I am, for some reason rather partial to this name. So this Anahita is the youngest doctor in our hospital and without doubt, the spunkiest. She is only a graduate doctor but hopes soon to clear her NEET and join the hallowed ranks of the specialist and then God willing, onward into the folds of  a superspeciality. But till that comes to pass, she is on the forefront of our COVID battle. All patients:  young or old, anxious or resigned, breathless or not are first attended to by her. She is the one who talks to them, examines them, pacifies them, scolds them, advises them and decides whether they need to be tested for COVID, whether they need to be hospitalized or whether they could be let off on their own at their homes. Everyday numerous patients line up before her COVID clinic: talking, coughing and sneezing, filling her tiny room with aerosols, microscopic droplets of phlegm some of which may be carrying the SARS-CoV-2 virus piggyback. Anahita has been mistress of the COVID Clinic for the last five months and I've never ever known her to complain or ask for a break from her undeniably risky duty. Ever smiling, ever in good spirits and blessed with a loud unselfconscious laughter , she is my favourite youngster in the hospital. So yesterday when I was speaking to her for something else, I thought I'd enquire after her well being.

I asked her, "Anahita, you ok kid?"

Her laughter-tinged voice floated to me over the ether, "He, he, mask hai na Ma'am."

Cowards there are many on this planet and great heroes too. This pandemic has pulled back the veneer of civility that we all wear and  revealed to the world our true mettle.  Over the last five-six months, I've come to know of cowards: people so scared of the virus that they turn their faces and walk the other way when they encounter a doctor acquaintance. I've also known of older, experienced doctors who have taken to hiding behind N95 masks and PPEs and looking for excuses to avoid seeing patients. And at the same time, I've also known little heroes, those very ordinary frontline workers who are the true soldiers of this COVID war: little five foot and nothing soldiers who march unflinching into battle laughing and reassuring you, "Mask hai na, Ma'am....!"

Kaam to Karte Rehna Chahiye

 The day was especially bad, one of those interludes of life when it appears as though Time is squeezing out all the bad floating around and pouring it in a steady stream into your life. Fractured wrist, absentee cook, incessant rain, dreary day, mould on the walls, truant pets....the list was endless. And to add garnish to my already ghastly day was a Corona infested work environment where no one was ready to listen to my professional advice. After a particularly infuriating session which mainly consisted of me banging my head against a non-reactive wall of preconceived and totally unscientific notions, I was at the very bottom of my mood. I convinced myself that I didn't care a naya paisa and that from this day onwards I would simply stop working. I reported to work next day pointedly late, called imperiously for tea AND biscuits at 0930 am and immersed myself in Souad Mekhennet's "I was told to come alone". There was an important SOP to be formulated but I did not even glance at the thick bundle of letters sitting smack in the middle of my desk, references for the policy I was to formulate. The dak kept piling up and the telephone rang incessantly but I ignored it all, resolute in my role of SCNI (SuperCeded Not Interested) 😂At exactly three minutes past one pm I packed my bag and sauntered out of the office leaving the staff wondering what it was that was eating Madam today.

Later in the evening we visited the plot where my house is being built. It was around four o clock in the afternoon and I found one of the labourers sweeping the raw floor of my half built house, gathering the rubble that is generated everyday as a consequence of all the construction activity: bits of broken bricks, fine cement dust, plaster, burnt beedi ends, packets of guthka and chips consumed by the labourers throughout the day. The house is only about 40% complete and no one lives there. I was intrigued as to why the labourer was even bothering to do this extra, seemingly unnecessary job. These labourers are hired by our contractor on a daily wage contract, something they refer to as Dehaari here. They work from 9 am in the morning to 5 pm in the evening with a lunch break in between. Most of them are semi-skilled and quite poor. Unable to control my curiosity, I asked him, "Bhaiya, aap yahaan safaai kyun kar rahen hain?"

The man answered simply: "Hamara kaam khatam ho gaya hai. Par abhi paanch baje nahin hai. Isliye thoda safai kar de rahen hain. Phaltu bhaithna theek nahin hai...Kaam to karte rehna chahiye...."

I looked at the man with surprise and with new respect and humility. He smiled at us, a large open hearted smile that filled his  dark, ugly sweat dribbled face with something very beautiful, very endearing, very inspiring.

That was yesterday.

Today I'm sitting in office, the SOP draft criss-crossed with corrections, deletions and additions. I think we will be able to despatch it by 2 pm today. Definitely.