Arshita's Blog (Part 3)

Recap: Arshita’s friend, Karan, whom she’s very fond of, suddenly went offline for a week or two, with no prior notice. Curious and upset, Arshita was a little surprised when she got a call from him. Pleased that Karan called her, she picked up eagerly but to her shock, she was greeted with heavy sobs at the end of the receiver.

Concern unfurled like a fast-blooming flower in Arshita’s chest. Through all the sobbing, she could make out that Karan was saying ‘I’m scared’. She tried her best to calm him down, whispering that it would be okay, he should tell her what’s wrong, she’d do anything to help.

Once the tears had dried, Karan confessed to her that he was really, really scared because his mother was a doctor, and she was on duty 24/7. His fear that she might somehow contract the information, or not get enough food or rest was both valid and plausible. 

“Karan, your mother’s going to be just fine. She’s helping the country stay healthy, she’s doing everything she can and it’s all for a worthy cause, and- and I know it’s hard not to be selfish and want her to stay home, but think of the bigger picture.”

His misery bled through the phone, across states, and she felt it heavy in her heart as she tried convincing him that his mother was helping humanity not take a virus for granted.

“Arshita, I’m so scared. I- I’m so sc-scared that once it’s all over, and once we can come out of our homes, things will go back to the way they used to be, and I-”

“Karan,” said Arshita, firmly but gently, “there is a lesson to be learnt here. Humanity’s been doing things and suffering the consequences for years, and the only good thing that comes out of it is that we learn lesson, after lesson, after lesson.”

“Arshita,” whispered Karan.

“Yes?”

“Paris is deserted. New York is dry. China is silenced. The thought, that the whole world has simply stopped, terrifies me. It feels like something heavy is s-sitting on my ch-chest, and it won’t get off.”

“Tell you what,” said Arshita softly. “I think it’s just the world’s way of reminding us that it can carry on just fine without us. That we’re not its masters, we’re its guests.” 

They talked into the night, exchanging concerns and consolations, and finally at peace, the two of them slept off.

This conversation with Karan gave her renewed purpose. She entered the cyberworld everyday, renewed. She promised her readers things would get better. She encouraged them to find themselves, to take online classes, to take up an instrument or hobby. She shared links for tutorials for knitting, gouache, basic guitar strumming. 

Her objective was to reach out and give her readers hope. She praised esteemed doctors, nurses and other healthcare and sanitation workers extensively in her column, pointing out that they were the backbone of a crumbling society, the glue that held the pieces together.

In the years to come, the pandemic would be over, and Arshita’s blog would flourish until prestigious news sites from all over the world asked her to write for them. She got emails regularly and was invited to give speeches at great forums globally including the UN.

When asked how she started blogging, she’d laugh and say, “I was a lost little girl who didn’t know what she wanted to become. And quarantine made me a journalist.”

The End