Time refuses to answer, and so I plough on, silencing my mental arbitrator with a hastily drawn protocol of hows and whys that will, inevitably, surface through my new formless orifice.
And, it is already inevitable. Just like that.
In the weeks that the virus has snaked itself around the world, growing tentacles that spread from the wet markets of Wuhan to countries that were, perhaps, contemplating how to fortify their borders against immigrants, refugees and the prospect of a world war.
Life will never be the same again.
It will refuse to blow the bugle of normalcy that was once a given. Normalcy will shift into gears that are in the process of getting engineered even as I key in my words for the new formless orifice to regurgitate. It will stand askew to give our species a new anthem to start life on the trail of the virus that will stand forever like the sword of Damocles on our existence. Even after virologists announce its death!
Will we survive it? Will we finally say all’s well that ends well and get on with our lives that have been pushed into a limbo of surreal apocalypse stories, once fictionalized in books and silver screen?
Perhaps, we will learn to see crepuscular rays in the dark of the night; perhaps, we will find the proverbial golden pot at the centre of the rainbow.
May be we will understand that days and nights are not governed by the sun but installed into our psyche by ancestors who knew that we will all, one day, lie prone in our existential beds and find cobbled paths that lead us to the beginning of the universe.
We will hold all our knowledge in collectively supplicated hands and wonder what pushed us to craft modernization out of our civilization.
What clock ticked to the beats of our hearts to set limits and time frames to our emotions and attachments?
What cradle roused us from our divine meditation with the universe and pushed us into a contemplative mode to build a world that had engines whizzing, motors rushing, concretes spiraling, blades soaring…
What algebraic equation transitioned comfort as necessity and classified the populace on a status hierarchy chart, ensuring that the have-nots stayed confined in their cage.
What idol pushed us to lock horns with faiths that differed from ours in sequencing the inception of life on this planet as we know it?
What statecraft mobbed us into thinking that liberal opinions can combust in the face of hard-liners who wield the sword of power?
But then, will all this matter at all?
Will we know ourselves or have we already begun to metamorphose? Without any premise, practice or persuasion we have moved into a new phase, a blindingly unimaginable zone. Perhaps we will move back as easily?
I hope not.
Let this pandemic, which has, for the first time ever, pulled the world to a stop with one overpowering thought, give us back our lives, unstructured by status symbols, unburdened by routines, undeterred by faith mongering, unchallenged by government agencies, unlimited by emotional expressions… Vindicated by death!