I got booted out of my hotel at 7AM on the 23rd. That’s the most eventful thing that’s happened (to me). I wasn’t the only one, but I probably fared better than many. I’m lucky to have people on the ground here, a lot of others now belong to a changed city and a shifting fate. Delhi is a mere whisper of a former shout. A silent twin you never thought you’d meet. A ghost town of 19 million people. The weather is beautiful. The silence is arresting. I didn’t grow up here, I didn’t really get used to the constant din of hawkers and beggars, of uncles chatting and relaxing as chaiwallas bring snacks in, of taxis and tuk tuks and mopeds and big trucks all loudly, incessantly vying for dominance, laying on the horn to the point of proud obsolescence while driving on the wrong side of the road. So I’m sure for the real Delhiites it’s the silence that speaks the loudest. It’s a warning call. India is a tinderbox and the match has been lit.
So right, got booted, need to find a place to go. I was staying with relatives, but I’ve been traveling and there’s a worldwide pandemic out there, not sure if you’d heard. They aren’t comfortable with me staying with them right now and tell me they’ve organized a test. For nCOVID-19. I’m a little shocked. I’m a little interested. I’m a little ambivalent and I’m sure it showed. I’m still not sure how I feel. Tests are in short supply, and should be saved for those who actually need them. Obviously. On the other hand – and at the time this happened – it was made very clear to me that nobody wanted me near them, no matter how much I paid them, no matter how well I knew them. That’s completely fair and everyone’s prerogative of course. I harbor no ill will. But still, I needed a place to stay and a clean bill of health seemed like the only way I could convince someone to take my money (or let me eat, sleep and drink theirs). I walked along, bags in tow, to the hospital where the test would be done. The same hospital where they politely informed me they didn’t have any tests. I turned around and walked back even further (not so far in retrospect, about 4km or so; don’t ask me what the hell that is in American) and to be honest I am surprised I had any possessions to my name at all when I finally found the place I would be hiding out. I eventually did give a sample to be tested, and have never felt more exposed to contagion in all my life. Future descriptions to come but for now please understand that their “isolation ward” was basically just a sign on a door. They told me I could expect results the next day. That was five days ago. A family friend runs a school that is out of use, so I’ve been holed up here in an old staff member’s room, kind of a self quarantine. It’s a cozy, spartan affair. That is to say, the bed is too small, I can’t drink the water and the curtains are needlessly erotic (carefully cropped pictures to come) but more than that it’s a roof and a couple meals. And it’s better than any alternative. And I am grateful. Seriously, there are definitely people who are out on the street right now because no hotel will take them, so I will be careful to point out explicitly that none of what has been written or that which follows is a complaint. Some staff members live here, they’ve been taking great care of me. The chai is of course legendary and the paneer tikka masala is the best I have ever had in my life, bar none. Sorry Mom. I wake up early around 0700 IST whether I want to or not, and most of the day lately is trying not to get down. I try and keep up with people at home, but with a 9.5 hour time difference it’s basically whenever they start their day (around 5PM here) and a quick message right before I sleep. I brought a bunch of Hindi lessons, I stick with them and try to crush the Duolingo leaderboards with little success (apparently I’m not the only one capitalizing on a lockdown). Some classrooms are open – or can be easily opened – and I go into them to study. I survey my fiefdom from the door, imagining the scholastic possibilities and the ideas we will share. I raise my hand dutifully from my desk for the teacher to check my work. I stand at the board, point and underline, gesticulating wildly as I elucidate the finer points of writing and speaking in a language I can barely read. Sometimes the tip snaps off the chalk as I am at the board and I curse, softly and under my breath so as not to set a poor example for my pupils. I walk the grounds a lot in the day and explore the darker rooms on the upper floors at night because it’s creepier that way. I feel myself getting lethargic and isolated. I’ve started pooping less, I’ve no idea why. It’s tempting to give up and collect bedsores. When I laugh at something now, I really laugh, if only to hear something besides the fans or the wind. I’ve been rationing my clothes since I don’t have access to laundry and don’t know how long I’ll be here. I’m down to my last pair of socks and underwear. The lucky ones I wore for 3 days in a row but eventually had to retire. I’ve amazingly kept away from the snacks I plan on bringing home for people. Secretly I hope they will fear nCOVID-19 enough that I get to hoard them but never actually eat them, because where the hell else am I going to get another bag of tikka masala flavored tortilla chips? I drink water like a motherfucker. I think about writing, or maybe I write about thinking, or maybe I dreamed both of those, even all of those things and just woke up now. I can’t tell if it’s been twelve hours or five days, even though by now I’m doing the math and I know it’s been five days. Six days. Today is the sixth day. I slept in. It’s 0720.
Just one more day.
It’s got to be just one more day.