On Fri, Jul 23, 2021 at 11:57 AM Venkatesh Hariharan <[email protected]> wrote:
> Thanks for starting this thread, Udhay. > > As someone who has been interested in financial inclusion and would like to > see India become a developed country in my lifetime, our country's callous > handling of the pandemic has driven me to anger, grief and sadness. The > news of people dying from lack of oxygen concentrators, delayed treatment > etc has been cause for acute anxiety and depression. The ray of hope in all > this darkness has been how individuals have rallied and organized > themselves to provide food, medicines and other supplies. Even as I see > homelessness and despair grow in the streets around me, I also saw people > bringing food packets in scooters and cars and selflessly delivering it to > the homeless. Ultimately, this is a role that the state should do. This is > what we as taxpayers pay the state to do and to see the state absent here > is to realise how far we need to go to develop world class governance > capabilities. > > I am a happy introvert but this pandemic has been hard, even for me. I know > it must be ten times harder for my friends who are extroverts. Based on the > vaccine procurement and rollout, my rough estimate is that we will emerge > from this pandemic only by the end of 2022. If it happens earlier, I will > consider it a bonus. I have managed to cope by: > > 1. Slowing down my life. I quit an earlier job which was a thankless task > that consumed my days and nights and weekends too, and took on a consulting > role that gives me more work-life balance. It is less pay, but I decided > that it is what makes me happy. > 2. Catching up on my reading > 3. Music. I bought the Harman Kardon Soundsticks 4 and love listening to > blues, jazz, ghazals and all other kinds of music on it. > 4. Exercise. After years, I have been regular with exercise and it has been > a great morale booster. > 5. Catching up with friends over a walk. This has been my biggest mode of > socializing during the pandemic. We walk wearing masks and we take great > care to follow Covid appropriate behavior. > > I could write more but have to get back to work :-) > > Venky > > On Fri, Jul 23, 2021 at 11:10 AM Radhika, Y. <[email protected]> wrote: > > > I was in Zaragoza, in the province of Aragón, Spain from January to June > > 2020. About 7 weeks into my stay, the government declared a state of > > emergency, the borders closed and the country hunkered down in what was > > called "the first confinement". I was living alone already in my friend's > > apartment on the 9th floor of a building that faced the river Ebro so I > > continued there. At the time there were a lot of people exercising at > home > > - some ran marathons within the confines of their homes. My own feeling > was > > that I had entered true randomness and timelessness. I lost interest in > > food using it only to maintain myself...really, my senses were not their > > usual selves. There were unknown birds I saw in flight, there were the > > leaves shimmering on the poplars along the riverbank. In the kitchen I > > heard songs and chatter on the radio while I cooked. A window in the > > kitchen looked down into the donut hole of the courtyard in the center of > > the building. From this window I reached out to hang clothes on the > > clothesline. Sometimes I heard a neighbor two floors down ordering her > son > > about. Other times, a neighbor, appropriately named Ángeles, would lean > out > > the window right across from me and ask me if I needed a mask or anything > > else. Once the breakfast was prepared I took it over to the living room > and > > watched the sky and tried to note the changes in the kinds of clouds that > > appeared - one blue, blue, blue sky day there was a summer cloud so > fluffy > > and light you knew no water could stay up there and all the water there > > welled up in my eyes instead through magical transference. In the > > afternoons, I lay on the bed that had an ornate headboard. From there I > > could look into the kitchen waking up one night to see a dazzling flash > of > > lightning land on the kitchen floor. I could die and people wouldn't know > > about it for a while. This thought came to me very quietly, with no > fanfare > > and not even self-pity. It really was possible; anything was and always > is. > > Sometimes in the afternoon, I visited the bookshelves in two separate > > rooms. There were mostly books that were my friend's dead husband's > choice: > > lovely art catalogues and books on painting, Dosteovsky and Tolstoy in > > Spanish, the work of many others I won't ever know. One book I came back > > with is a small book on the weather and climate of the region. I've > > translated it since. In the evenings, the 8pm singing and dancing in the > > Juliette balconies lasted about 15 minutes. Most of the time only the > birds > > and animals heard us. Sometimes, police cars passed us and would stop and > > applaud us. Once, an ambulance stopped and I played the ukulele, although > > not the song that ruled the waves those few months - Resistiré (I will > > resist). I prefered the Beatles. When night fell, I spoke to my husband > and > > son in Canada but there was something missing there. I could not explain > > how I felt and the constant need to stay optimistic wore me out. I was a > > 52-year-old woman who had gotten a second career as a translator and > coming > > to Spain was expensive, and at cost to my then 10-year-old son. In May, > he > > informed me timidly that in the summer he would need two parents to be > with > > him in Vancouver. There was a ringing in my whole body, there had been > one > > since the travel agent had called and said on March 12th, "I can't get > you > > out of Europe." I wasn't sure if I was in a war zone and what if anything > > to think of my life before and after. At the same time, the present > seemed > > so precious, a pause and reset but with ragged edges. The losses came > > later. Later in the year, I lost a brother-in-law and saw the same shadow > > of illness/depression fall on many, many friends in India although this > > year has truly topped all of those losses in terms of how many people > were > > sick. I still avoid talking (writing is much less invasive) about this > > experience because...well, because when I do I'm back in that apartment > > looking at the Las Meninas replicas in plaster looking back at me. Not > that > > I don't think about that apartment - many times I go back there but it's > > not in response to conversation. It's not even that I was grieving in > that > > space, I was only coping. But it was a way of being without a way out. > > > > I'm sorry about not having addressed specific questions about grief or > > loss. > > > > Radhika > > > > > > On Thu, Jul 22, 2021 at 7:23 PM Udhay Shankar N <[email protected]> wrote: > > > > > On Fri, Jul 23, 2021 at 7:37 AM Deepa Mohan <[email protected]> > > wrote: > > > > > > We all need the human touch, both figurative and physically. The lack > of > > > > Vitamin T is a serious lack. > > > > > > > > > > As I have said elsewhere, when straight Indian men start saying (I have > > > multiple data points over the last year) that they miss hugging people, > > you > > > know something serious is going on. > > > > > > Udhay > > > > > > -- > > > > > > ((Udhay Shankar N)) ((udhay @ pobox.com)) ((www.digeratus.com)) > > > > > > > > > -- > > *Translator/Owner* > > *AzulIndica Translations* > > *North Vancouver BC, Canada* > Thankfully, I have been well and I am fortunate that I have lost no loved ones in this time. However, I got divorced after four years in an abusive marriage, just before the pandemic. Divorce and pandemic, for me, are intertwined. It isn't the divorce itself, as you can probably imagine. It is what preceded it, the enormity of which I am still making my way through. Drug abuse, almost being charged with the possession of restricted psychotropics that I had no idea existed, emotional abuse, physical assault, entirely avoidable financial insecurity via my ex-husband repeatedly leaving jobs while his parents did everything in their power to get me to leave mine (and eventually succeeded) - most of these flew under the radar in my marriage. Each of these were explained away by the pronouncements of "daughters-in-law have to adjust", "getting high once in a way is OK", "nobody has job security these days", "wait for a while, things will get better". My marriage was not arranged, but that does not make what happened to me "my fault". Women (in India?) are expected to endure things in marriages, and we rarely talk about it even to each other. This unspoken set of things makes it more difficult to identify abuse, or for parents to help their daughter, because she is considered separate from them. The marriage is not between two people but a man's family and their newly acquired humanoid household appliance - so glib talk of "working on traumas together" and "compatibility" is not always useful. Part of the post-mortem has been "oh we didn't want to interfere because we thought you loved him". It wasn't love. It was the superhuman effort on my part to make things work that nearly every married woman silently does. It was the attempt to avoid my parents' current despair - who will look after me when I am old? It was the knowledge that my value as a human being hinges at least partly on my fertility - at 33, a fast-depleting "resource". While people read out poems about being lonely in webinars in 2020, I found myself dissociating, unable to relate. Before the pandemic, before my divorce, I had had no agency over my own body, and the restrictions placed on me (the clothes I ought to wear or whether I should be allowed to leave the house) changed according to my ex-in-laws' astrologer's advice, sought repeatedly because my insistence on having an income was seen as a threat. I didn't believe this sort of thing was alive and well in the 21st century, in cities, in educated families, until I faced it myself. I escaped. I know women who can't. The pandemic made the actual court hearings easier, via virtual hearings. I had (and still have, thankfully) a measure of stability via a regular income, at a time when I most needed it, after years of marriage-induced precarity. But while women my age gave birth to their first child in the pandemic and men my age complained about women on dating apps, I found myself increasingly unable to communicate my truths and be sure that I would be understood, so I folded in on myself. I discovered bad therapy and the misdiagnosis of generalized anxiety disorder. I began chipping away at a decades-long eating disorder. I discovered that I am neurodivergent, as well as having been raised by a neurodivergent parent, which makes for an interesting brand of childhood trauma. I shared my house with my younger brother for a few months, until my inability to explain my grief and his inability (owing to his innocence? youth? the fact of being male?) to understand tore apart our sibling relationship. I was sexually harassed by a coworker, a surprising first after years of working with entitled men who barely see women as people, let alone professionals. My parents did their own version of installing and uninstalling Tinder - they made a profile for me on a matrimony website earlier this year, thinking that only men in their 50s would be interested in their divorced daughter, and then were proved wrong for a few hours until I insisted they delete it and never speak of it again. My married friends tell me that I am now a witch - I am no longer in a marriage nor on the path to it. Live the life we can't, they say. As part of accepting full responsibility for my actions, I have sought no support for so many years now that it's difficult even to appear slightly like I am, even in this email. Healing feels like a giant ball of barbed wire, and I fear that I will encounter more abuse in my future. I grieve the lost years of my life. I am hurting. I don't even want to type these words, for fear that I will be given that cursory automated response once more: "you are still young and things will open up soon so just chill." Thank you, Udhay, for making this space, and thank you all for constituting a little home.
