BENGALURU: It’s rewind time in the city. Kids are being herded back indoors, housemaids are getting sacked again, and news links have returned to form the bulk of WhatsApp forwards. The hopes of normalcy ushered in by Unlock 1.0 are giving way to trepidation. Personal accounts of someone knowing someone else testing positive for Covid-19 are increasing. As the crisis seems to be closing in, panic is settling on masked faces – few people caring whether it’s fair, lovely or glowing. The ‘Bengaluru model’ of tackling the pandemic, with its apps and all, lies exposed as reports surface of apathetic authorities, helpless patients, abandoned dead bodies, and distressed relatives. The model in all probability had its glitches, after all. Or someone somewhere celebrated too soon. Or we became too confident, and by extension, careless. Or it’s all of these. 

The bureaucratic tight-lipped manner of the functioning of the government isn’t helping matters either, as there are no clear official answers given for the how-why-when questions floating in everyone’s mind. The way ‘community transmission’ has been made to seem like an inglorious phrase – one that should only be whispered, and not spoken aloud – does far from allaying public fears. 

Three months after the pandemic started spreading its tentacles, people are still wary of coming out of their comfort corners. A friend has been so anxious that they have not let a single outsider enter their home since the lockdown began in March-end, trying to postpone even a plumbing necessity. Talks of green shoots of a resurgent economy notwithstanding, look around and you will find little in terms of commercial activity that has kicked off in the last one month. IT parks appear to be empty structures from another era. Almost every place related to children’s activities has fallen silent.

Theatres, art galleries, stadia, restaurants and malls are all ghostly remnants of a thriving past. People, however, are craving like never before for exactly such things. And seeking small delights whenever a tiny window opens near them. Many women I know are dressing up at home just for the joy of it. Just the other day, a colleague mentioned how online sales of trinkets and small pieces of costume jewellery have apparently increased. 

A few days back, a popular south Indian food chain parked its truck outside my apartment complex, with its staffers setting up temporary cooking stalls, dishing out fresh dosa, vada and manchurian, and lining the pavement with its packed assortment of sweets and savoury snacks. Soon, an ice cream van made a sudden appearance too. Since there are only a few condominiums on either side of the road, which happens to be a cul-de-sac, the place soon took the shape of a mini food street. Social distancing needs were met merrily, in order to meet the more pressing urge of taking home some hot restaurant food. 

Last week, a few kids playing outdoor in the apartment premises were caught in a sudden downpour, and didn’t miss the opportunity to linger around for a while, gleefully getting drenched. A debate soon ensued among elders on the group chat, about the potential harms of such rejoicing. The children were promptly made to return home. Perhaps there are as big, if not bigger, casualties of the pandemic than the economy. But then, these are the ones that cannot be measured.