(MENAFN- Khaleej Times) A few days ago, the Burj Khalifa lit up with the message #StayStrongIndia. And I was suddenly aware of who I was. An N-R-I. A Non-Resident Indian, who is watching my country burn and gasp for air. I am an outsider.
Like many of my NRI friends, India, for me, has been a bubble, a photo album that I revisit every couple of months.
I land into my home city, drink my favourite filter coffee at the airport, marvel at how the neighbourhood I grew up in has changed, visit a few nice restaurants and clubs, comment on how expensive India has become — wipe my hands with hand sanitizer and come back home, to Dubai.
This system that is failing, is foreign to me. I am removed from it all and yet I am not.
This is what my circle looks like right now — my circle of NRIs in Dubai.
A is watching the news, all the time. News report after news report talking about numbers — number of cases, number of deaths, number of vaccines.
B is frantically calling her mother, checking in four, sometimes five-times a day — listening to coughs and itchy throats.
C is praying. In all the tongues she knows, for all the people she does not know.
D is weeping for her best friend who she lost to Covid-19. 'She was my age, she says. 'Her child is only two years old.
E is blaming the government, the healthcare systems, the journalists for not doing their job.
F is blaming the corporations that are profiting from this tragedy.
G is blaming himself, for not having brought his parents to Dubai while he could.
H is wondering when she will see her partner next, he is in India right now and can't fly back.
I is explaining to his seven-year-old son what it means for a country to have no oxygen for his grandmother.
J is relieved. At least, we are here. At least we can celebrate my birthday without worrying about a lockdown. Is that a selfish thought?
K is feeling helpless. For the first time, it feels like money and connections and knowing people in high places means nothing.
L's parent is a doctor. Every day watching her leave to work is watching her walk onto a battlefield ill-equipped.
M is scrolling through social media watching Indian influencers put up dance videos and makeup tutorials. Is this the time to be posting this?
N is questioning what it means to be a parent now, when you are here and they are there.
O is checking the stock market, and his investments. What will this mean for the economy?
P thinks the people in power are doing their best. These are unprecedented circumstances, after all, how could we expect them to be prepared?
Q is the lucky one. He managed to fly his family out before this wave. Now, they sit in a hotel apartment and play video games waiting for ‘this' to end.
R is donating, whatever she has. What else can we do, but send money back to those who need it?
S is struggling to make sense of this sinking feeling. Maybe she will get help, but therapists are expensive and busy nowadays.
T thinks she probably won't be going home this summer, so she should make other holiday plans.
U is on the phone with his father — an octogenarian, who insists on walking to the grocery store to buy vegetables in India. 'Don't leave the house Pa, please. Just for one month.
V is virtually connecting with all her school friends — each day there is a new update on which classmate is in which hospital, and what they need.
W is wondering what the aftermath of this wave will be? How many more people will be left without homes, or parents, or children, or the will to survive?
X is tired.
Y sits in her car, and cries for her country, and all the grief she sees on her Instagram feed.
Z gets back to work. It's what keeps him sane.
MENAFN06052021000049011007ID1102041117
Legal Disclaimer:
MENAFN provides the information “as is” without warranty of any kind. We do not accept any responsibility or liability for the accuracy, content, images, videos, licenses, completeness, legality, or reliability of the information contained in this article. If you have any complaints or copyright issues related to this article, kindly contact the provider above.