About a month ago, in early March, when I landed at the airport, everything seemed normal. I felt out of place and silly as I donned my mask before joining the immigration queues. Looking at the list of flight arrivals and the crowds, Covid-19 seemed like a figment of someone’s imagination. The only change was that everyone exiting the airport had to walk past heat sensors, monitored by a uniformed man.
Fast forward to mid-April. The airport has come to a grinding halt except for cargo flights, all aircraft have been grounded till further notice. For a city that thrives on being a nodal point connecting far-flung places across the globe, this is imminent doom.
The first big clampdown came on March 4, when schools across the city shut with a day’s notice. Spring break was brought forward and schools were told to start lessons online initially, children prepared to study from home for two weeks, and then it was extended till June. Parents scrambled for devices and tables for children to work on. A school WhatsApp group I am part of was abuzz with irate parents, juggling working from home, technology issues and teaching kids.
After schools, many workplaces asked their employees to work from home. Slowly and steadily, as further stringent measures were introduced, both anxiety and uncertainty spread. People could exercise outdoors if they maintained adequate social distance, but gradually all sorts of outdoor activity were stopped. As of today, no one can leave their homes without a permit to visit even the nearest supermarket. We need to fill our personal details on a government website, and the reason why we need to step out, and a permit is granted. It’s a fairly easy and hassle-free experience, but the government gets to monitor our movements.
I feel like an actor getting ready to go up on stage every time I step out of home, as I put on my mask and gloves. My drama, though, is limited to constantly sanitising my hands and every surface I touch, as well as taking a step back and away from the person nearest to me. Strange are these times, and stranger will be the effects they’ll have on us all in the days to come.
Whatever my grievances are, there are umpteen blessings to be grateful for. Like most expats in Dubai, we live well in our bubbles with all possible creature comforts, a well-stocked pantry and glitch-less wifi. Worries about family and friends around the world, possible pay cuts or job losses, and other economic fallouts of this pandemic sit somewhere in the recesses of my mind. But, as of now, I choose not to dwell on these. How long this will last is also a question for another time.
As someone who works from home, I am used to minimal social interactions and spending long hours indoors. However, the indoors I am accustomed to has transformed. The noises outside on the street have reduced, while the commotion within the four walls of our house has grown.
I struggle to find my writing zone amidst the many interruptions, from a teething puppy who demands constant attention to a perennially hungry child. Like almost all travel writers, I am grappling with a slew of rejections, lack of demand for articles, and a highly uncertain future.
My husband, who always said he could never work from home, has adapted to his new arrangement extraordinarily well, and clocks in nine hours every day. Our daughter is thriving, with the freedom that the lack of a rigid timetable brings and no extra-curricular activities eating into her time. This confinement is like an extended vacation for her, albeit strange without friends and activity.
I often wonder how she’ll look back at this period of her life when she grows up. Will it just be an aberration or will it leave a deeper mark? I go to bed with a stash of unanswered questions and wake up with several more.
First Published: Apr 23, 2020, 14:00
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