Allergic to fresh air?

Allergic to fresh air?

It was 3:45 a.m.— that magical hour the spiritually inclined refer to as Brahma Muhurat, when the soul is supposed to awaken and connect with higher realms. I have no idea where my soul was although my body had awoken not for enlightenment, but because of a dry, blocked nose, itchy throat and headache. My whole being felt like what clothes might feel after going through the spin cycle in the washing machine.

I stumbled out of bed, trying to recall what I had done to anger the gods the previous day, but nothing came to mind.

I passed the day trying to stay distracted. I took whatever I could to relieve me of the pain and discomfort and stayed busy, thinking it was a cold and would be gone within a week or maximum, seven days.

But it persisted and when after a couple of days, a friend uttered the word ‘anti-allergic’ in passing, it hit me!

Do you remember those pictures in our Hindi books of class 2 and 3, of a sunrise? There would be a couple of birds with open beaks as if paid to chirp and a few leaves and flowers outside the window and a woman waking up a child with jago/utho, savera aaya hai. (Wake up/Rise, it is morning time.)

In exactly the same style, on a surprising cool morning, thanking every power that is, for the beauty of nature, I had rushed to open the window and greet the breeze.

‘Big, big mistake’, as Julia Roberts said in Pretty Woman although in an entirely different context.

Summer had arrived, and with it came my allergic reaction to air that is just a little too earthy for my system. Too drunk on gratitude, it did not strike my mind. A single anti-allergic tablet might have saved the day, but I had already let the enemy build a fortress in my sinuses.

Dust storms and loose dust everywhere, that is summer for me.

It has been over two weeks, and I am a walking, wheezing, watery-eyed wreck, forever clearing my throat. My voice sounds like I’ve been chewing gravel (and permanently irritated), I can cough in my sleep, my nose is both runny and dry (don’t ask how), and my skin is like a loofah. Have the insides of your ears ever felt itchy like mine?

Honestly, I miss masks. COVID was horrid, but the two summers of wearing masks, those air-filtration miracles, were the golden years for my nose and throat.

My first brush with this allergy came in class seven, when my mother wielding a chhajj (traditional winnowing pan), was cleaning wheat in true Punjabi style. Long story short, soon I was in the Primary Health Centre close by, getting my anti-allergic shots.

Since then, I’ve also developed allergies to certain foods and fabrics. But I remember my lesson. In a gathering, I am the shameless ingrate who pushes away perfectly innocent and sometimes healthy dishes despite the host’s indignant query ek do khane se kya hota hai (What happens if you eat one or two?)

And no, my skin does not understand the elegant and delicate Chanderi. To the natural cover on my body, it is sandpapering itself to hives. Polyester? Not in this lifetime!

Now, should I feel proud that my immune system has a zero-tolerance policy on loose dust? Maybe. But between the missed travel plans (RIP, a trip all paid for) and the out of tune orchestra playing in my respiratory system, gratitude is an out-of-stock commodity.

The allergy guidelines advise antihistamines and decongestants, but my experience says once the allergy has set in, it takes a while to go especially when the weather is dry and (believe me, even if you cannot feel it) still dusty. The problem is even when I sneeze, the air I suck in, puts more dust into my throat.

Meanwhile, well-wishers have been extra kind with their advice which ranges from:

Stay Indoors: I do, so much so that sometimes I feel like the yeti, people have heard of, but never seen.

Clean regularly: I could open a school running courses on dusting, damp dusting, cleaning of air vents/exhaust fans/aircon filters, fans, window sills. No knick-knacks on shelves, no rugs/carpets on the floor. We have uncool, wipeable sofa fabric and I am sure the pieces of furniture thank their luck when I am not around. Of course, no pets and those who feed pigeons in our residential complex are unleashing a bio-terror attack on people like me.

Don’t even touch the topic of my washing of clothes, towels, bedsheets, curtains, et al. I could be sued for damaging the environment with all that detergent and water!

Use Air Purifier: Suffice to ask - ever tried doing Indian housework with that whirring thing staring at you from the background?

Wash face, hands: Oh yes, I am probably partly responsible for the lowering water levels in our region and I crush my guilt about not saving this precious natural resource.

Wear a Mask: Of course, my cotton dupatta is not for fashion or societal expectations, but to save my nose, throat, and lungs. 

Consult a doctor: I want to talk to my doctor friend but do not want to answer her concerned query aap theek to hain na (You are ok, no) with a shameless ‘same to same’ as she herself struggles with allergic rhinitis during change of season.

Yet, despite my hyper-vigilance, dust finds its way in, like the tiny brown ants who just know where food is.

I love my country, even tear up during Jana Gana Mana, but I would appreciate it if Bharat Mata ki mitti (soil) was a little kinder to my system.

No wonder then that in this season, those who plant grass, pave dusty patches, or do not leave their garbage including dust swept out, outside their earthly abodes for the vagabond breeze to transport it around, are the unsung heroes to me. Theirs is the social service in true sense of the word. On behalf of my nose, throat, sinuses and eyes, I thank you.

Now you know why you can hear me mumble in this slightly medicated state with my dupatta covering my nose! Like the papeeha (common hawk cuckoo), I am waiting for the monsoon.

                                                                                                  - Anupama S Mani