When the masks come off...

After socially distancing for so long, it’s going to be hard to adjust to post-pandemic life

 

Over the last year, Covid has been the one thing ruling all our lives. The months of lockdown made us hunker down at home, washing our hands and sanitizing with a certain manic energy, wiping down surfaces and rubbing doorknobs clean, as if our life depended on it. We stayed away from family and friends, socially distancing for fear of contracting and/or spreading the virus. And slipping on a mask when we left home became almost second nature to us.

 

But while all of this may have kept us safe, it also left us scared. Not just of the virus, but of our fellow human beings. Instead of seeing people as friends, family, neighbours, colleagues, or just mere acquaintances, we began regarding them as a clear and present danger. They became – in our mind – less human beings with whom we had a relationship and more disease vectors who might kill us if they got within breathing distance.

 

There was no question of hugging and kissing anyone in greeting. Even a handshake was potentially life-threatening. Instead, we went in for jocular elbow bumps while surreptitiously checking if the other person’s mask was covering both nose and mouth (spoiler alert: it hardly ever was!). 

 

But now that Covid numbers are trending down, and the pandemic seems to be on its way out, we have to find a way to reconnect with the significant humans in our life. We have to learn to share a meal, give a hug, sit in close proximity, kiss someone goodbye, without breaking into a nervous sweat or obsessing for days after that we may have, in fact, contracted Covid.

 

Speaking for myself, I am finding it incredibly hard to slip back into the rhythms of pre-pandemic life. Even at gatherings where I know that everyone has been tested in advance, I tend to keep my mask on, as a measure of abundant caution, taking if off only when I am eating or drinking. I have still to have a meal with any of my friends, even though I know that they have been religious about isolation and mask-wearing and are, therefore, no danger to me. And when I do go out to eat with my husband, I panic when a fellow guest comes up unmasked to say hello. At a rational level I know that we cannot get infected in a couple of minutes; and yet, my entire body tenses up until that person leaves the table.

 

It’s the same when I go out for a walk. I keep my mask on throughout, but even so my heart skips a beat when I pass by groups who have decided to leave theirs off, or just wear them as a jaunty chin covering. Yes, we are outdoors; yes, we are in contact only for a few seconds; yes, the Delhi Covid numbers are vanishingly low; and yet, my fear of contracting the disease persists.

 

So, what’s the solution? How do I get over my overwhelming fear of other people and go back to a modicum of normal life? 

 

Well, I guess the only way to do that is to take baby steps. Which is why I have resolved that over the next couple of weeks, I am going to gradually expand my Covid bubble. 

 

First on the cards is a quiet dinner at home with a couple of friends who have been as diligent about following the Covid rules as us – as good a way as any of easing myself back into the world of socializing without getting completely overwhelmed. Next, I am going to venture into conducting work meetings in person rather than on Zoom – masks on for the most part, but off when we dig into the obligatory coffee and cookies. And then, there’s the family reunion my sister and I have been fantasizing about for months. 

 

At some point, I guess, I will have to try and get comfortable with the idea of meeting strangers without masks as well. But those days are still far into the future. 

 

As I said, baby steps…

The new normal

Taking baby steps back into a post-Covid world

I may have mentioned this to you before, but I have been taking baby steps back into the world after months spent cowering from Covid in my home. It started off with a daily evening walk, though I gave up on the teeming mask-less masses of Lodi Garden in favour of the quiet, tree-lined avenues of Sunder Nursery, where visitors are few and far between. I ventured out to see my doctor; I visited a dentist’s clinic, accompanying my husband.

I even went to a couple of malls to stock up on such ‘essentials’ as my eyeliner and lipstick, though I took care to go on weekday afternoons, when the footfall was negligible. And when the electric whisk of my choice was not available online, I headed out to what used to be my daily haunt, Khan Market, to zip in and out with my purchase.

But the biggest step I took back into the world of normalcy was when I made my first restaurant reservation. For our first outing, my husband and I choose an outlet that had high ceilings, with the tables placed far apart, and where the servers were wearing both face masks and face shields. But even so, it felt rather daring to sit down on our table and take off our masks – the first time we had ever done so in public – to have our first restaurant meal, in the company of other unmasked strangers (even though they were more than the regulation six feet
apart from us).

Since that first excursion, we have ventured out to eat several times. And I must admit that with every outing, my nervousness has decreased exponentially. Now, I don’t hurriedly put on my mask when the wait staff comes by to serve us. My heart no longer skips a beat when a fellow guest saunters past our table without a mask (no, I tell myself, he can’t possible infect you in less than 30 seconds). And I don’t obsessively sanitize my hands every few minutes.

So, there’s progress, right there for you.

But that said, there are still many things that I simply don’t see myself doing for some time yet.

The first on that list is taking a flight. The very idea of negotiating an airport, putting my bags through the X-ray machine, going through security, queuing up to board a flight, and then spending a couple of hours sitting cheek-by-jowl with strangers, strikes terror in my heart. A few of my friends have done this and lived to tell the tale. One of them even took an eight-hour flight to Italy wearing full PPE (including an adult diaper so that she didn’t need to use the airline loo!) and seems none the worse for wear. But rather than encourage me to take the plunge, their experiences have, if anything, strengthened my resolve to stay on the ground, and
postpone air travel for as long as I possibly can.

Which is why, when we decided to take a mini-break, we chose a resort on the outskirts of Delhi. The drive was just about an hour and a half, which obviated the need for any loo breaks. And even though there was a plastic partition between the driver and us, we kept our masks on for the duration of the drive. The staff at the resort was in masks and shields, which gave us a feeling a security. As did the fact
that our room was liberally strewn with bottles of hand sanitizer, disinfectant sprays and boxes of surgical masks.

On our next break, we have decided to venture a little further afield. We are currently toying with the idea of Agra or Jaipur, both of which are a comfortable car journey away. And even though the weather makes the hills an obvious choice, I have vetoed them on the grounds that the longer drive would mean using public toilets – and that’s a scary proposition in the times of Corona.

So, what’s the next step on my way back to normalcy, you ask? Well, I have tentatively scheduled a coffee meet with my girlfriends. We will meet in the open, refrain from kissing and hugging one another, and take off our masks only when we sip our cappuccinos. I can’t wait.

The new normal

It’s time to take baby steps back into the world; no matter how nervous it makes us

The first thing I did once the lifting of the lockdown was announced was to drive to Amrita Shergill Marg. No, I wasn’t visiting family or calling on friends. I just wanted to drive down the road to see the amaltas (or laburnum, if you prefer) flowering in all their glory.

Throughout the lockdown, one thought had persisted in my mind. That I would end up missing the blossoming of the amaltas this year altogether. And given that the sight of those yellow blooms is the only thing that makes suffering the Delhi summer worthwhile, it was a depressing thought.

Much to my surprise, though, as I drove through Amrita Shergill Marg, which is studded with laburnum trees on either side of the road, I realized that the trees were late blooming this year. Some of them were showing flashes of yellow, but most of them still had their green canopy.

Phew. There was still time to catch them in all their glory in the weeks to come. My relief was overwhelming as I drove back home, content in the knowledge that I hadn’t missed out on what has always been the highlight of my summer.

What I did miss out on, though, was the beautiful spectacle that is Lodi Garden in the spring. When the lockdown was first announced, the first spring flowers were just emerging shyly from the earth, inching higher every day. But before they could reach even halfway through their life cycle, life as we knew it was over and we were all imprisoned in our homes.

Every evening, around the time that I would usually head out for a walk, I would be overwhelmed by a sense of sadness as I thought about the beautiful flowers that I could no longer feast my eyes on. To paraphrase that old saying, do flowers really bloom in a garden if there is no one around to see them?

Silly question. Of course they do. But somehow in the absence of people who can appreciate their beauty, their existence seems far more insubstantial, ephemeral even.

Even after the lockdown was lifted, though, I could not summon up the courage to head out to Lodi Garden. Given that I have certain co-morbidities that make me more at risk of bad outcomes if I contract Covid, I thought discretion was the better part of valour and continued to exercise in the safety of my own home. And while it would have felt good to get some fresh air after being cooped up for so long, I thought the added pressure of socially distancing from fellow walkers and joggers was not really worth it.

So, even though the lockdown has been lifted I still find myself homebound, because of a combination of fear and anxiety. All these weeks, I have been looking forward to hair salons being opened, so that the disaster that is my hair could be fixed by professionals. But now that I all I have to do is pick up the phone and make an appointment, I find myself hesitating. How embarrassing would it be to admit to someone that I contracted coronavirus because I couldn’t wait to get a hair cut and colour? How vain would that make me seem? And did I really want to risk paying such a high price for my vanity?

Yes, yes, I know what all you brave souls out there are thinking. That there is a minuscule chance of contracting the virus when you are walking in the open air while wearing a mask, especially when others in the park are masked as well. That hair salons – and other such establishments – have sanitary protocols in place to make sure that their clients are safe from infections.

At a rational level, I know all that. But there is still a part of my brain – and the predominant one, at that – which keeps telling me to hunker down at home and not risk stepping out unless it is absolutely essential. And while I can use my cross-trainer at home, and apply the home hair-dye kit (no matter how ineptly), leaving the house for a walk or a root touch-up seems unnecessary at best and frivolous at worst.

So, what would I risk leaving home for?

Well, doctor’s visits are on top of that list. Though, I must confess, that I was frightened out of my wits on my last visit to see my endocrinologist, Dr Ambrish Mittal. The first shock was seeing the clinic so empty, and being treated like a pariah by the staff at reception (“Please stay behind the barrier, ma’am,” one of them instructed me sternly, as I leaned over to hand him my credit card). Then, there was the dystopian sight of seeing Dr Mithal in full PPE gear, complete with face shield, from a safe distance across the room, from where we shouted at each other to be heard.

But I guess all of this is now part of the new normal, and the sooner I adjust to it, the better it would be for me. So, from this week on, I resolved to put my reservations aside and try and re-enter the world as best I can.

Of course, there was a certain inevitability to the fact that the first thing I did in this endeavour was pay a visit to Khan Market. But those familiar environs calmed me somewhat, and now I am all set for new adventures.

Baby steps, I know. But we all have to start somewhere.