How soon can we forget?

 We recently marked the anniversary of thaali banging, aka Covid in full swing. 

For most people around me, the pandemic is a long-forgotten phase. They are back in swing, in full revenge mode. Revenge shopping, travel, marriages and what not. But somewhere, I feel that in so many ways, my life can never be normal after corona. There is not a day, a memory from those days does not hit me. I stumble upon random numbers of oxygen suppliers, hospitals etc. Those nights we had spent arranging hospital beds and medical supplies for patients can never be forgotten. And the memories of those calls saying it was too late to help will always hurt. 

Most of these incidents felt very personal, but two of them I cannot forget, ever. 

V's father was breathing from an Oxygen cylinder. That evening, his supply was running out. V went to nearby hospitals,but could not find help. V's father was gasping for breath, he could not even find oxygen cylinder anywhere. He called my co-volunteer, Pranjal, who swung into action and convinced a Sardarji to open his store and provide Oxygen cans.

We were all under severe stress, V was in panic. When I asked Sardarji about money, he said, 'take the oxygen cans right now, save the man first'. I quickly booked an Uber, and requested the driver to rush to V's house with the cans. Pranjal was on call with V, trying to calm down V...his dad's breath was getting heavier.

V's dad stopped breathing. He was dead. Pranjal alerted the local cops so that someone could be there to take care of the body and be there for young V. He has seen his dad dying infront of him, wanting to breathe...terrible shock for a young boy.

That night, I froze, almost went into shock. The pain that V must have gone through & my guilt for not being able to help him on time comes back every night.

And there's another story of a 16 year old Misbah.

Masbah's parents were in the hospital and he was struggling for oxygen cylinders and funds to manage the hospital expenses. The little boy was going through the worst struggle. Every time he would call me, he would be anxious, almost crying, and begging me for help. The fact that he could not move out of the hospital to pick up supplies was also a problem. Finding someone to arrange and deliver oxygen cylinder was a luxury in that time. But the universe around us helped. Somone from north Delhi agreed to book an uber and deliver oxygen which we arranged from the other side of the city. But help reched his parents on time. In the following days, many people came forward to help him. Both his parents recovered, and he was very happy the last time we spoke.

There are many untold stories of grief and of human beings standing for each other. Of politicians being politicians, but people becoming angels. If not anything, I hope the memories of the period keep us kinder, more empathetic and less greedy. If the pandemic did not teach us that, nothing would.