Covid & Classes

Every day, more than 50,000 cases and 500-600 deaths were recorded in Lucknow, India. The society in which I live was becoming inundated with covid patients, and I could see people dying around me; I could even smell the charred remains of burnt bodies in the air. Who would have thought that we would be able to live freely but be afraid to breathe freely? We were all terrified because we were surrounded by infected people, and we couldn't risk living in this fearful environment. After a serious discussion, we decided to relocate ourselves to the village until things get normal in the city. We discussed every single possibility for hours, taking into account my studies and the fact that there would not be a stable internet connection for attending the online classes, but we were stuck in a tough spot. What should we do? Is it more important to study than to live? Is it appropriate to risk the lives of others for my classes? And the problem wasn't over yet, since my Dadi lives in the village too, and if we go there unknowingly carrying the virus, what will happen, and how are we supposed to deal with it?. It nearly took us a day to think of everything, so we went for the "rapid covid test,'' to make sure we weren't infected and set out on a 600-kilometer journey to our village. We passed through a crematory as soon as we crossed the city limits, and the view was appalling; there was a crowd of 400-500 people in the crematory waiting in lines to burn the bodies of their acquaintances. Someone told me that they had to wait 20 hours for their turn. It felt like the world was falling around us as if we were on the verge of the apocalypse. Within our spines, I felt cold and numb. We continued on our journey, but we couldn't stop worrying about losing the people we care about.

We finally arrived in our village after a 9-hour journey; we were sanitized before entering the house, and for a brief moment, I felt as if we were being treated as criminals or strangers; my cousins were afraid to come close to me; I bowed down to touch my uncle's feet, but he, too, backed off; everything felt distant. When you sit in an airplane, they tell you to "first tighten your seatbelts, then help others," every moment we are fighting for survival, and every act we do is in support of our survival, and I thought what they were doing was justified. I met my dadi and she smiled at me, her face brightened, I saw the next question coming, and then she said, “khoob bade ho jao aur jaldi se shaadi karo” (keep growing and marry someone soon) and we all laughed.

The major issue had been resolved, but there was still much work to be done. I was struggling to attend my classes, and because I was also in charge of all the student clubs at my university, I had to conduct club meetings as well. At the end of each month, I had to work on our departmental magazine, and I had to do a lot of assignments, and all of this work came to a halt. I tried to think of a way to avoid missing classes. I tried everything, contacted internet service providers, and even purchased a new sim card, but nothing seemed to work. Finally, one evening, a villager informed us that the internet works perfectly well around the tubewell located between a dense forest on the outskirts of our village. So, on alternate nights, I drive to the forest with my father and attend my classes from there; we sit inside the car because who knows what we'll do if we come across a jackal or a snake! But I found peace in it, and all of these adrenaline-pumping experiences will stay with me for the rest of my life. My father used to tell me that when he was younger, he used to walk 15 kilometers through jungles and rivers to attend his school and now I can tell him, "I know, dad, I know!" I did it as well, traveling 6 kilometers daily to the forest to attend classes on my laptop.”