As he wipes the condensation off the mirror, he is momentarily taken aback unable to recognise those dull, tired eyes and aged face of his, with the wrinkles looking as though they had multiplied in the past few weeks. His palms are calloused and raw from all the scrubbing and washing. He is finding it difficult to stand for long, with varicose veins twisting around his leg like ivy running up a wall. He looks warily at the bottle of liquid soap and wonders how long he can make it last. With the ever-growing demand for this liquid gold and meagre supply, every drop is precious.
She rests on an armchair with a vacant expression in her eyes. The mobile phone grasped in her withered hands, she waits impatiently for someone, nay, anyone to call. Her son who works in Bangalore doesn’t talk much on phone these days as he is busy working from home. The last time she had heard from her daughter in the U.S., the total number of cases reported in Chennai was just 8,000. That seems to be many weeks ago. Time was slipping through her fingers, like worthless coins. Now, thousands of cases are being reported daily! Her thoughts are interrupted as the doorbell rings. Before the pandemic struck, the door was rarely shut as friends would drop in often and she would never let them leave without offering them a steaming cup of masala chai with hot, crispy snacks. Now, their only visitors are the milkmaid and delivery boys.
Laboriously, she lifts her body off the chair. She smooths her nightgown and reaches out for the walking stick. Shifting her weight onto her sturdy companion, she slowly begins her journey towards the door. Gloved hands holding out a delivery packet await her as she opens the door. She smiles at the young boy, a gesture so rare these days that her muscles feel stiff. She isn’t sure if the smile was returned beneath the black mask.
The house is unbearably quiet, except for the sound of running tap water. As he painstakingly washes the vegetables with vinegar, he gazes out. The once lush and resplendent park now lay derelict and neglected. He reminisces about the evening walks — gossips with old companions, cool wind gently caressing the skin, peals of merry laughter as children chased one another with indulgent mothers looking on. Now, the only inhabitants of the park are starved stray dogs.
As he opens the kitchen shelf, a vortex of dust swirls towards him. The sneeze builds up as a slight tickle and then escapes him with a loud explosion. He wonders whether the entire neighbourhood would panic and admonish him. Even the noisy crow on the window sill appeared to be glaring at him in indignation. These are daunting days — every cough, every sneeze may have perilous implications. He sighs in despondency and proceeds to boil water with crushed ginger. They stopped drinking plain water many days ago.
She continues to chop the vegetables as the anchor droned on with the latest number of newly infected cases. Nowadays, she hardly pays any attention to the rising numbers; she has far more pressing issues to attend to such as keeping a tab on the dwindling groceries. What if the old AC breaks down? Did her husband take his BP medicine this morning? With the domestic help not being available for the past so many weeks, the daily routine has become laborious, leaving her totally exhausted. Finding her lonely and depressed, new ailments and body pains seem to have come to keep her company this summer, instead of her children and grandchildren. Despite the health concerns, she doesn’t dare visit the hospital in these circumstances.
It’s dark now and another dreary day has come to a close. They sit across each other, sharing a sparse meal of wheat gruel, in silent companionship as they have done for the past 45 years. As they retire for bed, each has a silent prayer on the lips that the next morning should not find either of them left alone to face the COVID-ravaged world.
sharanya.sunil@gmail.com
