It’s my tenth month into the pandemic. Luckily, I have escaped the virus till now. And, curiously, so have those around me, at home and at work. But that does not mean Covid-19 has not scarred me. My days in office have diminished from five to two, which leaves me enervated. Work from home continues but is shamefully inadequate. Without human physical contact, I close fewer things. What is worse, my sleeping hours have grown from four to six. Instead of three incomplete manuscripts, I now have eight and a show to write. Nothing seems to work. Not at least the way I want them to.
My daughters have done better. They have adjusted more easily to the protocols of the pandemic era. Digital continues to bother me, not them. I like the smell of ink on paper. I like the feel of newspapers when I touch them. Reading the news on my phone makes me feel incomplete, untouched by events. Yes, the news comes in quicker on digital platforms. I wonder how it would have felt to interview Rajneesh or Kishore Kumar or rogue CIA agent Frank Camper on Zoom. The context is everything in an interview. The silences; the unspoken whispers; the static that only words can capture. Images also do, but in part. They miss out on the nuances. In journalism, it’s the small things that matter. They complete the jigsaw.