There was a horror movie on the telly the other day about a group of people stranded in a suburban superstore as a mysterious, impenetrable, toxic fog whirled outside the windows. The only thing left of those few who did try and venture out to explore was a thumb or – in the case of an antihero who steps out at the end of the second act – a third of a torso. When they started forming government alliances in the produce aisle, I switched the channel, this time to a Matt Damon movie about a deadly virus plaguing the world. Nope, not going to go there. By the time I got to a David Attenborough documentary about a depressed polar bear, I gave up.
Escapism only works when it stands an actual chance of distraction from your current reality. Given that in real life we are all enveloped in a perpetual toxic cloud of unbreathable air hospitable only to an ambitious serial killer of a microbe during “global warming: apocalypse,” I think my TV has to work harder these days.
There have been some restrictions on wedding events due to the pandemic
I’ve been back in Lahore for nearly a month now. I’m still grateful everyday for the change in scenery, but I’ve been here long enough that I can no longer blame jet lag for my late rising; the first flush of excitement at seeing my garden has been steadily replaced with the frustration of not being able to actually sit in it for any length of time. I was warned before I came that things in Pakistan were “just different” to the paranoid reality of New York, and I would have to adjust to it. I thought I was prepared to face levels of delusional exceptionalism similar to what Pakistanis display with every new existential threat.
I was warned before I came that things in Pakistan were “just different” to the paranoid reality of New York, and I would have to adjust to it. I thought I was prepared to face levels of delusional exceptionalism similar to what Pakistanis display with every new existential threat. Spoiler: I was not prepared
Spoiler: I was not prepared.
Since I’ve been here, I’ve had to field questions about my cautious behavior as if I’m the paranoid busybody spoiling everyone’s fun. Why don’t you come over for dinner? Why don’t we meet in a restaurant? Why don’t you throw a small birthday party? Why don’t you take a flight to Karachi for a break? Why don’t you drop by for a minute to wish the bride? Why don’t you drop by for a minute to condole? Why?
My answer to these, are nearly all other questions these days is simple: BECAUSE THERE IS A VIRAL PANDEMIC!
While I have seen a sum total of 2 people outside my quarantine bubble, I was not prepared to receive invitations to “SOP compliant” drinks parties by well-intentioned socialites convinced that being in the open air kills is enough virus to justify a running buffet using communal silverware. It is not.
Intense cold and fog return to Lahore
I was not prepared to recognize faces online – educated, if only semi-sane faces – standing in choreographed lines at weddings with nary a mask in sight, trying to convince themselves as well as me that its all OK because “you know, it’s only family” as fifty people spit danced behind them. No, it’s not OK. You want to know why? Because calling all 80 members of your immediate family is a high-risk event of contagion because…you guessed it! There is a viral pandemic! This doesn’t change because your uncle’s daughter is getting married. No, not even if it’s for the first time.
The facts of biological transmission don’t vary because the wedding “is smaller than it would have been otherwise, so get off my back.” For some reason people seem to think their feelings affect transmission. They do not. Your throwing a wedding during Covid is about as short sighted, selfish, willfully destructive a thing as a person can possibly do during a health crisis. That people persist in the theatre of celebration rather than skulking off to the courtyard with a pen, two witnesses and a cleric on Zoom like they should is infuriating. To attend funerals is perhaps worse only because more people feel obliged to go, as if contagions take time off for bereavement events. They, it turns out, do not.
For some reason people seem to think their feelings affect transmission. They do not
It’s not easy for anyone right now. I recognize that urge to just stop caring and go back to your routine because the virus can’t be worse than this. But while that may be enough of a reason for the country to not lockdown (which is another tirade altogether) your voluntary events do not fall under that forgiving line.
And while I may not be able to stop you right now, know that I see you. I see you with your outfits and your selfies and your casual acquaintance with sanity. I see you with your refusal to get tested in case you get bad news. I see you because, like the fog out of the window, you’re trying to kill us all. I’ve got two thumbs and nothing left to watch on TV, so now I’m watching you.
