I sat there, staring at the wall, the silence filled with the weight of my realization. Being separated by a wall made me see myself and her with clarity. This wasn’t just about avoiding a virus; it was about finally seeing the person on the other side of it.
“So,” I continued, a new lightness in my voice, “maybe when this is over, we should talk more. Actually talk.”
“I’d like that,” she responded, her voice carrying a hint of a smile.
Another silence fell, but this time, it was different. It was comfortable, tinged with hope and a quiet understanding. The wall still separated us, but somehow, it didn’t feel quite so impenetrable anymore. I thought about the next six days, and then, finally, of the day when neither of us would need to sit on separate sides of a wall, and I realized this isolating experience had somehow created something new between us. Maybe isolation wouldn’t feel quite so isolating after all.
DAY 2
Day two began with my usual yoga routine, the sun not quite up. After stretching and breathing, I moved to the kitchen, focusing on creating something palatable – Upma. It wasn’t my usual, but she needed something easy on the stomach. I placed the plate and her medicines in front of her door, and we began our odd, wall-separated breakfast.
“Dear brother-in-law,” she said, her voice a little raspy from the illness, “I think due to this covid, I’ve lost my sense of taste.”
“Is it?” I asked, a little concerned. “Don’t worry, it’ll come back.”
“No, no,” she quickly corrected, “I mean, this Upma tastes very good, that’s why I said that.” “Oh, shit,” I blurted, immediately regretting it.
She surprised me by laughing, a genuine, bright sound that echoed in the quiet house. “So, you can talk and laugh, right?” I teased.
“Yeah, I’m a human,” she quipped, “hailing from the great Homo sapiens family. But for me to talk, the other person talking to me also has to consider me a human, too.”
“Hmm,” I mumbled, a smile playing on my lips. “By the way, take those two tablets after the food.” “Okay. By the way, thank you, Vishal.”
“For what?”
“For the food and the care…”
“Oh, is it? Then I should also say thank you to you.”
“Why?”
“Well, I thought it would be a bad idea to come here and live, because I saw you as an introvert, and I didn’t want to be in a big house filled with silence. ”
“So, is it okay now?”
“Of course. And if you’re going to say thank you for everything, it’ll get awkward.” “Haha, okay.”
The day went by with work from home, lunch of Kanji, evening tea, and dinner of chapathi and tomato curry. We even had a power cut, forcing us to rely on candlelight. The flickering flame danced on the wall as we spoke, separated again by that strange barrier.
“Vishal, can I ask you something?” she said her voice taking on a curious tone. “Oh, yes,” I responded, leaning against the wall.
“When the doctor was speaking to you, while taking precautionary steps to not get affected by Covid, he asked, ‘Do you take any medicine?’ and you mumbled something in his ear. What was it?”
“Mumbled?” I asked, trying to remember. “Yeah.”
“I don’t remember, didi,” I said. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
“I believe you,” she stated simply. “Yeah,” I mumbled,
“Belief is a big thing,” she mused. We fell silent for a minute.
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “No problem.”
“It’s Citalopram (Cipramil),” I confessed. “Means what?”
“It’s an anti-depressant.”