Compassion In. Compassion Out.
The Arrival of Coronavirus, Anxiety, and Several Good Poems
First, a poem I scribbled when the lockdown began:
At Home During Coronavirus
Give me that ball
my nephew points
his three-year-old finger
That blue ball beside the books
A bee buzzing around it
See? See? Give it to me!
Oh! I take out the globe
ozone holes in its plastic cover
the pacific ocean tearing apart
my city a faded dot
Equator in rust
Dusting it with my fingers
I put the old earth
Between his little palms
He twirls it around
and drops it
We look at each other
We smile a smile that says ‘oops’
Behind thick lashes, his big eyes ask
why didn’t it bounce back?
And now, a letter to you, sprinkled with links to good poems.
Hi.
How is it going, loves? How is it to witness the worst in you and the best in you? Isn’t this darkness illuminating everything that is truly important? Isn’t it surprising how swiftly we can let go of our obsessions? Ice cream, exams and the armour of being busy? Are you scared all the time, except when you forget to remain scared, and then get scared all over again?
The fear is real. Our families thought we were crying wolf. Some friends mocked us, some filled us with even more dread. In all this, we had no clue where to draw the line. We were suddenly nostalgic about the world - a place we vehemently disliked - how amazing it was before the pandemic. We were desperate for a life we didn’t know we love. Desperate, for the safety of people we stopped loving years ago.
We were sad and angry and hopeless and suspicious and very, very paranoid. We still are. We feel crazy. Every sneeze feels like a terrorist attack. We are terribly humbled.
What we now need is compassion. For each and every emotion that is running through our bodies.
I’m not the most well-informed person weighing in with expert advice. I’m just writing to you the letter I wanted to receive. I wanted to hear that it is okay to be afraid. I wanted to realize that this fear of death is precious. Because it is connecting me to everyone else. I can no longer act the drama as if I was alone. Gone is the burden on the individual, this is a calamity shared by millions. If I can be kind to myself, I can also be kind to others. Compassion in, compassion out.
Did you want to be a part of world history? Something to tell your grandchildren? There you go. You already knew life is uncertain. Death lurks around. You enjoyed apocalyptic movies. Suddenly it’s time, as a friend put it: ‘to live as if we have no tomorrow!’ It’s time to see things as they really are. To see that your body is just a vulnerable vessel. Carrying all your social capital. Your branded education. Your ambition. Ideology. Desires. Wishlists.
It’s time to breathe, to be in your body, the only body that you’re in.
If you are alone, it is time to remember that loneliness is still time spent with the world. If you are with family, let the gaps between generations be revealed. The differences, and the care. Let us take new stock of each other. Hit up old friends, and make new ones. The first five patients of my city started a WhatsApp group titled ‘Corona Pyar Hain’. They used it to hold hands across their isolation wards. Let us not abandon humour. Let us risk delight. Hear the birds sing, watch the sky clear up. Let us taste enjoyment in the ruthless furnace of the world.
Don’t you dare feel guilty about finding opportunity and beauty in this tragic time. I know you care about those working outside, those losing money, about the pregnant and the elderly, the infected and the dead. I know you are sensitive. This is precisely why you shouldn’t feel bad about positively repurposing this time. Because there is infinite material to douse yourself with misery. The only other option is to distract ourselves with things that bring us joy. Simple things that bring simple joy.
Stay informed, not painfully overwhelmed. Consume news like it’s medicine, not a staple food. Wash those hands. Sing a different A.R. Rahman song each time you wash those hands. Those hands are beautiful, don’t hate on them. They touch. They pray. They create. In them are so many unpainted paintings and unplayed instruments and unwritten stand-up comedy sets. Give those hands the universe of stationery. The hug of a book. Now is the time. Now. Is. The. Time.
They say there might be more of such times. Find out what is worth doing between two epidemics. Find out where you would like to be the next time. What is home for you. What love is. And if it is as non-discriminatory as the novel coronavirus.
Find a hook to hang your tired, hopeless, humbled self at the end of the day. Creativity? Spirituality? Friendship? Solitude will also do. Whatever gets you going, my loves. Just remember this: Compassion in, compassion out.