And the virus continues

Monika Patel
5 min readOct 22, 2020

100 plus days after I emerged from my 100 days of isolation, I need to pinch myself. Do I need to hunker down again? Is this virus ever going to vanish? Its rhetoric, I know. According to science and logic, we will eventually say goodbye to Covid19 though it could mean another year or so.

That’s if science is to be believed. We have a leader who pooh poohs the idea. A man who waxes lyrical about the disease after having flirted with it himself. A man who had access to the best care and cutting-edge treatment, unlike the vast majority of his citizens. A man who now spouts theories about herd immunity after having fired his public health doctors to rely on the advice of a doctor not qualified in the field. Fox runs our country. Trump defers to Fox. This is a horror show and the US public is suffering the consequences.

Meanwhile Covid progresses, blithely; dipping here, infecting there, flying in for a visit and leaving in its wake death, disease and desperation. America is reeling and there is no plan. It’s to each her own. After sheltering at home, I entered the real world but was still immensely careful. I only gathered with a defined set of people; my covid pod. I didn’t step indoors. Avoided hugs. Kept my mask on at all times. Still refuse to test the sanitized subways. Rarely take ubers. Use my sanitizer. Wash my hands. And desperately miss travelling. But caution is no longer a choice. It’s the law.

There were some fun summer moments. Like a weekend away at Shelter Island. It felt so good just to pack a bag. And I did it again when I left my cocoon of New York City and retired to New Jersey for a month. To have an upstairs and downstairs. To have a front yard and a deck. To have fresh air and cows. To have a real person in my space instead of a virtual presence. To not cook anymore and instead be fed and pampered. And even to attend a masked social distanced, intimate wedding with thirty people. Yes, an Indian wedding without the usual shor and tamasha. Noise and chaos. I did attempt to bring some spirit into the festivities. Imagine a baarat with a groom, twelve guests and two kids under 3. We rocked it. And in all this socializing, I got to preen my mask collection. You can’t take the shopping out of a girl.

And now, back in Brooklyn, I’m equipped with my toilet paper, Lysol wipes and freezer full of food. They say the second wave has struck and NYC rates are going up again. The Fall factor. The cooler weather. So, it’s back to those days of being uber careful. No indoor dining. Blasio has allowed outdoor dining but it’s cold. We bundled in blankets and woolies when we had brunch recently. And I drank three cups of coffee and no wine. Very unlike me. I need to find places with outdoor heaters. I still work out in the park, bundled in sweats, instead of shorts and tank top. I go later, in a bid to avail some of that sunshiny warmth. But I hate the cold so I fear it may soon be back to Leslie Sansone’s ‘walk at home’ work out and my corridor and building stairs.

The best thing about NJ was I detoxed. No alcohol and no news channel. I did cheat with the two debates. There are some places a girl needs to draw a line. And now it’s back to the horror show. To the joker on my television screen. With thirteen days to go before elections. Its desperate times and most people are tearing their hair out. I volunteer with a Democrat text bank. Some of the responses are scary. Hostile. Since we’ve been told to be polite, I refrain from letting the expletives flow. Who are these people? I understand policies. But to vote that toxic man back is insanity. Nothing can be so bad that he is preferable to sanity prevailing. How is this possible? How? How?

There’s so much at stake this election. I desperately try to keep an open mind. Not about who I’m voting for, that’s a no-brainer. And I’ve already sent in my ballot. The man who raises my blood pressure. Who may bring on a heart attack. Who gives me chills. That man cannot return front and centre. Biden was never my choice. It was always Kamala. And when he picked her for VP, the case was sealed. However, that’s not to say the Dems are great and the Republicans bad. Sure the channels I watch and the papers I pour over are more liberal based, but I do turn to Fox, listen to NPR to understand the other mind set, try to be less partisan. But how can I allow a party to derail democracy the way I appreciate it? By steamrolling a judge who will lead the country in another direction. By voting against the only health care I have. By assuming to tell me what I can do with my body, as a woman. So, try as I want, I can’t. And sure, the tax reliefs, the Middle East deals, maybe even the India policies may be more favourable, but there is no way I can consider another Trump term. It makes me sick to the gut. Psephology experts will have a field day analyzing the 2020 elections for sure.

But on the bright side. I’m well. My nearest and dearest are well. I’m more relaxed. No stress of social life. My zoom social life has reduced because its lost that novelty factor. Work is busy. I stay sane and out of trouble. And yes, I’m back on the dating sites. No better time than a pandemic to actually chat and get to know a person.

Now if only we can vote out the turd on November 3rd, I’ll happily stay home for another 100 days.