Now that the door is locked and the living room is silent, I sit down to write this piece. The rooms are occupied, with conference calls in one and online classes in another. I have pushed a plate of snacks into each, warning the inhabitants of the little indoor islands that I should not be disturbed. My housekeeper has left for the day. I was in tears last week, seeing her alive and back to work after what looked like an eon, three months to be precise. She felt the same about me. This pandemic has changed our basic expectations when it comes to meeting people. But now that she is here, I can reclaim 90 minutes from my day, and we delight in our shared love for coffee and biscuits.

Coming back, I am assured three hours of unhindered focus before I don the chef’s hat, but … well here is the courier guy knocking at the door. Has he worn his mask? Ok, let me sanitise this box and my hands. I think this is the eighth time I have used hand sanitizer since morning. I am hand-sanitising everything … EVERYTHING. We would collectively laugh at hand sanitisers until 2020 began. This virus is bound to make humans paranoid. I often wonder how much water it has cost the planet.

Damn! I have unwrapped this box and I realise I have brought this additional misery upon myself! I ordered some bone china bowls last week, when I was struggling to stay awake between two Zoom meetings. The cute giraffe-themed bowls had come up on the ad banner when I was researching an important topic for my presentation. Ok now what do I see? One of the bowls has a little crack. So I have to call the store and argue my way for a return and refund. This is going to take half an hour, and some more. I have to weep about my disappointment and gather some much-needed digital sympathy, not to mention some extra attention from the store.

Meanwhile, why is this woman running her mouth off again? Damn, this guy has divorced? Oh, this lady’s sense of fashion is getting worse by the day? Tch tch. This pandemic is breeding contempt even with P3 people and internet celebs. Oh hello! I see one hour has already gone by and there is two more to go. I can’t let my concentration slip now. But hey! Why is this file not accessible? Let me call the helpdesk. Poor Nirav and his team, ever since the pandemic began , they have been forced to attend to our personal internet issues also, because, well, the lines are blurred now. Wait, why am I the only person attending to the door?

Ugh! My internet is choking. Looks like a video call is on in the room, or may be in my neighbour’s place. The other day, my conference call was interrupted by the whistles of my neighbour’s pressure cooker. I had to dabble between Mute and Unmute. I can’t complain. They are a working couple too. I don’t know how many times my mixer and my washing machine lent background scores for their meetings.

This reminds me, I need to do some mild sales pitches for Sheila, my sister. She is quite dejected. Her textile showroom has been shut for months now. The landlord refuses to offer a concession on the rent and her stock is getting difficult to protect, with monsoons and all. I am trying to sell a few of her clothes to my friends. We need to help each other, right? And tow the line between being too pushy and too selfish? My colleagues’ families are also having financial troubles. We never know when one of us snaps off in the meetings. And this, on top of the virus. Last month, the entire Business Intelligence team was down, except for one member. We had reached out to everyone we know to scout for oxygen and hospital beds. Thankfully, they are all fine now. That is one nightmare I would like to forget.

The electricity bill is here. I don’t know if I should feel grateful for electricity or feel awful for the bomb we have to be paying. It is almost half of Ramesh’s pay. Ramesh is my housekeeper’s husband. The poor man has been laid off from his construction site. It does not deter him from drinking his daily dose though. The faithful wife runs the household and his indoor bar, and bears the brunt of his violent outbursts.

The other day, I accidentally smelt a box of masala to see if it was fresh enough. From the worried look of my family, I realized sneezing was the most terrifying thing you could do right now. We don’t have the liberty to catch a flu and indulge in soup and self-pity for a couple of days.

Did I tell you? Office meetings are now some comic relief and not political landmines. There are technical glitches we laugh about, but our families and pets, our illness, our cloistered existence and our innovative ideas to kill time indoors feature in our meetings. I never knew my grumpy boss could sing, or the fact that the forever politicking Rishab could actually do such great mimicry. There are poignant moments, reminding us that we are humans first, our job titles next.

So it is Friday today? I thought it is Thursday. Another weekend. May be we will go to the supermarket for some breath of fresh air (ouch) and then continue weeping over an Excel sheet for a couple of hours. I am certain I can find my colleagues online too! The days and months roll by, much like how a novelist would write.

Until we are all jabbed and the virus is killed for good, this is the normal we will know.

Written By

Nithya Rajagopal

Team IWI