Smelling fear

Last week, I went for a drive, just to get away from it all in Delhi to see what is happening in my hills in Manali. I say 'my' hills because I belong there as much as I do in my life-time home Delhi. Perhaps even more… What did I find there? Well, the air is crisp as always, the breeze cool and the vistas verdant as ever. What has changed, though, is the countenance of the people. How's that, you ask? For one, they have fear and anxiety in their eyes, and even resentment in their expressions. That caused me worry, for these are very kind people. My people – really, really genuine people… but they are running scared.

That ticked me off and I mulled returning to Delhi, given this crazy welcome (the lack of it, actually). My disquiet, though, rubbed off and affected my dogs and cats too and they reacted badly. Bloody hell, they well nigh revolted. Bobo, my triple-coated German Shepherd junglee, sulked for a bit and then disappeared, only to be found much later three kilometers away in a mountainous labyrinth, scurrilously hidden in a bush. Kaira, my Beagle, howled the entire night away the way only a Beagle can, while intermittently nuzzling me and rubbing her wet nose against my face till I gave her a fierce rubbing down accompanied by a few gentle coos. The cats were equally disturbed, and both Pixie and Bella forced me to play fetch with them for a while till eventually, they reverted to root and finally went to sleep. What the hell was happening?

Chhatrapal is gone

Who is he? Well, Chhatrapal is (was) our caretaker for 15 years before he recently decided to leave the job and head back to his native village, close to Kullu. Why is Chhatrapal so important to me and my babies? Well, because he has seen the four idiots grow from baby-hood to monster-hood, hugging and cuddling them for years. For these four, Chhatrapal has for years been the only savior on all of our drives to Manali, journeys on which they restlessly bark and meow in the car. In fact, the four were so listless on this latest drive that they even forgot the cool breeze and the familiar, old smells, smells animals live for. Well, you have to be a dog or a cat to know what I mean…

Why did Chhatrapal leave? Well, for the same reason that hundreds upon thousands are now going back to their home towns and away from their decades-old jobs. "Ab humse nahin hoga, Sir. Hum ghar jaa rahe hain. Dar lagta hai…" (We can't do this anymore. We are going back home. We are scared). This statement from a trusted and devoted person afflicted me – with the pandemic in full play, we cannot anymore distance what is happening in the plains from the rest of the country, even up here in the serene mountains. But the true extent of the rot really hit me only I went to meet Chhatrapal and his family in their village. His daughter is my God-child and recently got married. "Hamein baksh deejiye. Hum nahin aayenge. Aap jaaiye, Sir," she said. (Please spare us. We will not come back. Just go).

Go, she said? That hurt me. I turned and looked at the other village folk and saw equally disdainful looks from them as well. That got the brain working and made me realize just how narrowly I was thinking. That's probably because I am from big city Delhi and have perhaps modeled myself in my own head as a benefactor, their provider. I am not. From their point of view in today's COVID times, provider or once-provider doesn't matter anymore. Survival does.

Fear is in the air

There's fear in the air. It is palpable, shrouded and stealthily hidden, but if you open your eyes and mind wide enough, it is quite apparent. And it is literally in the air. And this became more and more evident over the next couple of days, as I roamed around in my car and walked down mountain trails and past local villages and shanties. Many a time, villagers – recognizing me as a non-localite – asked me to leave and stopped me from entering their little circle of life. Speaking to me, I realized that this was happening across the state as many panchayats have decided to cut themselves off from any outside presence for a while.

Some informed me that Gram Pradhans (village heads) have even resorted to writing letters to the authorities, insisting that tourists be stopped from entering their districts. They have shut down hotels and locked the doors at home stays. The authorities, in turn, have acted in a variegated manner, putting curbs and bans in select regions. And where they have not, villagers have taken matters into their own hands and put up make-shift barriers and barricades, blocking roads and cutting off access to outsiders.

If we talk transport, taxi drivers are refusing to drive to many places. Yes, some private bus operators, hit terribly hard by the absence of any earnings for months, are slowly returning to work, but the drivers are scared too. Passengers are eyed with mistrust. And at almost every turn you take on these buses, the 'For Sale' sign hanging outside hotels and resorts do not make for a pretty picture; unspeaking, they tell a grim tale.

Those who are working

Even among those who are open for business, there is a deep-rooted fear and anxiety. Hotels have been all but shut down in most of India for over a year now, other than for a few months between the two waves of the pandemic, when we were told that we had defeated the virus and set off to become the globe's Vaccine Guru.

I will only speak of the situation in Manali and in Mashobra, where I stopped for a night, only to give the babies a respite from another 12-hour drive in four days. Hoteliers here, those forced to open shop to keep home and hearth running, are petrified. Each new day, they serve and wait on complete strangers; they keep as much distance as possible from room occupants. Many hotel guests are scared too, the staff admits, as they demonically sanitize every part of their rooms, not even sparing the plates and cutlery that comes with their room service orders.

Pantry services are somewhat open, but open dining is not. There's too much fear of getting too many people into the restaurants and dining rooms, within touching and breathing distance of one-another. Remember, these are dining rooms and to eat and to drink, you have to take your mask off. And if anyone dare cough or sneeze, others would certainly dive for cover. To avoid such excruciating scenarios for those on an 'idyllic holiday', dining rooms are closed.

But amid all this…

We have spoken of fear and worry; let's talk 'carefree', the absolute loss of sensibility and responsibility. Amid all the churn, there are many (locals and tourists alike) who are roaming and cantering around with no masks and no thought of social distancing. Temples and popular holiday spots have been recently re-opened and are hosting crowds of giggly-gaggly tourists who are again congregating in large numbers. This caused me deep concern and worry – for these scenes took my mind right back to all the experts on the television who have already predicted that a deadly third wave of the pandemic is barely a month away. We also have a new boy in town, the Delta variant. Regardless, in some pockets of our holiday spots, the revelry is being kicked off again.

Not so though for smaller traders and businesses. The cute, small hill shops selling trinkets and souvenirs are gone. As are street vendors of tiny hill gulab jamuns and bhuttas. Even in remote areas, what we see are literal ghost towns; next to no local people, no rustic dhabas and eateries, no open grocery and vegetable vends, no one selling the customary, traditional Himachali cap. Damnit, even Himachal's omnipresent and everywhere liquor and Maggi shops are nearly gone.

So what's the answer, you ask? Well, life has to go on, as do businesses large and small, and the economy. What is required is a responsible approach and rock-solid policing. I refuse to believe that anyone over the age of five years today doesn't understand the perils, dangers and modus operandi of this virus – thus, the education and awareness bit has been taken care of.

If we have decided to unlock the country, we also need punitive fines and damages that will put the fear of God into those who are still treating this as a joke. This is not smoking or drinking, where the 'indulger' alone will face the consequences. This is a malaise where one idiot can create hundreds of patients in quick time. Let's not spare the rod and spoil the child. Let's get some sanity into what is a very insane situation.

The writer is a communications consultant and a clinical analyst. narayanrajeev2006@gmail.com. Views expressed are personal