I haven’t left the house since 3 June. I went out that day to get my mobile phone (the portal I depend now on getting car rides, food and groceries delivered to my door step and, speaking to far away ones) and some other essential errands. That day, Kavita accompanied me because I normally make her stay at home with her iPad while I make a run to the outside world.
We spent the afternoon in F-10 and F-6. I hadn’t been to F-6 in more than 2 months.
I was lucky enough to be rewarded with an especially jovial and pleasant Careem Captain who was too happy to take me on this trip and let me take my time with my errands instead of having to book multiple rides. While discussing the COVID19 crisis in Pakistan , I complained that how could one expect Pakistanis to wear masks when they so clearly love breaking the law. The Captain immediately adjusted his mask and, we kept on with out lively discussion. This Captain also turned out to be a construction boss. He said he was ‘thakedar’ and, had construction projects going on in several sites. He pointed out a nearly completed building in F-6.
A few weeks before that I met a Careem Captain , a very nice amiable young chap, who said his father was a big business owner and he himself had a meat business, supplying steaks to restaurants. He had also worked as a waiter in Red Chilli, a restaurant in F-10. I asked him how much do these staff make? He said they can make good money as much as 40-50,000 /month. Typically restaurants offer accommodation and, food to their staff plus the salaries. However, the group housing isn’t always very good. He said he didn’t want to rely on his father and, wanted to open his own restaurant in Bahria Town, where customers could enjoy a nice atmosphere and food like burgers and sandwiches and steaks and coffee. “Do you like drinking coffee?” I asked him. He said yes and, many young people like drinking it.
While I got my phone fixed I roamed around F-6 Market with Kavita. I had promised Kavita some new stationery so we spent quite a good time in a stationery shop. I bought a ton of stuff from my favourite United Bakery but bemoaned what a waste of space the bakery is. They have a huge shop space could be upgraded with a modern renovation and, also have a small corner for customers who would like to enjoy a coffee and sandwich in the bakery. About half the people in F-6 Markaz were wearing and half weren’t. Bigger and established places like United Bakery had their staff wearing masks but smaller places like Balochistan Dry Fruits didn’t. In fact, I asked for a receipt the guy got so pissed off at me, he first said they didn’t have a receipt book and then shoved it in my face and said I should write the receipt myself as he had other customers to serve. There was a queue of them behind me and, none of them tried to support me. They all looked embarrassed.
What was I doing in Balochistan Dry Fruits anyway? Kavita loves nimco (she has total opposite taste, I have a crazy sweet tooth and she loves olives, spicy crisps , nimco and spicy rice) and I thought I should get some ‘organic’ honey and some wholesome nuts.
After that I picked up the repaired phone from Tariq who has a small workshop next to Balochistan Dry Fruits and Miniso one of these Chinese shops which have cropped all over the country. Tariq is my brother’s namesake who was here in November for a short visit. We both had come to the same shop to repair the same lousy phone and Techie Tariq had given brother Tariq a special oil for his hair. In fact, a respected friend of Tariq’s had specially come over with this hair oil and some intricate instructions. He kept stressing how kindness is important and we need to be more considerate of each other.
I am struggling to find an accurate word or phrase to describe the sense of quiet sadness that one feels while out and about. Unlike a couple of months ago, during a very short lockdown, only grocery shops, sabzi/fruit wallah’s, bakeries and banks were open. Now, everyone is open for business. It was quite a sense of shock to visit the Markaz and see all shop fronts boarded up and , views of deserted the Markaz were shocking. One couldn’t believe that life can actually come to a standstill.
However this time, I still had a strange sense of sadness , a sense of nostalgia for when one would go out to get groceries without the Pandemic, a time when one could just stop and sit at a coffee shop, a time when one would make carefree plans to meet with friends at a restaurant to hang out. Now, there is a a slight sense of panic, an infuriating sense of being part of a strange circus where the state, the main authority which collects taxes and makes the rules and punishes those who offend it, has absolved itself of all responsibility for a Pandemic.
Those of us who are following basic tenets to control the Pandemic, during our logical duty, we are odds with the State (and not just here in Pakistan but in many many other countries, far more advanced and wealthy than us). It feels like one is at odds with everyone , ordinary members of public who are not wearing a mask or not observing social distancing. Whether out and about in the public space or , isolating at home, one feels one is at odds with everyone, with the state of affairs, incredulous at a deepening crisis, that is getting worse day by day.
Could there be a moment when we too would become enemies of the State?
The sense of unease I felt in one of my favourite parts of Islamabad, F-6, was a nagging one, a stinging one, a sense that we are in a mess, in an illusion of safety. The F-6 Markaz is a wonderful part of Islamabad, it’s a very relaxed and peaceful Markaz with a lot of trees and quaint nooks. It’s never been hectic like Jinnah Super Market. It retains that sense of Islamabad with all the shops, bookshops, carpet and shawl shops, and the wonderful United Bakery. It was nice to be there but that nagging feel that all is not OK and, without a sense of end. It’s like being trapped in a very nice polite nightmare, a nightmare which thankfully has not affected me, but is creating a social crisis for so many people in this country.
My best friend who lives in Pindi feels a sense of panic whenever she makes grocery runs because the Pindi people pile on each other and don’t give each other any space. It’s also a way more densely populated city. Here in civilised and polite Islamabad, at least the posh areas, the Markaz is not crowded and one can avoid people’s proximity.
So, since that trip to the Markaz at the beginning of June, I’ve not left the house. That’s a month of being at home and only going out the door for a nice walk around the neighbourhood.
Kavita’s online classes started on 1 June after a month and a half of a break and this time around, I’ve made more of an effort to attend the early morning live sessions. It added a little bit more structure to the day and, left me a little exhausted in the afternoons. The summer has sincerely set in this month. Somehow, we were graced with a very comparatively mild May, which is normally the start of the scorching summer, but the sluggishness induced by the hot days and nights has truly set in. And, that they cancelled the lockdown , there’s been a sense of outrage and shock, and combined with the summer heat, my days and nights have slipped into a strangeness.
I don’t know where the days go, I have now spent consecutive days on the sofa (which seems to be sinking to equally low depths), binge watching Netflix series. Normally, cleaning and tidying is something I have to do, even unwillingly, because I feel otherwise, that I’m going to sink into depression. But these few weeks, I have left dishes in the sink for a couple of days , ordered food without cooking for weeks, and just sat on the sofa, without any desire to move.
