High-flying Corona

Now the Corona scare penetrates deep in the countryside. The village saloon-keeper, a very nice friend of mine by the way, has a very adventurist brother. Just like anyone around might draw every ounce of capability and cunningness to fulfill the basic needs of life, he puts up every effort to board a flight to be away in a different country or region to, primarily, nurture a sense of being a businessman even if hypothetically, and, secondarily, to have a bit, o sorry a lot, of fun. So New York is no better than Timbuktu to him. Lo, here he lands up in the sleepy village from Bangkok. As most of we Indians are expert at, he does a roundabout to dodge the little trouble of staying isolated officially for 14 days, only to come across the bigger trouble of gifting cough and sneezing from the exotic land. So we the Indians will use all expertise of our calculating, cunning persona to avoid 14 Day quarantine, believing that it cannot happen to me, and then walk into a bigger quagmire, not just for ourselves but for many others also. We love sharing! Don’t we?

So here he moves around his family and mixes with his social circle in the village, drinking wine with his pals and telling tales of the latest adventure. By the time the healthcare workers arrived to take a stock of the situation, his brother, the saloon keeper, has shaved the chins of almost half of the village. The house has been put under quarantine. A paper nicely slapped over the nameplate as a sort of punishment. Their entire identity hijacked by the little piece of paper.

Now imprisoned with his huge joint family numbering into dozens, my friend, the saloon keeper, sounded even angry. “They just shout from the outside ‘How are you’ without coming inside,” he is furious. What does he expect? Does he expect them to come and embrace them? Well, I think he can keep his expectations a bit low till 14 days pass and the reports come. Till then all those who have visited his saloon are waiting like their own reports are to be released soon. People are no longer as dismissive of the pandemic like they sounded earlier when the scary reports from distant parts started arriving. This is a very tiny planet, you should remember!

During the fateful period, with me being ignorant of the gallant boy’s return from exciting Bangkok, I remember having gone for a long, long evening walk with my saloon-keeper friend. In the countryside, the child buddies share a special bond. We still prefer to walk with hands on each other’s shoulder, like two bulls yoked to pull a plough. It’s taken as a sign of real friendship. Now, like a sullen monkey, I rethink about the outdated signs and symbolisms of childhood countryside friendships. So the incident has spoiled my mood a bit. But then it has spoiled the temper of all those who had got themselves shaved at his saloon. So I am not alone in this mild scare.

I had thrashed him once during our childhood. ‘If you get Corona, I will thrash you again!’ I baulk at him over phone. ‘And if I don’t, then? he is on back foot, as if he has committed a crime. ‘Then you will be lucky to retain friendship. But no longer shoulder to shoulder child-buddy strolls anymore. We are graying middle-aged men now!’ I still appear aggrieved and in no mood to spare the poor fellow.

So the lockdown acquires exciting colors now. My hair has grown like a mendicant friar. ‘We will use a trimmer to give an amateur bald cut to each other,’ I propose to my younger brother. He has a glint of mischief and immediately aggrees. I smell the mischief in his eyes. Corona scare gives you extra sensitivity. ‘No, no you will run away before your turn comes up after making me funnily furrowed badie!’ I read his intentions very well. ‘So I will give you a bald cut first to avoid this,’ I propose. I am serious. ‘And what if you run away after giving me the funniest bald furrows on my head?’ he has an inkling of my mischief also. My Corona scared brain works out a solution for the emergency. ‘You have your trimmer, I have mine. We will call two people and ask them to start putting balding furrows at the stroke of zero second, like they start a 100 meter race with a bang.’ He has agreed to the suggestion. So during the lockdown at least the haircutting problem seems to have been resolved.

My mother had a special liking for this brown and white female street dog. She would even chase away other dogs to feed this backbencher, who stood meekly at the end of the group. The tradition has been kept alive by us to specially give chapattis to this one. Now the problem is that another dog of exactly same appearance has arrived on the scene and has enjoyed the perks and benefits of looking like our preferred dog. My niece appeared disturbed over this fact. The poor dog went empty stomached from our threshold a few times. It is very disturbing. With the Corona jolt, I seem to have turned very mean and scheming. ‘I will pour some black oil on the rascal’s smooth coat to demarcate it and spoil its camouflage!’ I am determined. See, what Corona does to even those who have grown up assuming themselves to be decent human beings. I hope by the end of the war against Corona, I may emerge a full rascal ready to take on the world.