October dystopia

I am going through a writing block but my brain has constantly been buzzing. There are some long pending texts that I have to reply to, calls that I have promised I have to make, things I have to write and plans I have to work on—but I have been waiting for a decision to be made, which has probably nothing to do with all of these, but perhaps everything to do with them too. I am consistently reminded of how the world is changing around me, both actively and passively—the boy who used to sing in his backyard in February with his guitar every Friday night, and I would lip-sync with him late into night, didn’t sing any songs after March. I often think about him. Maybe he comes back as the nights cool down—I keep wishing. A friend’s baby has grown up during these lockdown months and she doesn’t recognize me anymore as she used to before even though she likes me and smiles at me—how do I tell that I am that same person she would come to months before and giggle with? Have I changed as a person? They say babies can tell.

 I always used to think about real life situations and how they would look like in a movie, but it has been happening more often now. Yuval Noah Harari wrote on privacy and surveillance during the time of pandemic and ever since I’ve been looking at things around me with a different eye. It’s not so much as threatening as it is ‘normal’. We’ve practically been living in a dystopia. I have made more friends online this year than any other—some of whom I look forward to meeting and others I know I would never meet in real life—many of whom know things even my close friends do not. I started wearing mask for safety of myself and people around me, but it has become my shield for anonymity lately—I don’t think I can go back outside with my bare face. The other day I was assigned a random check to see if our employees were maintaining the SOPs. I joked with one of the lower staff members to note down his name because he was not wearing a mask. When I came back to my seat half an hour later, my teammate told me that he had come crying and asked them to please remove my name from the list or he would lose his job. That’s when it hit me again that it was not the same for everyone. All animals are equal but some animals are more equal than others.      

We are slowly going back to WfH as the cases increase. More than five cases on one of our floors and no one baits an eye now. In the beginning, even if an employee who travelled from abroad and had a case in his flight would seal a floor and send people home, now we just broadcast more instructions every day. No one talks on the way from parking to the floor, no one shakes hands, everyone stays in a line; two people check the temperature with a thermal scanner (even though it has never helped in detecting any cases but no one bothers). People move slowly towards the elevators—only four people in one elevator, one of the instructions says. Guards have been given authority to impose the instructions, ‘four people in each corner sir’. A guard stands on every floor as the lift door opens, ready to warn you what you are doing wrong. No one speaks in the lifts—unlike before when major morning socialization would take place there. There is gloom, anxiety visible in tapping of shoes, grip of the bag, checking of the watch and then realizing they are not wearing a watch today. One of the directors faces the back of the elevator until the door opens and someone tells him that it’s his floor. Otherwise, no one talks. Sometimes we hear that people we know have been hospitalized, tested positive again, lungs have failed to respond, condition is critical. Email broadcast sometimes reads for funeral prayer timings, sometimes for them, sometimes for family members. Insurance policy has been renewed and everyone is asking for the benefits their family would get in case they die; some people have changed their nominations of family members of who gets how much in the event of their death. While the word death was thrown wildly, humorously and only seldom, it is used more often now and more cautiously.

Certain things don’t change, only what’s in them changes—death is inevitable, for some it has gotten scarier, for others, more obvious. October is always the confused month, and yet I’ve loved it for as long as I can remember—it reminds me of myself, unsure but determined for winters. I listen to a different playlist than last year’s, I’m exploring different genres of books, I’m not falling in love anymore, even though I’ve opened up more as a person, become more realistic and more accepting of myself, and I know I deserve more love—only what’s in them changes.