2020\’s over; Here\’s how to survive 2021!
2020 was a challenging year that many would want to bury so deep in their memories that they could forget it. Little wonder that on New Year’s eve people were celebrating the coming of 2021 as a return to ‘normal’ life.
And yet, the start of 2021 has shown us that monsters still lurk beneath the bed and that when the clock struck midnight on 31, the problems of 2020 did not just fade away.
Cheryl Fulton, an associate professor in the professional counseling program at Texas State University, noted that holding out for a better future “not only robs you of living fully now but may also rob your future present when it doesn’t live up to its promise.”
Creating lemonade out of lemons: Cheers to all those to made the most of 2020!
Anil hears the baby crying upstairs in her nursery. She’s woken up from her mid-day nap. Earlier today than usual, he thinks with a lopsided smile. He hears the sounds as his wife opens the door to the yellow wallpapered room, rocks Arya back and forth, murmuring against her ear. Snatches from a familiar Hindi lullaby crowd his mind.
Anil shakes his head, forces himself to concentrate on the email sent from his boss about the reopening of distribution channels to China. In less than an hour, I’ll have time to go meet baby Arya. Eat my lunch with her perched on my lap. She will coo and gurgle. I’ll talk back to her. Teach her how to say ‘Papa’. Arya will look at me and laugh. Ah, what bliss. A wide, genuine smile like curling oil spreads across his face. Thank you, Bhagwan for this pandemic!
Her brain has turned to mush: Inside Nursing Homes
After months of near isolation inside her senior care facility—India Home—Suman Pandey no longer recognizes her daughter, Tanya.
Tanya stumbles out of her mother’s room towards the nursing station just outside, too overwhelmed to speak. She’d expected to see some changes, yes—after four months of not being able to visit Mummy she’d felt her chest heave at the shrunken woman she found slumped against the pillows, her thick black hair had gone fine, wispy and completely white. Bits of pink scalp showed through. Had it truly been so long?
But what made Tanya’s knees buckle and her mouth fall open in a cry that was like the wail of a broken, desolate heart was the blank face her 84-year-old mother turned to her as she entered, bearing a box of Mummy’s favorite besan ladoos.
“Who are you?” Suman Pandey asked, her eyes huge and confused.
Managing \”The Call\” with a Literary Agent
You’ve spent a year (or six) writing a 90, 000-word Adult fiction novel. You’ve poured sweat, love, and too much midnight oil into it—coming up with an original plot, fleshing out characters that are relatable and memorable, minding the pacing . . . Whew!
Then, you dive into the querying process and the pain begins to kick in. You research agents like a forensic scientist. You submit queries like it’s a full-time job or depending on your approach, perhaps you submit to only a select few. And then, if your experience is anything like mine, wading through rejection letters becomes a second full-time job. The advice out there is you shouldn’t take it personally and you should develop a thick skin. Hah! Easier said than done—every rejection feels like some angry prophet’s judgment on your soul.
Why I Write?
I was raised in a middle-class family in New Delhi, India where education was key, fresh pomfret fish for dinner was a treat, and budget-conscious holidays in hill stations defined our summers. As a young girl, I was expected to apply myself at college, get a job that would allow me to be financially self-reliant, get married, and have kids—in that order.
Given this worldview, “writing” was a bourgeois activity, encouraged by my mom, who was an avid fan of Reader’s Digest and Harlequin romances.
There\’s A New Demon in Town: Lord Corona
Good thing it was her shift that night.
Reema was sweaty and grumpy. In full PPE (gown, N95 mask, face shield, and gloves) for the past five hours. Every time she exhaled her glasses and face shield fogged up. She tasted stale air and burnt coffee from breathing in and out through her mask. (Note to self: schedule teeth cleaning on a weekend that you are not on call!)
She got a page. Getting a page marked ‘urgent’ was not unusual because the St. Vincent de Paul Modesto Shelter had new admissions all the time for people experiencing homelessness who were positive for Covid-19 and need a safe place to recover. But the content of the page was unusual. A new mom and her two-week-old baby with Covid-19 were on their way to the shelter.
Corona on Campus
Kavya took a deep breath and released it—exhaling deeply—just as her mother, a yoga teacher, had taught her to do. Last month she had finally set foot at the University of Miami campus—a day she’d been dreaming of since she entered high school.
True, college no longer looked as it had when she’d toured the campus in April 2015 with her mom and brother—at that time, crowds blocked the hallways and stairs. Kids here, kids there, everywhere, laughing, shouting, rushing to and fro, greeting one another, and talking over their plans for the school year. She’d spent the time roaming around, familiarizing herself with the layout of the campus, and learning the names of the various fraternities and the buildings where they were housed—some old and vine-clad, others new and shiny in the sun.
Dating and Mating During Covid-19
Her son turned 28 last week. Dating was complicated for Avi and often a clumsy dance even in the best of times. Given the pandemic and the fear of a highly contagious virus for which there is yet no cure, he had resisted every conversation Priya tried to have with him about going out and meeting someone.
“Bumble allows virtual or socially distanced-with-a-mask dates,“ she said to him at the dinner table as he spooned for himself a generous helping of the chicken curry and rice. She had made his favorites in readiness for this conversation—crisp masala okra, raita with cucumbers, and Karahi chicken curry. It was a bonus time they were enjoying with him ever since he had moved back home during the coronavirus lockdown, and she was determined to get him hitched. “Or, if you have Zoom fatigue, we can try the Mumbai matchmaker from the show on Netflix that everybody’s been talking about, “ she continued, busying her hands with adding sweet tamarind chutney to a petri dish.
My City is on Fire
Imagine that you’re a young couple on holiday at an Airbnb in the town of Seven Oaks. You’re there for a month to get away from the madness of the pandemic and social distancing guidelines and the fear of getting sick. Suddenly, you’re caught in the crosshairs of a California wildfire. That’s what happened to Veer and Maya.
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Veer had made incredibly good time, mostly because he had jogged the majority of the way. Now he was sweaty and gross, despite the strong wind that kept finding him as he went. At least the run had cleared his head a bit and put him in a more positive mood. It would be lunchtime by the time he got home again. Or, at the least, a late brunch-time, but he and Maya would have something wonderful to eat and, either way, things would be okay.
What To Keep and What To Throw, When Nothing is Normal?
Arun inhales deeply, contorts his body in a suryaasan, and exhales his breath out in a rush. Memories of his father crowd into his brain like pictures on a screen.
A week ago came the earth-shattering phone call from Kakaji the manservant who had lived with his Dad for thirty years. More family than caretaker—Kakaji was lank and shriveled of limb, grizzled of hair with a crooked eagle beak, and a Hitler-like mustache, but dependable and always-present.
The funeral took place in 24 hours. “They don’t hold the body here for more than 48 hours, Arun beta,” Kakaji had croaked.