Masked, Vaccinated, boosted what next?

Masked, Vaccinated, Boosted, What Next?

The dinosaur at the O'Hare International Airport, Chicago, is wearing a mask

I have been told that heavenly powers grant boons to human beings if they, i.e. the former, are pleased with them for their virtues, qualities or good deeds. My humble plea is that my name be among the top contenders on the list of recipients for I have a very forgiving heart.

Let me explain why I am not merely blowing my own trumpet but that I indeed am very forgiving.

After a long wait Covid restrictions were lifted for fully vaccinated non-migrants entering the United States of America and we merrily packed our bags to go visit the family lest they should forget that we, living in the ancient but developing parts of the world, also exist.

I am skipping the details and sequence of booking, changing, cancelling, re-booking of flights and air tickets, and losing some money too in the process, during the last two years. That has been the tale of so many like us. But yes, before leaving I did buy a tube of a well-known antiseptic cream to help heal the abrasions caused in my nostrils by the frequent RT-PCR tests.

Protecting the family from any possible exposure to Covid virus during the packed flight, we quarantined in New York for half a week and went through several self-test antigen kits to make sure we were ‘clean.’ We also experienced the RT-PCR based on saliva at one of the free testing centres so considerately arranged by the NY city authorities.

And then we went ‘home’, in another state and city to be with the DNA-sharers and in-laws. It was to be a fortnight long stay and I eased into the first week, aiming to get my list of voluntary jobs done so that the second week meant only hanging out, as Americans love to call idling and spending time with people or at places you like.

One windy, cloudy, rainy day I even went to the Indian store to buy vegetables for pickle and kanji. There were no black carrots available and unsure of the results with the usual red variety, I sent a request to Kalpana Kapoor for her recipe and followed it. The bottles employed were rather small, in case they were to be given as gifts to friends who wanted a taste of home.

May I share that in that time, a booster jab was also taken so that we were lesser threats to ourselves and the others in case the virus decided to come visiting?

The week was coming to an end and members of all branches of the family slowly started converging. As the heap of empty wine bottles grew, so did the volume of noise, sharing of old family stories and drafts of plans for the future- movies to watch, visits to favourite restaurants, friends and relatives to meet and many more activities. 

Masks went into pockets and bottles of sanitisers were kept aside for use only outside the house.

But then one midnight, the blasted half-bot screamed its presence. One DNA chain tested positive when on a spontaneous thought the doctor in the family tested to ensure that his cold was just a normal allergy.

The cloudy morning the following day saw the cordial, relaxed scene change and there was intense activity in the family castle.

The first one to tumble out of the house was a darling nephew who had to start a new job in Germany from the first week of the new year. The niece, a sweet young lady, however, even finished baking her signature olive bread before leaving so that we could enjoy the treat.

It was then that I realised the impact of the situation. If any of us tourists tested positive, we would have to remain there for about three weeks till we were declared clear of the virus.

Under ordinary circumstances, having to stay there and be pampered would have been great, but Covid has changed the whole sense of having a good time.

Happy conversations turned into half-hearted dialogues from behind two masks. Notes were exchanged about the symptoms and whispered arguments about how dangerous or otherwise it could be, ensued. The calculation of the stitches for the neck of the pullover demanded concentration and incapable of focusing, I did the rarest of rare things, I packed my knitting away.

All the branches of the family who were to descend over the next few days, were duly informed and warned as was the housekeeper (which must have been rather inconvenient for our hosts). Disappointed at being deprived of the opportunity to have a great relaxing time (my sister-in-law and her husband are extremely generous hosts and I enjoy that without any shame or guilt), everyone’s only reaction was “Oh, s***.” The one who had helped in booking our tickets lamented that he felt like a travel agent who arranges travels but never gets a chance to visit any of the destinations himself.

The little heartthrobs of the family who had been given lessons in who they would meet and how to recognize them, did not get a chance to try their new-found knowledge of Indian forms of address.

Meanwhile, the carrier, a vaccinated, boosted, masked young man, wearing the guilty look of a dog who has torn a pillow and is fearing the repercussions, remained isolated in a wing of the large house.

Believe me, that was when my faith in Whastapp strengthened as we sent him the photos of the meal so that he could tell what he wanted to eat and his tray would be put outside his room.

The only gainer must have been the various airlines which made huge sums from the cancellation and booking afresh of so many tickets by the family.

All plans gone awry, naturally, we began planning our own exit from the scene. Do not ask me the expense please. The RT-PCR test obtained from the only place open on the rainy Sunday and which agreed to give the results fast for travel, itself cost $ 190 dollars each. Indians (like me),  who have the hateful habit of converting dollars into rupees before letting any currency note with some worthy Potus (Mr Trump is, mercifully not there yet) on it sneak out of their pockets and wallets, would surely sympathise with me.

With ‘Shut up and dance with me’ (a strange coincidence though) constantly ear worming, I packed my suitcases minus the addition of things I had planned to buy, even as any sniffle, sneeze, cough or even clearing of throat extracted a weird expression of fear from the faces around.

Within 48 hours we were at the airport for our return journey and with several hours in hand. I was looking forward to the extra time I could spend window-shopping on the airport and refreshing my knowledge. I had read so much about security regulations and had followed them to the ‘t’, that I could easily score a neat 90 per cent if the TSA asked me to sit for a test.

Instead the lady on the counter asked us to show our Air Suvidha forms which had just been introduced. Shocked, I stayed quiet for I had seen the news and forgotten about it. 

But for the first time, travelling in priority class appeared to give more bang for the buck as that lady with the shiniest hair I have seen, was helpful and patiently waited. My only question was why did the form demand proofs in pdf files? Ah, with my poor tech-knowledge, I could not have done it on my phone. Sweating with nervousness that the time taken in filling out the required details might delay us, I rang up home and of course, the family were a huge help. The form was filled with some minutes to spare.

Since you cannot be passive readers, here is an exercise for you. What do you think - the family helped because that is how they have always been, dependable and loving, or were they now scared we might come back and park ourselves for a month amidst that atmosphere of fear and uncertainty?

Back on the holy land where I was born, my only curiosity was there were at least four policemen on duty at the mouth of every travelator on the airport at 2.30 am, checking if the incoming travelers had taken RT-PCR tests before emplaning, had the threat of Covid wiped out crime and injustice which the police is supposed to take care of?

It has been three weeks since that bout of heart-stopping activity. The Covidian, meanwhile, is fine, safe, happily working from home but hoping that the imposter in his body was Omicron so that he could have the assurance of immunity for a few months at least.

I have forgiven the unseeable perpetrator of all this agony, anxiety who was the creator of the largest hole in my wallet so far. Instead I patiently continue my struggle to avoid this virus some people warn me travels even in escalators or sewage pipes and can only be stopped by an N-95 mask!

Am I not the epitome of forgiveness?

(Translation) While walking the dog if we met somebody, people would say don't be scared, it has had all its vaccines, now the same applies to us.                           

                                                                                      -Anupama S Mani