They were a close knit society. The door of every house open. Wheter you had lunch at your’s or any of the other dining tables in the building , it was home.
When Jo-Boy got that promotion, the congratulations message on the notice board let her know before he could. When tv’s first came around they had all chipped in and bought one. Every evening they would get together in the lobby for first, the rosary, then tv. The building that prays together stays together they said, only half jokingly.
They’d gone thru the days of the blackouts of the Indo Pak war, thru the riots, thru the floods, thru the bomb blasts, thru Bombay, Bharat and Mumbai bandhs. They’d get thru this too.
Until Aunty K got a fever. Social distancing was 6 ft. As soon as they rang the bell they’d take a few paces back. She almost drowned in the chicken soup they flooded her with. Until chicken was banned with a H1N1 scare. Mutton was almost unavailable. When it was available it was so expensive. What they could,they sent over in old Jimmies Chinese takeaway dabhas. Aunty K didn’ have to bother about returning those. The virus could live on plastic for 3 days they’d been told.
When her cough started,the soup stopped. Too dangerous, waiting at her door. Her son told them the fever had started. At the evening rosary they dedicated the first decade for her speedy recovery. The last four for their well being. Saying a rosary with the new social distancing being 15 feet was a problem. Especially if you were old and hard of hearing. The kissing of the statue après rosary had long ceased. They asked Ks son to keep his windows closed.
“ But it’s so hot!”
The virus could stay in the air for 6 hours and their windows were above, below and on either side of Aunty K’s.
Either the soup and / or the prayers worked. The fever went away. The cough vanished. They all had to be tested. All clear. Except Aunty Ks son.
A carrier. No symptoms. He could never open his windows again.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment