By H. S. Sidhu (Occasional Biker. Part-time Corporate Cog. Borderline Nihilist. Mostly Harmless)
So, thanks to the pandemic and the (much needed) lockdown, my yoga teacher and psychotherapist wife, our sweet (and somewhat clingy) cocker spaniel-Mitsu and I, have been house guests of my mother-in-law in Chennai all this while.
Our life in Goa, our home, with the great outdoors and beer, had become something out of a programme on the travel and living channel, after the end of the office drama that was my job.
And now, the travel show has been rewritten into a sitcom, set against a somewhat dystopian background. It’s like the throuple of Frasier, Groundhog Day and 10 Cloverfield Lane have had a strange love child.
TBH, many of us, privileged to have a roof and access to resources, without major illnesses haven’t had it bad at all. There’s a lot of free stuff. Online classes, courses, e-books, web-series, and movies.
Except webinars. And exotic home cooking photos and videos (notice, how those words seem strange together?). Best to stay clear of those.
Amazon Prime and Netflix are great. I tell everyone. Once, while in the elevator, Mitsu and I were greeted, at an appropriate social distance, by a fit, attractive, spandexed young lady going down for a walk within the compound. She asked how we were coping. I wanted to say, “Thank God for Netflix”. Instead, I stuttered, “Thank God for the Nefleff”. My Covfefe moment, due in large part, to having instinctively sucked in my beer gut and consequently not having the requisite volume of air in my lungs, to expel through my vocal chords. Middle-aged male narcissism, thou art a bitch.
I finished 5 seasons of Narcos (including Mexico) and 3 seasons of El Chapo. By the last episode of El Chapo, I thought I could even understand Spanish. Turned out, it was the language setting. I realised; I could’ve watched the whole thing in English. All three seasons. “No importa cabron…es bueno”, I tell myself.
But there are those still moments, when trepidation sneaks up on me. Like on late afternoons. I stare into the distance. It’s quiet and hot, like the desert. A tumbleweed of Mitsu’s hair emerges from a corner and rolls around on the tiled floor, propelled by a lazy breeze wafting in from the balcony door.
And I muse, it could be worse. For now, we gotta sit tight, stay positive, help others and we’ll get through this.
I see another tumbleweed. I really should sweep the floor with a better broom action. You’d think the angle of approach and co-efficient of gather would’ve improved by now. Tch tch…