A Pocket in Time
When the world slowed down, everything seemed to become stagnant. The roads cleared out, schools and office buildings became repositories of emptiness, and even the air seemed to be willed into stillness (after all, summer was arriving). And very soon, we all started waiting. For the city to be clogged up with traffic once again, for the daily monotonous commute, and for the cool respite of the April Kalboishakhi.
With the first days of rain this year, I started reading again. Somewhere between college and a dozen other things, my love for books had taken a back seat over the last few years. I would never have guessed that it would be a pandemic, 3 different sleep cycles (in an alarming few weeks), and a mindless gazing at time as it passed me by that would ultimately lead me back to reading. I discovered that unlike 17-year-old me, I now preferred to read non-fiction and self-help books. I also discovered that hardcover books with larger fonts are more memorable and satisfying to read. Ikigai was interesting and easy-to-get-engrossed in, but Notes to Myself was arduous and unexciting (and frankly, I didn’t finish it). I blame the font.
So I suppose you could say that I’ve spent my time fostering habits. Some, like reading, were successful endeavors, and some others, not so much. My new and untouched yoga mat is a testament to this. Every month, I promise my sister, my best friend, and myself that I will become regular with leg days, and arm days, and some Spartan challenge or the other, and every month, this promise is forgotten all too soon. This time, my sister rolled her eyes.
But of all the habits done and un-done, my favorite one is the one we took up as a family. A large part of navigating this time has come in the form of long, unpunctured drives to very specific parts of the city. Twice (sometimes thrice) a week, we pack up a few snacks- generally lays or kookie jar treats- and head out for an hour or so. Our longer route pans the AJC-MAA flyover, all the way to Salt lake, Rajarhat, and occasionally the airport. We blast music (within reasonable measure) and allow ourselves to indulge in the welcome relief of the moment. Usually, my sister plays the role of the resident DJ, and her choice of music, more often than not, is curtailed by my mother who wants to listen to “something from my [her] generation.”
There is a strange bonding that happens on these drives. We barely talk, but something about sitting in silence with your family, listening to the same music, and simply being together creates a sense of togetherness. At home, we have our work, and laptops, and phones, and video calls with friends to occupy our time with, but for the length of that drive, we are with each other, experiencing the same break from the lull of being at home for so long.
Something I didn’t expect were the observations I garnered from looking out of the window- did you know that when you’re not in a rush to reach places, there’s so much to see? I had no idea, for instance, that the Victoria Memorial looked so regal with its lights all lit up in the evening. I’d seen it before, but I hadn’t actually registered it. I recommend the view from the AJC flyover.
Salt Lake has far better roads and no overhead wires, so the drives there are smoother and prettier — and Calcuttans do have a propensity for drives. Even though the pandemic is nowhere close to over, the roads have started filling out, with more cars and people out there every time we go out. Soon, (or maybe not; who can really say anymore?) life is going to resume at the pace life does, and these drives will dissipate into rare occasions, the roads will carry the chaos of every day, and the rush of reaching places will once again supersede the carefree observations. But these are things that are yet to happen, so thinking about them often feels a distant reality. For now, as an aunt put it, we must make the most of what we can. Until the Virus allows it, all we can do is wait.
