COVID, That Never Was

My friend from school made a life-changing re-entry into my life when he walked in through the doors of my home. He gave me a hot shot of caffeine from a flask that he had brought along. He said enough is enough of my wallowing in self-pity and depression. He pushed me hard to get ready and meet a counsellor of good repute regarding my state of mind. He left me at her clinic and said he would pick me up after the one-hour session that he had fixed up with her on my behalf. Sujatha, the counsellor said she would like to know my brief history, particularly the cause of my depression before she can decide on a course of treatment for me. I began the narration.

I am Niranjan and my profession is writing. Not that I make much money from my writing. It pays for my living expenses. I live with my adopted parents in their home. So, my other expenses are taken care of. My parents don’t mind that. My dad says he has enough for my life too if I lead a simple enough life. Recently I told them I am not ready for marriage and that topic of their concern was put on the back burner.

Then began the reign of Covid. Our great PM had declared a lockdown with a four-hour notice and said like the Mahabharata war it would all be over in a few weeks time. It never got over. As a writer, I would undertake travel, look for my stories. That was not to be. Maybe the roots of my depression begin then.

Like all others, I too adjusted my locked-down life with my parents. Nothing untoward happened for some time. My writing did take a hit. I had led a cocooned life under the care of my parents. Not that I am cribbing about it. There wasn’t much to write about in my own life. That is all.

Soon the new year came and once again our PM had declared that India has beaten COVID and has now become capable of vaccine pharmacy for the entire world. He didn’t foresee what hit the country then. The second wave was disastrous. It was then I first lost my mother to Covid. She had comorbidity issues and combined with a shortage of beds; oxygen had delayed her treatment. She finally succumbed. I was as helpless as one could be. There was never a time I had felt so useless in life. Before I could recover from my mother’s death Covid took away life from my dad too. He not only suffered my mother’s absence; the grief took a toll and then Covid completed the rest. Life had become one dark hell for me. I never got out of the hell except when Ramesh came and pushed me into completing the formalities like getting death certificates and transfer of properties and financial assets in my name. I merely went through the motions.

Sujatha who was taking copious notes said let us meet after one week. I would initiate hypnotherapy for you and let us how it works with you. She shook my hands warmly and I felt a fleeting moment of emotion.

The next week when I met her, she had darkened the room we were sitting in and lit a candle. She asked me to stare at the candle, close my eyes and take a deep breath. She said she would induce a trance in me. Soon I felt weightless. Her voice drove into my being. I could feel only consciousness. She asked if I felt fear. I said yes. I was feeling fear in my belly, in my heart and in my consciousness too. She asked to go back to the time when my mother was infected with Covid and rerun the hospital experience. I could picture myself running helter-skelter pleading for bed and later for oxygen. I could see myself feeling useless once again. I don’t know how long this trance lasted. Then I heard her telling me to come back to my senses slowly. Then I opened my eyes as she had told me to. I had sweated profusely. Then she gave me herbal tea to relax.

In the sessions that followed, I had revisited my dad’s loss; I could see and feel how as a writer I had clamped up. It was like shutting down a part of my brain. I could see the uselessness of the person that was me in my mind. The darkness in my mind had become my reality. I was not letting actual reality enter my mind. The sessions seemed to be some sort of detox of my brain. I could feel the zeal for life creeping back into me.

A week had gone by and for the first time in many months, I found myself sleeping well. When Sujatha asked me, I told her that dreams were there but Covid didn’t occur in the dreams. She gave me a warm smile and I laughed heartily like a child who had discovered that the fear has gone.

My creative cells in the mind had also opened up and have started writing. I wrote this poem.

My occupied mind is a writer's workshop

Words are honed, for fitting into many a verse

Sometimes sentenced in situations adverse.

Themes of daily life I write about

Divergent thoughts within themselves they have a bout.

It is a win-win, nothing in between

Time does pass, don’t feel any impasse.

Some readers do delight, in darkness throws a light.

At least the epitaph can read

The writer wrote some words, worth indeed.

It was a surprise to read in the newspapers that the government had denied deaths on account of bed and oxygen shortage. Soon they may as well say COVID never happened.

I thanked Ramesh and said to him that Sujatha had thrown me a life-saving rope when I was drowning in the dark well of self-pity. Ramesh gave me a warm hug. I too could say now that COVID never happened, not just in my dreams.