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It’s been two years since Covid-19 hit the world, and the world doesn’t seem to know the last of the pandemic
It’s been two years since Covid-19 hit the world, and the world doesn’t seem to know the last of the pandemic which keeps bouncing back every time we’ve seen it peak, fiercer and deadlier than its previous existences (‘variants’ in common parlance). We, the people, who essentially thrive on our freedoms, couldn’t stay sane when things pushed us down the rabbit hole. Think lockdowns, mandates, SOPs, and the fact that we couldn’t often look up our loved ones, let alone hold their hands or give them a hug… Even the vaccinations would permit us only a fraction of protection. Or, so it seemed when we heard of breakthrough infections.
But, as in most situations in life, we’ve been quick to respond. Raring to go back to our pre-Covid life, many of us shed our inhibitions fast. But were we able to also purge our minds and hearts of fear? Perhaps, we weren’t. Perhaps, we still aren’t, as we enter a new year, continuing with our daily activities, albeit a little unnerved.
Shehr asks people from different walks of life to share their thoughts on the ‘struggle’ to return to the ‘old normal,’ and how we all may have varying levels of comfort now. Accounts follow:
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Mira Hashmi
film critic & academic
Evidently there were plenty of people who didn’t feel any anxiety even at the height of the pandemic because they were out and about maskless and socialising without giving much of a damn. And clearly other people ended up paying the price for this selfish, idiotic sense of invincibility. I personally know many people who either died or became seriously ill with Covid, most often due to the carelessness and apathy of others. I have to say, I have next to no patience for this cavalier attitude towards the wellbeing of others, whether it’s in your refusal to wear a mask properly (or at all) or refusal to get vaccinated because you’d rather believe some crackpot conspiracy theory than the overwhelming historical evidence of how various vaccines have helped save innumerable lives and improved human life expectancy by leaps and bounds over the last century or so. (Thank you, science. Get stuffed, Andrew Wakefield).
So, have I gone back to ‘normal’ or do I still feel anxious about Covid when out in public? Firstly, I don’t know that there is or can be a return to regular programming any time soon; not really, because it’s not like Covid has ceased to exist. There are waves and variants yet to come. I’m not trying to be Dr Doom here. I’m not an alarmist; quite the opposite, in fact. We should be hopeful, yes, but we should also be cognizant of how viruses, transmissible diseases etc work; how they evolve and proliferate; and then just be smart about how we respond with our behaviours.
I suppose it’s this human aspect which actually makes me anxious more so than the virus. The virus just does what it’s designed by nature to do, it’s not evil, it wants to survive and prosper (like all creatures, great and small). It’s up to us to protect ourselves and one another. And although things have improved on this front, we still need to act more responsibly, and until that happens, some level or other of anxiety remains.
It’s not that I’m petrified, cowering in a dark, windowless room refusing to meet anyone. I go to work, do my groceries, go to the bank and meet friends. But I do also religiously wear a mask, keep my distance, and avoid large indoor gatherings, especially where I know too many people won’t bother with masks.
Life has to go on, just with more self-awareness, and consideration for others.
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Haroon Khalid Akhtar
novelist & banker
Due to Covid, the world went into a shell, both physically and mentally. Innocent humans began to look like predators, who could harm you by mere proximity. Simple acts like handshakes and hearty laughter became social taboos. Due to masks, the faces were reduced to eyes only and at times it became difficult to recognise even the near and dear ones, leave alone colleagues and guests, most respected ones of whom looked like robbers or street criminals when you opened the gate for them.
The worst part was, when our loved ones fell sick and were painfully isolated by us for self-preservation. This aspect alone made us realise after a long time how terrible it feels to be selfish. Now, as I write these lines, much of Pakistan is behaving as if Covid never happened. They want to jostle at every available opportunity and their restless hands seem to be itching for a handshake whenever they come within touching distance of others. For me, however, Covid related behavioural austerity has lingered on.
I am still averse to handshakes and travel, and invariably wear a mask whenever going out. Only the latest episode of the Spiderman franchise is drawing me out to the cinema, and even a visit to the barber has come about only recently.
The use of Uber is still a no-no for me. My tactile sensors are much more pronounced and cautious now and this is unlikely to change since I also know that I can become a carrier — an agent of harm — for people I care for. I am happy to be like this; conscious that, Covid or no Covid, it’s a world full of evil germs.
On a wider scale, the physical office and school are back but zoom/ video meetings have pleasantly entrenched themselves not for their hygiene factor but for convenience and time-saving benefits. Work from home a fresh concept, Covid’s legacy to us, has remained in practice and is now an option in official rule-books.
It is my prediction that the Western world from here on will forever be more hygienically conscious in their contacts. In Pakistan, I don’t see any lasting change in a majority of people. Many amongst us still question if Covid was real or as dangerous as the media made it out to be. We will continue to go our merry way. Learning from disasters has never been our forte.
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Julius John
artist & writer
American abstract painter Agnes Martin once said that she painted with her back turned to the world. If we look at the history of art, we find that artistic activity flourished in isolation. Moreover, art thrived when other genres of expression and branches of knowledge thrived. Even the most reclusive artists sustained a prolonged dialogue with someone: Dutch legend Vincent Van Gogh would write letters to his brother Theo (even if it was mostly to ask for money), and 20th Century French artist Paul Cézanne was in constant dialogue with Emile Durkheim, a sociologist of the time.
That said, not all dialogue is conducive to the artistic process, and shallow gossip can be counter-productive. Instead of going to art openings and talking to 100 people about the weather or refreshments, it’s better to sustain meaningful dialogue with a select few who understand you as an artist and are invested in your art practice.
During the first year of Covid — that is, 2020 — I believe I produced the best artwork of my career. Being stuck in the studio, with no job to go to — I had just been laid off from my day job, because the company took a financial hit amid the pandemic — and no art openings or exhibitions to attend, I was able to keep the intense focus required to produce quality work.
Even though things have improved and the opportunities for us to mingle are growing, once again, I have purposefully kept my ‘pandemic routine.’ In fact, I went a step ahead and deleted all my social media accounts. I cannot say that I am missing out on much.
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Saeed Ur Rehman
writer, researcher & academic
Covid-19 has laid bare many illusions that the world holds dear. We used to take the presence of people in urban spaces for granted. Covid-19 showed that life could go on indoors and online. We used to take traffic for granted. Covid-19 showed us how clean Lahore could become if we all stopped chasing the illusions of “progress” and “development.”
The moment the lockdown was lifted, the citizens of Lahore started having issues with the smog. The absence of active human beings made the air breathable. The present break in the schools and colleges in the Punjab is the result of the smog, not Covid. Lockdowns and pauses are becoming mandatory if we need to breathe clean air.
Mass vaccination drives and herd immunity have given the people of Pakistan a respite from the ravages of the pandemic but our commercial activities are proving that the Anthropocene is upon us. My anxieties are not related to Covid because vaccines are available, my anxieties stem from the fact that nobody realises that stopping this human charade lets nature recover. We can breathe better. Our days are more crisp. The sky is clearer. The urban particulate is not seeping into our lungs. Covid showed us the benefits of doing nothing and letting Nature recover but we did not pay any heed to the message from this warning of the Real. We are back to our old ways.
Lahore is competing with New Delhi to grab the title of being the most polluted city in the world. This Third World modernity, the frenetic catching up with the rest of the world, is taking its toll on our lungs. We are ignoring the plenitude of Nature and trying to fill our inner voids. We should all take it easy. We need to sit back and breathe a little. We need to learn to feel and enjoy the lack of the lack. We need to enjoy the plenitude of Nature. Covid-19 tried to teach us that. We did not learn anything.
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Kamil Chima
filmmaker
Covid was a bad dream come to life; the lockdowns; the nervous, jittery scrounging for infection rates. There was only one thing to talk about for a good six months there. And yes, the days started repeating themselves, as if the whole world was stuck in the small town on Groundhog Day.
Looking back, having turned the proverbial corner, there are things about this last year that I will miss. Lahore really was greener, meeting friends in parks was literally refreshing, and the slashing down of the average wedding guest list made them all the more special.
Alas, it took one smoggy December to rid us of all three.
Everyone has that raspy smog-laden voice. The hordes of leather jackets and loud belt-buckles have returned to stand around outside Mall 1. And don’t get me started on the weddings. They’re back, louder, prouder and flashier.
And then there were the things I didn’t know I wanted, till Covid snatched them away.
Chief among them was the cinema house. After a few months of watching content on smaller screens, I wanted desperately to see the silver screen, and have my ears drummed into by some righteous Dolby Atmos surround sound. What I would have given then for a chance to waste an afternoon in some dark, cold theatre with a brownie and some tea for company. A substandard blockbuster for viewing, a simple tale of good versus evil.
Amidst the anxieties of reopening society, I’ll do well to salvage the peace and quiet found during lockdown. In the meantime, it seems there’s a busy wedding season ahead. That walk in the park will have to wait for now.
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Sonya Rehman
journalist & author
If there’s anything the past two years have taught us, it’s this: human connection is imperative for survival. And also this: loneliness is far more lethal than being a chain smoker.
Even though on a personal level, I feel I have made decent strides on my path to self-awareness, my place in the world, including what I want from my one, fragile existence, I still find myself in a state of flux. The existential crisis is real and it’s raw.
Not just for me, but also for my loved ones and those I’ve spoken to — there’s always a sense of anxiety looming in the background: what now, what’s next, are we emotionally and physically prepared for more shocks, more doom and gloom?
But then there’s the flipside; the part of the human psyche that has an unshakeable grip on hope and continues to spin gold even in the bleakest of circumstances.
Early last month, I met a childhood friend I hadn’t seen in years. I always felt both of us were very similar in how we approached life and work, and perhaps that’s one of the reasons why we had an affinity and at the same time repulsion towards each other. Meeting him over coffee, just weeks before he was to marry the love of his life, I was stunned at how similar the previous two years had been for us in terms of ‘doing the work,’ i.e., inner work.
As I looked at him speaking, while I sipped a slightly tepid latte, I saw a more self-assured man. His humility shone through, enhancing his handsome face. His eyes had a softer glow; he was finally viewing the world with less intensity and judgment. There was acceptance and empathy, even forgiveness.
While the world may not have gone back to ‘normal,’ and perhaps it never will — the pandemic’s damage has been done, the effects of social distancing will linger long. But there will always be a sense of courage and faith — that bursts forth like a deluge — when you realise that you have sailed through the roughest of storms and still made it through to witness another sunrise.
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Farah Zia
writer & HRCP director
Writing, in general, tends to pontificate. Good writers try to avoid the impulse, for the sake of their own good. I have no such pretensions, to not pontificate that is.
The question I am being asked is: Whether I have resumed my pre-Covid day-to-day activities, without feeling anxious at all?
Let me address it directly. No, let me first ask if this is a valid question because I too have been thinking a lot about this going-back-to-my-day-to-day-activities, which seems like a middle-class privilege anyway, the choice of when to resume our ‘normal’ lives. We know how most people around us didn’t have the luxury to change what they were doing; many others who were rendered redundant have no day-jobs left to go back to.
Of course, as you look around, especially the crazy traffic, your city of choice consistently enjoying the status of being the world’s most polluted, life does seem to have returned to ‘normal’. The middle classes are happy because indoor dining in restaurants is back. The roadblocks outside cinemas are proof that they are packed. Air travel is costlier but at least it’s resumed. Honestly, it is this resumption of life that makes me more anxious and angry, helpless and sad.
I promised I will pontificate. So here’s more.
Let’s for a moment presume that the worst is over. Do we realise that we are the survivors of arguably the world’s worst pandemic ever? Imagine the sheer weight of this fact. The last two years have been the most unusual for the world in at least a hundred years. We will be able to tell our grandchildren stories of what it was like to live in those times, how we coped, the losses we suffered and so on.
The certainty of human life as we know it — human touch, hugs, friends — is back, and I am glad that it is. However, I am thinking of what shall we tell our grandchildren we learnt from the pandemic. Nothing, perhaps, except our reliance on medical science as our saviour, that made startling achievements no doubt.
Vaccines and medicines are meant to cure the disease. Let’s admit the pandemic took the shape it did because of the human race’s transgression against Nature. It happened because the one ecosystem of which we all, humans, animals, plants, are a part, was violated. That we have to preserve it, bring back the blue skies, let the environment breathe, is a lesson that is forgotten rather easily. Travel is necessary but a lot of it, including some within the city, is avoidable. Online businesses as new learning must be celebrated but Zoom meetings work as well and must continue.
The thing that I miss most is being able to look at the face of the person I am speaking to, without that compulsory mask. I wish we could reshape our ‘normal’ lives in a way that allows us all to breathe the air around us in as natural a way as possible. In short, I want us to seriously rethink our day-to-day activities.
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Fouad Bajwa
public policy analyst & entrepreneur
Life is no longer the same for me. Life before Covid was all about being busy with material goals and gains. I was always connected to what I thought was a global environment. Yet, I was more or less busy in my own bubble of a world made by my own goals and objectives that now I look back on and find meaningless.
As I began to lose people, who had been relatives, friends and acquaintances, and heard all those stories about the unfortunate souls that lost the battle for survival (against the infections), it left me thinking about my goals and what their outcome would have been, and also whether they were worth all the effort.
I was brave. I had to look after the ones I cared for at home and work. During the earlier and longer lockdowns, I was working simultaneously and selflessly, helping someone else’s startups grow while also serving among volunteers that had made every effort possible to equip our frontline health workers with the necessary PPE or build the technology to somehow counter the negative impacts of the pandemic on our society and economy. At some point during that time, I learnt that we might be doing less with the greatest treasure we have — of life. This life meant more than just all that, this life can just wither away and all that material we try to accumulate is just really nothing, maybe only a figment of our imagination.
Am I still anxious today? Is the news fuelling my anxiety? Have we really achieved the purpose of our existence, or is it just by chance that the pandemic did not take us away yet? Should I shake that person’s hand? Should I keep my mask on or should I take it off? What is going to happen next? If we resign from our jobs, what will happen? If I make that new startup, is it going to go anywhere?
Believe it or not, for the first time in my life I may have answers to some of those questions. I am no more uncertain, I am no more anxious, I am clear about what I want, what to strive for and what my inner calling is. It’s about helping each and every one of you. Even if eventually it’s just one person I am able to help, I will.
I am among those that do think that the past two years weren’t horrible, they were damn scary, uncertain but they brought us back to thinking what matters the most and how sad our earlier, material existence was.
Is this life still material, I do not know, but what I do know is that I am working to making other people’s lives easier. Those lockdown episodes made me take the decisions that I feel today were the best. I am doing exactly what I needed to do. My startup venture, my teaching, my sharing, my caring and all that will impact everyone that I come into contact with positivity, compassion, love and care. Every day is a beautiful blessing. It is definitely another chance to be used for someone, to ease someone’s pain, to care for someone or to help someone.
I am only anxious to be of help. By the way, we still have to do something about the smog. Any ideas?
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Zeeniya Mehdi
student, freelance journalist
Since the onset of Covid-19, everyone around the globe has adapted to a completely new lifestyle with minimal interaction with the outside world. With the announcement of the first lockdown, all of us were confined to the sanctuary of our homes. Like everyone else, I was too.
As vaccination rates rose and restrictions loosened, I started attending in-person classes at school — it felt odd considering online classes had become an uncomfortably numb routine. As restrictions further loosened, almost all of us returned to normal routines to an extent, if not completely. Despite the fact that I did initially feel reluctant to go out to malls and immerse myself in large crowds for fear of potential Covid exposure, I got used to it. Cinemas and other entertainment venues opened up, outdoor seating at restaurants moved indoors, and large gatherings have again become normal.
As the return to pre-pandemic life accelerates, some people have started to disregard safety protocols and diligent masking which may be a source of anxiety to some, including myself. The fraction of people that remains unvaccinated also contributes to that.
Even though we’re trying to get ourselves used to going back to our pre-Covid routines, there are traces of that discomfort. Though I personally missed attending concerts the most, the sudden rise of music festivals in Lahore is a cause of concern, given the absence of SOPs and no strict vaccination certificate checks.
I believe we’re trying to get back to the old normal way too fast, without accurately gauging the risks it brings us and how still more variants of the coronavirus can emerge. Some people still tend to deny that Covid exists or that no vaccine can completely protect them from the virus.
As we welcome 2022, the number of Omicron variant infections is rising. Let’s see where this one takes us.
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Fatima Batool
educationist & CSS trainer
Covid-19 triggered in my mind health concerns that had never been there before. Being asthmatic, I was among the easiest targets for the pandemic, which kept me indoors and physically disconnected from my social and professional circle.
Apparently, in 2021, things became normal, but I can’t help feeling anxious when people came close physically. Now I abstain from shaking hands with people I meet and hugging my friends even if we meet after months. Last time when my mother hugged me, it didn’t seem normal. My mother says I have developed anxiety; I think I’m cautious. (I don’t think I’m in a state of denial.)
Fortunately, I didn’t catch Covid, but I did have an asthma attack, which kept me locked for a month or so. The worst came when my six-year-old told her teacher that I had Covid, and the teacher advised her to stay in a separate room. Her taking my coughing and wheezing as Covid and my acquaintances’ suspicion that I had Covid but was too ashamed to admit that made me unsure about my own medical condition. I assumed at the point that I might have the virus which had gone undetected, as the attack this year was the worst of my life (thanks actually to the lethal air in the City of Gardens).
Now I teach with a mask on. Imagine standing in a classroom of 100, straining my vocal chords to create sound that has to pass through a mask. (Yes, I’m getting a mic now, to save myself from unnecessary exhaustion.)
When I cough, people look at me suspiciously, to which I’m immune now, though I never forget to clarify that it’s not Covid.
Being a gourmand, I used to dine out a lot in my pre-Covid life; however, now being used to picking up food or ordering it online, I don’t feel comfortable when I’m asked to eat out. I rather pick food and eat it in the car with my family than sit in public surrounded by other families.
Wedding gatherings, especially buffets, don’t feel right. I avoid attending weddings as I can’t help disapproving people who show up without a mask to scatter germs wherever they go.
Lastly, the other day I went to a local bazaar where I used my shawl as a mask to cover up my nose and mouth. I met someone there who asked if I had started taking a veil. Of course, she wasn’t wearing a mask.
