It is a Wednesday; I am sure of that. But it appears I have forgotten how to tie my shoelaces.

I wear a cute hat to the grocery store. Just in case I meet the love of my life, I don’t want them to see that I have not washed my hair in four days. My car window is the lens from which I view this new world: masks draped confidently around chins of folks who don’t care if I have not washed my hair in four days. I secretly look forward to this. I have the energy of an oblivious open-mouthed dog with its head outside the window, not knowing it’s going for its annual injections to the vet.

I first go to the bougie grocery store. Nature’s very own basket. I am pointed at with a gun and it suddenly feels like I am Mr. Bachchan. I fearlessly let them take my temperature. This store sucks but I can’t live without it. The staff ignore me, and everyone walks around with the pride of knowing what quinoa is. I buy avocados and chocolate, yogurt and cheese, and an orange juice that donates to saving the environment but comes in a plastic bottle. They ask me for my name and number. I give my mother’s because I am at home and at home- I am taken care of.

Then I go to Food Mall. Not Hall. Mall. Familiar faces. I am greeted with “madamji how are you?”, in the warmest Hindi. They apologise for not being able to offer me chai anymore – “Ye corona na, bas ho gaya” they justify. They tell me that Amul Dark Chocolate and those environmentally un-friendly sanitary pads are back in stock- just for me. He gives me Doublemint instead of change. They say “goodbye Aarti madam”, and I am on my way back home.

Every time I re-enter my house after going outside, I am forced to be aware of the windows. They appear smaller and for days after I try to keep them open in the non-mosquito hours of the day, trying to extend them, expand them. I think about how much of a hypocrite I am. The whole of last year I have had my feet comfortably sunken in concrete and now when I am made aware of it, I suddenly want to go bird watching, stargazing, on long runs in the woods? I hate birds. They’re loud and wake me up when I am not ready to wake up. I think stars are cool but have fallen asleep several times during this activity in the past. And woods? Really? I love trees, mud and the smell of rain, but who doesn’t? I can’t put my finger on what I miss about nature. Perhaps, the longing for a certain kind of feeling, not a view. A strange hollow feeling when I see a banyan tree or even wildflowers. A feeling so fleeting it imitates the ghost that whizzes past in a horror movie when the actor is facing a different direction. It is strange- not even nice- but I feel myself longing it all day and all night. I try and distract myself with fat books and sad blogs.

When I read nowadays, there is an obnoxious, almost pretentious, smile plastered across my face. Literature is like that black ball pen we all have, monetarily weak but damn, it can write a thousand stories without ever running out of ink. One hundred and eighty years from now, when you are gone and I am gone (hopefully), literature will tell as many tales as Jeff Bezos has pennies, about the corona virus. Medicine will tell you only one which will be devoid of funky synonyms for the word pandemic. Ew, right?

The day is over. I cook dinner and watch cheerily as everyone’s eyes water. Too much chilli powder in the sambar- oops! Some numbers are mentioned. Bangalore is number one in India. Winning never felt so shitty. Instagram, Twitter, YouTube and Pinterest tell me who I am today and who everyone will be tomorrow.

The windows become smaller as I get ready for bed. I untie my shoelaces, trying to remember for next week. Bunny ears, bunny ears, playing by a tree. Cris-crossed the tree, trying to catch me. Bunny ears, bunny ears, jumped into the hole, popped out the other side beautiful and bold. 

Bunny ears, bunny ears, playing by a tree. Cris-crossed the tree, trying to catch me. Bunny ears, bunny ears, jumped into the hole, popped out the other side beautiful and bold.

Goodnight, sleep well.

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