The monotone of the alarm sang the same slow rhythm, coaxing me to drift further into the sweet slumber. Wrenching myself out of my dream was no more difficult than facing the reality that awaited to caress me in my wake.
The vintage backdrop of the early hours settled down as if everything was back to normal. The ripples of heat radiated by the sun and the blanket of white that poured over the neighborhood houses during the night remained the same. The gentle caress of the wind and the pit pat of raindrops too.
Only, it wasn’t.
It felt like the world has reborn and had come to a standstill, all at the same time.
My legs advanced in the same unceremonious way it had been marching since 2 months back. The vector that I followed was supposedly identical to the previous day.
The omnipresent idlis and dosas along with the spectrum of chutneys festooned the dining room while empty drawers of snacks stood forlorn in the midst of a gloomy kitchen. Our home confined us inside the aging walls that gazed sadly at our face every morning (and night).
Time is abound.
Mom’s demeanour suggested that a ginormous amount of time meant a humongous load of scrubbing and dusting. Of course dragging me into her cleanliness spasms is her hobby, deftly ignoring the fact that my favorite time pass is to glue into that three-cornered soft spot on the sofa with a book and bag of cookies bedecked within my reach.
The stomach rumbled mimicking the thunder that resonated in the heavens and mom groaned even louder, every time I cast a sly glance at her, the hunger in my eyes confirming her worst suspicion.
My crazy dance moves and exercise routines shook mom out of her naps at noon while the songs that I listened to, collaborated with her humming tones.
The symbiotic relation between me and mom was conserved only because of the peace negotiations that dad had somehow budged into existence.
Sarcastically, remaining silently at home seemed to be a decisive battle with the tiny-global enemy that had apparently squeezed out emotions from our lives.
The emotions that swath our hearts every time we watch the news are foreign to us. Waves of grief resonate dully within the home that has transform into a shelter against the silent war that rage in the new battlefield. The war against the pandemic.
Every death is weighing the heart with grief, but every triumph over the virus wells it up with hope.
The silver lining in this dark mess is that, necessity has led to threshold of possibilities. My trials in kitchen ended up with appetizing new dishes. My thoughts expanded to fields that I had left unexplored. Relationships were renewed into a whole new meaning.
There is no antibody, but there is a possibility.
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