The clock door opened and the cuckoo came out announcing noon. I gulped down the gruel and rinsed the vessels. Hastily stuffed the mobile, snacks and the tea flask into the bag, rechecking the time as my daughter ran towards me.
“Mummy, everyone is at home. Why can’t you stay too?”
“I will be home by dinnertime sweetie. I can’t help it, rain or shine, I should report for work.”
“Daddy is relaxing, see.”
“Your daddy works otherwise also from home, open the laptop, and he’s at work.” Gibed my mother in law and continued in hesitation.
“Madhu… my medicines are over.”
“Don’t worry mummy. The pharmacy will deliver it today.”
***
I sprinted to the bus stop and boarded my bus. The bus conductor pulled down his mask with a broad smile. Rummaging my handbag, I pulled out a fresh face mask and adorned it, the thing in vogue. Colourful masks everywhere, I hoped they disposed of it properly. Reaching my office, I ran to the washroom, positioned 50 metres away from my cabin and washed my hands thoroughly. My colleague hurriedly arose to leave as soon as I entered.
I would be alone for the next 8 hours, a one-person army perched at the top, overlooking parallel lines. Wiping the keyboard and chair with a wet tissue and placing a hand sanitizer nearby, I was ready to serve with a smile. A serpentine queue of men and women waited impatiently to buy train tickets. A loud sneeze from someone scattered the crowd, and gingerly they weaved back in. The paranoia was reaching dangerous levels. Still, everyone ventured out unnecessarily.
I opened the counter and for the next 25 minutes, engaged myself in clearing up the queue. With the experience of 12 years, I worked like a robot. The top brass decided to merge two cadres, so along with issuing suburban train tickets, I had to make the journey reservation too. Some of the details filled in the forms kept me entertained. The one tendered had misspelt birth for the berth, and the one before had 10th std filled in for the class of journey required. The mask helped to hide my amusement. I informed that their educational qualification need not be mentioned unless a medical practitioner.
***
There was a lull in the traffic. People usually enjoyed their siesta. I carefully removed my mask, had a satisfying time scratching my nose and chin after the sanitization protocol. My thoughts wandered to my family, the necessity to disinfect myself lest I pass on any infection to them. Sipping hot tea, I called up my friend, a doctor.
“Hey, Anandhi, are you at the hospital?”
“Reached home after a hectic 14 hours.” She sounded exhausted.
“How’s the situation?”
“In the hospital, patients are scared, and masks are rationed. Someone stole my mask. I had to stay locked up until they got me a new one. I came home tired. We need help to sail through.”
“Hmmm”
“Here at home everybody is forever hungry, and so I am in the kitchen. Work was better!”
I noticed an older man waiting patiently outside the counter for me to finish my conversation. I left Anandhi to her miseries and apologized to the man. With a toothless grin, he pushed the form inside.
“Sir, very few tickets are available. A lower berth will be difficult.”
“Ok, if it’s RAC, the computer will allot lower berth for my age.” The seasoned traveller quipped.
“Why are you travelling now with the scare of Coronavirus?”
“A temple festival. Have never missed it ever.” He beamed.
“Old people are more susceptible to infection. You should take care.” I entreated.
“I have lived my life, am ready to die.”
I lectured about the seriousness of the situation, the danger of infection which he could acquire from any gathering and in turn spread to many hundreds. It seemed to work. He decided to be socially responsible, blessed me and trotted back home.
***
My shift was about to end. A call from my reliever at this hour was always dreaded. Woes of a single mother with a sick child and I ended up agreeing to continue the shift. The supervisor was in a drunken stupor informed his wife, so with no help on the way, I apprised my husband of the situation. The godforsaken station and I were left to the mercy of the shifty-eyed homeless guy who comfortably made his bed outside my cabin. A few passengers from the last local decided to humour me with inane enquiries. All through the day, I managed to create awareness amongst the passengers about handwashing technique and cough, sneeze etiquette, besides pleading to stay at home and break the chain. People recklessly forwarded posts about the virus and created panic. Instead of blaming the government, follow precaution, I reiterated. Protection and prevention was the only way.
***
As the melodies of the FM radio blended with the comforting snores of the ragpicker outside, I managed forty winks on the hard, narrow table. The morning of “Janta curfew” dawned bright. Furious and sputtering, I advised the passengers ‘Stay home, stay safe’. God save my world! The supervisor relieved me with a strong coffee made by his wife, and I schlepped back home before the curfew began.
The uncle in my apartment inquired about my haggard look. On hearing about my double shift, he applauded me for the sincere service.
“Uncle, are you practising for the 5 pm thanking applause?” I winked.
***
Feeling smug and relishing a lovely breakfast made by my ‘work at home’ spouse, I informed my family.
“I have registered for the Volunteer service. I will help the miracle workers in a small way possible.”
My husband spoke after a pregnant silence, “I will come along too. Let’s strive together to restore the disturbed tranquillity.”
“There comes a time
When we heed a certain call
When the world must come together as one…
WE ARE THE WORLD”
Credits: USA for Africa. We are the world.
***
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Excellent narration of even tiny things,which gives a real life experience