What seemed like a soft stop in my steady boring life has turned around on its head to become a nightmare overnight. India’s pandemic crisis has torn apart the last hopes of freedom that we recklessly celebrated during Holi. Outside of my 1200 square feet apartment in Bengaluru Urban, is a world that I find too strange to understand and reconcile with. Looking from in to out, from the disturbing stretches of my mind to the crescent road descending into a maddening world, I felt scared and forlorn for freedom from fear. It is engaging yet tiring to borrow anxiety in return for the time - to learn about the growing pile of corpses burned in otherwise prosperous streets. Money doesn’t mean anything here. In this treachery against living, money is useless like writing proses in water. The healthcare, political, and voluntary systems simultaneously collapsed under the pressure of the pandemic tsunami. The healthcare system, doctors, nurses, and all the other health…
© 2024 Swarnali Mukherjee
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