The lockdown journal: The "new normal"
The "new normal" is a phrase that is overused in these times. What does this phrase mean to you? What do some scenes from this purported normalcy look like? These are some questions I attempt to answer, from my perspective.
The other day, I stepped out of my apartment to collect groceries that I'd ordered. I did that, and started walking back to the lift. I noticed a somewhat old person in front of me, carrying a bag of groceries and heading towards my block. I reached the elevator bank merely seconds after him, and he stood there wearing a mask, not pressing the button although the elevator was on the same floor. I waited for a few seconds behind him, then quizzically conjectured that he did not know the purpose of the button, and reached forward and pressed it myself. He immediately shrunk back, and when the elevator arrived, refused to get into it with me, although it was more than six feet long and quite spacious. By this time, I was a little annoyed. He didn't deign to press the elevator button because the surface could be contaminated, and he expected me to do this for him, but not get into the lift? This was the man's response to the pandemic, and it left me feeling weird and alienated. Much later, I realized, my annoyance was in part due to being denied of one of the most basic forms of social acceptance--sharing space with a fellow human being.
A previously routine trip to visit my parents and in-laws now left me feeling scary and nervous, due to the numerous check-posts and temperature scanners. Although I feel healthy and normal, I couldn't help freaking out. What if my temperature was slightly elevated? Would I be taken to one of those government quarantine facilities? What if I get stuck and couldn't go back home? Like so many other travelers in this time, I felt anxious. Perhaps there is a term for it--quarantine anxiety? I wondered how others in my apartment complex would look at me when I went back with a little luggage. Would they shrink back in fear? Would they refuse to share an elevator with me? The questions are numerous.
After spending more than 60 days locked up at home, I feel as if the walls are shrinking upon me, like in one of Edgar Allan Poe's stories. I wonder when this would end, and when I would be able to step out of my house without fear. I imagine utopian scenes of bustling Bangalore traffic(Yes, I never thought I'd be calling traffic utopian!) But then, there is a part of me that is actually scared at the thought of the lockdown ending. I don't know what life after that will be. Sad and lonely as this life is, I know exactly what it entails, and have the reassurance of that certainty, bleak as it is. But the future is lost in a gloom of uncertainty, and I am scared to confront it. I alternate between hope and despair, between courage and complacency, stuck in a limbo, having nothing to hold on to.
I join a musical concert that is held online, and watch an artist perform. What must she feel like? After years of performing on a stage, getting continuous feedback from audience, how does it feel to sing/dance/play an instrument from the silence of one's home, not being able to see the spectators? Not being able to hear the thunderous applause? Not being able to make eye contact with her fellow performers?
As a member of the audience, I felt a bit disconnected. The magic of live performances was lost in translation from screen to screen. I am reminded of paperbacks transitioning to soft copies, of a bookstore being replaced by a website. I'm sure it must be daunting, yet I see several such performances coming up, some even collaborative, even more of a challenge in synchrony. But this is what the near future holds for us. Maybe we will go back to how things were, maybe we won't. Maybe this is the first wave that heralds the change. Only time will tell.
Zoom fatigue is a new term that is making the rounds, as millions of people struggle to adapt to days chock full of video calls. I, on the other hand, am struggling to make do with audio calls instead, to replace the visual feedback with voice. I find it challenging, especially with someone I do not know well, and I have to listen ever so keenly to the nuances in voice, to be comfortable with long blank pauses while the other person thinks. How unconsciously effortless it is for us to look at people and get all these non-verbal cues from facial expressions and eye contact! It is a luxury that I never fully acknowledged in the pre-covid life. And now, when in instances my mind runs amok with interpretations of annoyance or anger just from a perceived change in tone, it is the visual feedback that I sorely miss.
Ordering food is a luxury of the past, as is online shopping for non-essential items, and they are both now shrouded in fear. Is it really essential? If the delivery person turns out to be a super-spreader, like several others recently did, will I not be risking several other people who live in the society? Will they curse me for my negligence? Am I overthinking this? How are such decisions to be made? What is that acceptable threshold of risk?
Cabs and other modes of transport have restarted again, but they are far from what they once were. One story on Medium elaborated the struggles of a man who took a flight to be with his family, and his neighbor refused to let him sit next to him, when he learned that there was no social distancing on the flight. Will cab journeys now be a communion of suspicion--the driver and passenger constantly checking each other for symptoms, and panicking at the first sight of any? Commute is not going to be easy, for sure.
People are now disease vectors, a possible source of contagion. Something as innocuous as sharing an elevator with strangers is now fraught with fear. What does this do to our morale, I wonder? How will we change, knowing that we cannot even trust strangers enough to share space with them, to touch the surfaces that they have touched? These behavioral changes will have an impact on our mental makeup, and they will shape our worldview. They have already begun to.
On the brighter side, learning is transitioning to the virtual world almost completely. Yoga, dance, instruments, you name it. I muse if some of the nuances such as form, position and structure can be taught online. I am also eager to try some of these out for myself, to utilize this opportunity to learn new things that were previously inaccessible.
My long commutes have also vanished into thin air for the time being, leaving me with a broom and a mop. Fair enough, I suppose, given that I get afternoon naps and freshly cooked meals.
The pandemic has taken many things away from us, but I am grateful for the new opportunities that it brings. Like everyone else, I am trying to adapt to this ever changing world by changing with it, so that I feel reassured that things are constant. As Pierre Curie put it, "Speeding on like a humming top, in movement itself be rendered impervious to external motion." :)
The other day, I stepped out of my apartment to collect groceries that I'd ordered. I did that, and started walking back to the lift. I noticed a somewhat old person in front of me, carrying a bag of groceries and heading towards my block. I reached the elevator bank merely seconds after him, and he stood there wearing a mask, not pressing the button although the elevator was on the same floor. I waited for a few seconds behind him, then quizzically conjectured that he did not know the purpose of the button, and reached forward and pressed it myself. He immediately shrunk back, and when the elevator arrived, refused to get into it with me, although it was more than six feet long and quite spacious. By this time, I was a little annoyed. He didn't deign to press the elevator button because the surface could be contaminated, and he expected me to do this for him, but not get into the lift? This was the man's response to the pandemic, and it left me feeling weird and alienated. Much later, I realized, my annoyance was in part due to being denied of one of the most basic forms of social acceptance--sharing space with a fellow human being.
A previously routine trip to visit my parents and in-laws now left me feeling scary and nervous, due to the numerous check-posts and temperature scanners. Although I feel healthy and normal, I couldn't help freaking out. What if my temperature was slightly elevated? Would I be taken to one of those government quarantine facilities? What if I get stuck and couldn't go back home? Like so many other travelers in this time, I felt anxious. Perhaps there is a term for it--quarantine anxiety? I wondered how others in my apartment complex would look at me when I went back with a little luggage. Would they shrink back in fear? Would they refuse to share an elevator with me? The questions are numerous.
After spending more than 60 days locked up at home, I feel as if the walls are shrinking upon me, like in one of Edgar Allan Poe's stories. I wonder when this would end, and when I would be able to step out of my house without fear. I imagine utopian scenes of bustling Bangalore traffic(Yes, I never thought I'd be calling traffic utopian!) But then, there is a part of me that is actually scared at the thought of the lockdown ending. I don't know what life after that will be. Sad and lonely as this life is, I know exactly what it entails, and have the reassurance of that certainty, bleak as it is. But the future is lost in a gloom of uncertainty, and I am scared to confront it. I alternate between hope and despair, between courage and complacency, stuck in a limbo, having nothing to hold on to.
I join a musical concert that is held online, and watch an artist perform. What must she feel like? After years of performing on a stage, getting continuous feedback from audience, how does it feel to sing/dance/play an instrument from the silence of one's home, not being able to see the spectators? Not being able to hear the thunderous applause? Not being able to make eye contact with her fellow performers?
As a member of the audience, I felt a bit disconnected. The magic of live performances was lost in translation from screen to screen. I am reminded of paperbacks transitioning to soft copies, of a bookstore being replaced by a website. I'm sure it must be daunting, yet I see several such performances coming up, some even collaborative, even more of a challenge in synchrony. But this is what the near future holds for us. Maybe we will go back to how things were, maybe we won't. Maybe this is the first wave that heralds the change. Only time will tell.
Zoom fatigue is a new term that is making the rounds, as millions of people struggle to adapt to days chock full of video calls. I, on the other hand, am struggling to make do with audio calls instead, to replace the visual feedback with voice. I find it challenging, especially with someone I do not know well, and I have to listen ever so keenly to the nuances in voice, to be comfortable with long blank pauses while the other person thinks. How unconsciously effortless it is for us to look at people and get all these non-verbal cues from facial expressions and eye contact! It is a luxury that I never fully acknowledged in the pre-covid life. And now, when in instances my mind runs amok with interpretations of annoyance or anger just from a perceived change in tone, it is the visual feedback that I sorely miss.
Ordering food is a luxury of the past, as is online shopping for non-essential items, and they are both now shrouded in fear. Is it really essential? If the delivery person turns out to be a super-spreader, like several others recently did, will I not be risking several other people who live in the society? Will they curse me for my negligence? Am I overthinking this? How are such decisions to be made? What is that acceptable threshold of risk?
Cabs and other modes of transport have restarted again, but they are far from what they once were. One story on Medium elaborated the struggles of a man who took a flight to be with his family, and his neighbor refused to let him sit next to him, when he learned that there was no social distancing on the flight. Will cab journeys now be a communion of suspicion--the driver and passenger constantly checking each other for symptoms, and panicking at the first sight of any? Commute is not going to be easy, for sure.
People are now disease vectors, a possible source of contagion. Something as innocuous as sharing an elevator with strangers is now fraught with fear. What does this do to our morale, I wonder? How will we change, knowing that we cannot even trust strangers enough to share space with them, to touch the surfaces that they have touched? These behavioral changes will have an impact on our mental makeup, and they will shape our worldview. They have already begun to.
On the brighter side, learning is transitioning to the virtual world almost completely. Yoga, dance, instruments, you name it. I muse if some of the nuances such as form, position and structure can be taught online. I am also eager to try some of these out for myself, to utilize this opportunity to learn new things that were previously inaccessible.
My long commutes have also vanished into thin air for the time being, leaving me with a broom and a mop. Fair enough, I suppose, given that I get afternoon naps and freshly cooked meals.
The pandemic has taken many things away from us, but I am grateful for the new opportunities that it brings. Like everyone else, I am trying to adapt to this ever changing world by changing with it, so that I feel reassured that things are constant. As Pierre Curie put it, "Speeding on like a humming top, in movement itself be rendered impervious to external motion." :)
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