May 4th, 2021.
Today’s news update brings fresh hell. Post-election riots in West Bengal have led to the deaths of at least 8 people. The BJP has announced a nationwide Dharna tomorrow, the 5th of May.
Also, The Central Vista Project, AKA M*di’s Dream Crib has been set to be finished by December 2022. The Vice President’s house will be ready by May. The combined cost of the two buildings will be 13,450 crores. The construction on this project continues in order to meet these deadlines, and so they have been given ‘Essential Services’ clearance during the lockdown in Delhi.
Parallel to this, India reported 3,57,000 cases, and 3,449 deaths in the past 24 hours. With this, India has crossed the 2 crore mark of total cases reported. The first crore taking a whole year, while the second took merely five months.
The Delhi High Court pulls up the Central Government for non compliance of Supreme Court Order directing the Central Government to supply 700 MT of oxygen to the Delhi Government by midnight on the 3rd of May.
The oxygen shortage has been ongoing for over two weeks now, though I had to look up the dates. I’ve lost track of days, because each one has lasted a lifetime.
Every day, I try my best to keep myself occupied, while simultaneously filing away updates on various friends and family members who have been infected. My mind is blank, but my anxiety is at an all-time high. Social Media is so overwhelming, it seems everyone is screaming for help at the same time, and I feel completely useless, so I go and sit upstairs on the terrace. These days there are more birds than there used to be around here. For a period, I might even forget myself, and what’s happening in the world, and admire the sunset like I used to. But then a siren will blare, alarmingly close, and everything rushes back.
Everyone seems to have lost someone. Some people have lost everyone.
Every time I try to write, I’m struck by the absolute incapability of language to communicate what we are experiencing.
In the past, whenever I felt helpless, I would write. Seeing the emotion captured in words made it seem smaller. In fact, almost everything seems smaller on paper. Most of the time, it’s comforting to see something that scares you seem inconsequential. This is different. Words are too small to hold this grief.
I don’t want to talk about what’s going on. I avoid it as much as possible, but every evening, I watch the nightly news. Faye offers a trigger warning for those with anxiety to avoid watching alarming stories. I watch them anyway, and I always regret it. It’s kind of my nightly ritual, before my bedtime shower, brushing my teeth and pondering the unbelievable nature of reality these days.
My dreams have gotten wilder, but because the world is going batshit crazy, the lines between dreams and reality are blurring. I find myself forgetting if something really happened, or if it happened in a dream. Sometimes, I have to ask myself if I’m awake. Usually, I know I’m dreaming when things get predictable. I’ve come to agree that “Truth is stranger than fiction, because fiction is obliged to stick to the possibilities. Truth isn’t.” And so I’m not surprised when every morning I wake up, and find that new hell has broken loose.