It’s months since I posted anything. And some of you have kindly been asking what happened. Two things happened, almost simultaneously. Covid and the lockdown, and the disappearance of our darling cat, Punkin Puss. For us, the latter event makes the former seem even more unreal. The daily swinging between hope and disappointment, the lack of closure, the grief and worry that never go away… I thought I knew how much we loved Punk, how grateful we were for the love and laughter he brought to our lives; but I never realised how indispensable he was to our happiness. Now our joyful paradise has become merely a place to work and of some distraction.
Meanwhile, the pandemic keeps escalating. The sense of isolation from friends and family increases. My husband has “co-morbidities” (hideous new word we’ve learnt!) that make it necessary for us to be extra careful. Even worse than the disease itself, it has enabled our country to go completely berserk. Protests on Zoom are easy to ignore, and the government bulldozes on its ignorant and cruel way with no hindrance. Where is this all going to end?
I used to think of myself as a patriot. Now the very word ‘nation’ revolts me. But that’s not right. Why should the bigots be allowed to hijack the idea of India? The India I grew up in was idealistic, tolerant, principled. It upheld Truth, ahimsa, love of nature, and love of our fellows of all colours, castes and creeds. It was hospitable to refugees and visitors alike. I still love that country, but where is it? Will we ever get it back? Will these sad and uncertain times get better or worse?
If only Punk would come home!
PS. Frogesh the frog is neither sad nor uncertain. He sings all night long and, in the morning, comes home to sleep under a strawberry leaf.