The virus and I

By Ransiri Menike Silva

Opening the newspapers these days is a hazardous exercise, one never knows from which page the Coronavirus will attack you, from a variety of angles and views that are factual, theoretical or speculative. For there it is, lurking furtively to pounce on the reader. And it is all so unutterably boring!

Is there nothing else to talk about? I wondered, so many interesting and entertaining things going on around us, like the acrobatic antics of our politicians and BIG (not bed) bugs have suddenly been stamped underground. No wonder it is so dull. I had just decided to terminate my subscription to my newspaper dealer, when I hit the jackpot, the virus came my way!

Summoning my regular trishaw man, Ranjith, not only for transport but also to ‘get shot’ himself along with me, we hit the road. The neighbourhood was familiar, the atmosphere not. We were travelling a muted world that was so soothing that I wondered why it could not always be so. The roads were full of pedestrians walking single file, in cliques or family groups. The traffic comprised two wheelers, three-wheelers and four-wheelers, yet there was no harsh screeching of brakes, no incessant honking, no heavy thump of badly negotiated speed bumps. All were heading one way. Nature contributed in her own way.

The breeze was gentle and the leaves rustled softly. A bird chirped on the top most branch of a tree and the telephone wires were bereft of noisy babblers. There were no raucous crows, mewing cats, whining dogs and snivelling kids, only the loud persistent announcements of a lone squirrel about his discovery of a bunch of ripe mangoes.

When we reached our destination the gates were open and the entire location swarming with busy people. It was dotted with billowing tents and awnings of a wisely chosen off-white shade that was easy on the eyes. These housed tables, chairs, writing material, forms and officials offering every form of assistance.

A hesitant expression or gesture from a new entrant had a squad of helpers instantly materialising to offer help with a chair; table; water; snacks; drinks; tissues; as well as by mending broken footwear, massaging tired feet and of course showing the way to the toilets. My Tuk Tuk had hardly stopped outside the main gate when a posse of policemen converged upon it and bore me off to a comfortable chair with the assurance, “Don’t worry Amma we will look after you.”

On spotting my escort returning after parking his vehicle following the unspoken instructions issued by the authorities, a senior police officer guided me to the correct place, his arm protectively around me like a mother with her new born babe; depositing me carefully in a chair he left me with a cheery wave to ‘mother’ some other ‘Amma’. Later he suddenly materialized beside me with the triumphant announcement, “Now it’s your turn Amma go that way.”

How on earth had he known? I wondered thoroughly surprised, but before I could show him my appreciation in an appropriate manner, he had vanished. While Ranjith was attending to all the formalities on my behalf, I sat back in my chair and watched the passing scene as I usually do as a writer. Something was definitely out of the place here. What? No queues! Unbelievable with such an enormous crowd. There were only about three or four people lined up (Ranjith was one) in front of each official who attended to their work. As each one was dismissed another automatically joined the line, not in a haphazard manner but from a row of applicants lolling in shaded comfort under an awning. That was the queue!

Families with no facilities to leave their young children at home alone arrived en masse. The mother joined the queue first and the others took off to some other part of the garden where they could enjoy themselves without disturbing others. I even spotted a lively ‘hide and seek’ game going on with young volunteer workers!

Phase two

“That way” involved climbing two shallow steps to enter the second phase of our adventure and I found myself hauled up with one to my left, one to my right, one behind me and the other in front of me. Here a right royal welcome awaited us now labelled the ‘Ammai-Puthai’ duo. We were provided tidy packages of fresh milk cartons with straws and tissues before being escorted along an airy corridor to another part of the same property; then they turned back to attend to others following behind.

On spotting us, the ‘Ammai-Puthai’ duo, we were accorded special attention as we were the only elderly parent-child group present. I noted that each tent housed a different set of people who had been assigned separate rooms for treatment. The open-air arrangement was cool and refreshing, and the unlittered grass surprising. Then I saw youngsters with garbage bags collecting litter even before it hit the ground. A voluntary act that uplifted my spirits. When it was our turn the forms we had been issued earlier were collected and filled with more vital details, including the date for the second ‘shot’.

Smart blue uniformed matrons supervised everything. When my turn came, I was deposited gently in a chair, my left sleeve rolled up and the upper arm sterilized. Then the needle was jabbed in and pulled out before I could even summon up a grimace. What an anti-climax! Of course I heard a few stray noises emitted by some who probably expected it to be the done thing, but all others were as unaffected as I was. All forms were returned to us and we were advised to wait for 20 minutes to monitor any adverse reactions. Sitting there I wryly recalled the time our dog contracted rabies when I was an adolescent. Each day, after school, we had to report to the MRI for 18 days to get our anti-rabies vaccinations around the ‘buriya’ (navel) with a syringe so enormous that it resembled some ancient torture device! I have yet to see another one of that size.

Our wait was thankfully uneventful, no sneeze or even a sniffle. There were no musical chants from mobile phones but animated comical gesturing into them by their owners instead. When our time to leave was officially approved we were instructed to use the rear gate for exiting. Standing on the grass verge till Ranjith brought his Tuk Tuk around I could not help reflecting amusedly on the great ‘surgical trauma’ we had just undergone. We drove home in silence in keeping with the trend of the day and were finally back at home to relax, eat and sleep.

Phase three

This, however, turned out an unfulfilled dream, for in a very short while the calls started coming in without a break. They came from friends and relatives who had also been ‘shot’ that day and were keen to share their individual experiences with me. They were from locations wide apart; Dehiwala, Moratuwa, Thelawala, Campbell Park (Borella) and De Zoysa Pura. Their experiences were almost identical to mine with only a few minor variations. The overall impression was the almost unbelievable efficiency evident at all these centres. It was obvious that this discipline was not due to any outside pressure but came from within all the volunteer workers; psyche that lay submerged until a time of need, when it swims to the surface.

It happens every day, unknown to the general public, in small and essential ways. It has happened before and will continue to happen in the future. Warmth and care for others is an intrinsic trait. We always share whatever we have with others, even sacrificing our own possessions to gift to another. It is a tradition among us, to never let a visitor leave without serving a cup of tea and other refreshments if available. Often it will be an impromptu invitation to a meal at a table loaded with hurriedly prepared extras. An outstanding example of this was during the Tsunami when everybody came together in one tight group.

When we come together at such times, it is evident that, whatever we may call ourselves outwardly, we are ‘one’ people sans differences of skin colour, age, gender, social status or personal beliefs. Foreigners who have encountered this, either in our own country or elsewhere are overwhelmed by this unmatchable intrinsic quality that has existed since the beginning of time, long before ‘Karuna’ (kindness) was instilled in us by all the religious teachers of the world.

The most publicised comment about this comes from Edward Snowden, the well-known whistleblower who exposed the workings of the US intelligence community to the world. In his latest book ‘Permanent Record’ he writes in detail about the kindness and generosity of his poverty-ridden Sri Lankan hosts, who had helped him enormously, declaring his gratitude, saying that he would forever be in their debt.

I feel proud and privileged to be a part of such a wonderful nation even in a minuscule way. I hope you are too. I also thank the Coronavirus for affording me the chance in an oblique way, to publicise my undying loyalty to my wonderful country. I am proud to be a Lankan and hope you are, too.