From all the kind concerned messages I’m getting from friends overseas, it’s clear that the whole world is seeing the visuals from Delhi.
Yesterday I heard from so many friends – from Mauritius, the UK, France – all worried about us.
I don’t really know what to say. Other than “thank you.”
We sit here, hunkered down in our home.
As I type, I’ve just seen from Twitter that another Delhi friend has tested positive.
But, thank God, we are all safe.
Himmat and I haven’t set foot outside the house since lockdown started last Friday, and the staff go out only briefly to walk the dogs.
So we all feel safe.
The news is a relentless tide of horror.
Twitter has by & large stopped being its usual vicious self for once, and has instead become a Covid resource – people asking for help, for advice, for info re beds and oxygen and meds.
It is a terrible, shocking collapse and when I think back to the triumphalism of our elected leaders just a few weeks ago, my blood boils.
This extraordinary comment, below, is from the excellent “The Telegraph”, one of the few Indian papers prepared to stand up and speak the truth.
Read this, please.
I am STUPIFIED at the thought that religious pilgrimages are supposedly taking place in the coming weeks.
How can people even consider going on a pilgrimage?
Putting themselves, their families and, if they get sick, doctors at risk.
How DARE they?
Is there no end to people’s stupidity and selfishness?
And before any troll tells me to “go back to your own country,” I repeat what I have said here before.
THIS IS MY COUNTRY DAMMIT, AND I HAVE AS MUCH RIGHT AS THE NEXT PERSON TO FEEL SCARED AND ANGRY.
ANGRY AT THE CRASS MISMANAGEMENT OF THIS CRISIS.
ANGRY AT THE ONGOING STUPIDITY OF PEOPLE WHO THINK GOING ON A PILGRIMAGE IS OK.
And before anyone starts accusing me of “hurting their religious sentiments”, there’s a pilgrimage that I’ve been planning for years, but I would no further think of going on a pilgrimage right now, than I’d go out partying.
I can’t sugar-coat this, dear reader.
The situation here is dire.
And yes, you’re right – after all these weeks of trying to stay breezy and up-beat here, I’m afraid the mask has slipped today.
But these are unprecedented, frightening times.
I cry over my morning paper.
I cry when I read stories of desperation online.
And I (almost) have no anger left when I see things like this: