Walking, Dodging, Hiding, Waiting: Delhi in the time of the Virus

It isn't as if people aren't bothered about the deathly coronavirus. We are more bothered about a question that has been thrown at us in the throes of the lockdown: Where do we belong? And to whom? A

Apr 02, 2020, 14:37 IST3 min

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The images of migrants crowding the inter-state bus stations to take the first bus out had its effect: A total lockdown of highways. By late afternoon, policeman Satendar Singh had emptied out two ambulances whose drivers had shown &lsquodangerous&rsquo compassion in giving a ride to a few in their vans.

Image by Madhu Kapparath

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An anxious Bhanwari Devi rushes to a bus near Ghaziabad border that might take her to Moradabad. Her husband is there, is all she would say.

Image by Madhu Kapparath

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Potato wholesaler Majid Khan points to the rickety buildings around in Ghazipur. The labourers, mostly from Bihar are gone, he says, and there&rsquos no buyers even at half the price. He&rsquos planning to shut shop and leave too, for home, elsewhere.

Image by Madhu Kapparath

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Like illegal migrants who cross borders elsewhere in the world, people heading out to their villages walk, wait, run and dodge behind residential complexes adjoining the Delhi-UP highway. They&rsquove walked for hours from across Delhi to get here and see no reason to turn back. There&rsquos nothing back there, many say, as if referring to a city that no longer exists.

Image by Madhu Kapparath

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So many samaritans on an afternoon doling out food and water, that this could rewrite the book. People on the move were refusing food offered from vans that pulled up frequently and from carts lined up along the highway, because there was so much of it.

Image by Madhu Kapparath

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Muskaan walks on an empty road in Kalindi Kunj with provisions on her head, turning occasionally to look for a vehicle that might offer her a lift towards Tughlakabad. The 34-year-old mother of four, Muskaan had waited seven hours for her turn at the ration shop in Abu Fazal Enclave.

Image by Madhu Kapparath

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Saurabh Bidhuri and his posse of cousins pace around his &lsquogold-plated&rsquo car, parked in their narrow galli in Khadar, Delhi. Grounded now due to the lockdown, Saurabh says it is &lsquodespairing&rsquo that he can&rsquot take it for a spin.

Image by Madhu Kapparath

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Babban scrambled to get on this bus to Bareilly that the police allowed on a sudden whim, to prevent the state border from getting choked with stranded migrants. Why the hurry? Because his sister-in-law, who is pregnant, couldn&rsquot bear the thought of him hanging around in Delhi without any money to send home the next month.

Image by Madhu Kapparath

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&lsquoSocial distancing&rsquo, chuckled Arun Narasimhan, a retiree, earlier in the month, pointing to his wife sitting in front, awaiting their checked in baggage, &lsquoyou don&rsquot need a virus for that, 40 years of marriage will do it for you&rsquo

Image by Madhu Kapparath

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The warnings about the virus&rsquos spread in india had begun early this month. The humour was palpable among some on boarding&mdashthose jokes about the superhero dusting off a fleck of coronavirus on the tip of his moustache&hellip.

Image by Madhu Kapparath