Some years we remember by their dates. Some we remember by what they made us feel. The days of Covid-19 are among those memories for me.
Since my teenage years, I had seen strict curfews, civil strikes and hartals. I had seen busy roads suddenly becoming empty and normal life coming to a standstill. But I had never imagined that one day a disease could bring the whole world to a kind of curfew, what we came to call a lockdown.
I had seen and heard how a small bullet could take a human life, leaving behind blood and wounds. But I had never imagined that a microscopic virus could take countless lives without visible wounds or blood, often without anyone knowing how close the danger was. That was Covid. It came quietly, but it changed almost everything around us.
In the beginning, we watched the news about what was happening in other countries. We discussed it among ourselves, but somehow we did not imagine what was waiting for us. Then came the lockdown.
Srinagar suddenly looked different. Roads that were normally busy became empty. Shops were closed. Offices became deserted. Schools and colleges shut down. Public transport stopped and people stayed inside their homes. It was strange to see Srinagar so quiet. A city that was always full of movement had suddenly become still.
The masjids, which were normally full of people, had no people. The sight of empty masjids was something I had never seen before. Markets, which were usually crowded and full of activity, also became deserted. Family gatherings disappeared. There were no normal visits, no usual Eid gatherings and no sitting together with relatives as we had always done. Nobody knew who could be carrying the virus. We were told to keep a distance of six feet. Even shaking hands, which had always been a normal way of greeting someone, became something to avoid. Instead, people started bumping their fists. A simple cough or cold could make people suspicious. If somebody sniffed, coughed or had fever, people immediately became alert. It could have been an ordinary cold, but during those days the first thought was Covid. Even a guest coming to the house was quietly watched for any sign of illness. Nobody wanted to be rude, but the fear was there. Covid had entered our minds even before it entered many homes.
One thing became clear during those days: the virus made no distinction. It did not matter whether a person was rich or poor. Everyone was vulnerable.
Entry into and exit from Jammu and Kashmir were restricted. Those arriving in Kashmir had to undergo Covid tests at designated testing centres, including the airport and the Tourist Reception Centre. Those who tested positive were shifted to quarantine or Covid care facilities. Hotels and lodges that had once welcomed tourists were now being used as quarantine centres. It was a strange sight. People followed the number of cases and deaths every day. At the same time, rumours were everywhere. Someone would talk about ginger. Someone else would recommend cinnamon, herbs or some desi medicine. Different foods and drinks were suggested. Messages kept coming on mobile phones, with someone forwarding something and saying, “I have heard this is very effective.”
At that time, it was difficult to know what was true and what was not. There was so much fear and confusion that people were ready to believe almost anything that gave them a little hope.
There were also many theories about Covid itself. Some called it a game or a drama, while others talked about China and described it as a kind of war. Everyone seemed to have his own explanation.
With the passage of time, many of those claims and rumours turned out to be false or baseless. Covid, however, was very much a reality. We had seen it with our own eyes, in the empty streets, silent markets, hospitals, quarantine centres, the deaths, the fear and, for many families, in the illness of their own loved ones.
Mobile phones became our main means of communication. People spoke to relatives through calls and video calls because meeting in person was no longer easy. Even a haircut and beard trimming became a matter of concern. A barber sits very close to you. His hands, his trimmer and his instruments come near your face and head. Before Covid, none of us had thought about these things. Now we did.
At home antiseptic and disinfectant liquids became almost essential. We used them for cleaning many things. Anything coming from outside was looked at with suspicion. There were even people who would bathe with antiseptic liquids. We knew that these were not treatments for Covid, but those were unusual days. Somehow, using them gave people a feeling that they were doing something to protect themselves.
Doctors, paramedical staff, attendants and visitors had to follow Covid safety protocols. Along with face masks and gloves, full-body protective gowns were also used in hospitals and quarantine centres.
Soap also became a constant part of our daily routine. We carried it to workplaces, kept it in our vehicles and washed our hands again and again. It became one of the simplest ways in which we felt we were protecting ourselves. Slowly, some shops started opening again, but things were still not normal. Many shopkeepers kept their shutters half open. They wore masks and remained careful. Everywhere there was fear, so people were cautious about how and when they opened their shops. I remember one particular incident involving a barber. One day, I went to a nearby barber for a haircut. When I sat on the chair, he took his instruments and washed them properly with an antiseptic liquid. He cleaned everything carefully before starting the haircut.
I got my haircut and returned home. Soon after I reached home, a neighbour who had seen me at the salon came to my main gate and told me something that immediately worried me. The same barber had tested positive for Covid. He had been taken to a quarantine centre. For a moment, I became very worried. I had just sat on his chair. He had been very close to me. There was nothing I could do except wait. Alhamdulillah, I remained unaffected at that time. That incident stayed in my mind because it showed how uncertain those days were. You could take every safety measure and still not know what would happen next.
The offices were also completely different. Offices which had once been full of people became almost empty. Later, some officials started attending offices as part of essential duties. Masks and sanitizers became part of office life. Work had to continue despite the restrictions.
I was also deputed by my department as part of essential duty and kept at the disposal of the District Administration. I was assigned to a few hotels being used as quarantine centres. My responsibility was to look after the welfare of the people staying there and see that their day-to-day needs were taken care of. I had to see whether proper food, hygiene and medicines were being provided to them by the concerned departments.
The people staying there were away from their homes and families. Naturally, they had questions and worries. We had to remain available and make sure things were managed properly. We also listened to their concerns and forwarded them to the higher officers concerned.\ During the initial period, thousands of people travelling into Kashmir were kept under quarantine for fourteen days. Hotels and lodges were used as quarantine centres.
We were provided with special Covid emergency passes to be displayed on our vehicles, which enabled us to move freely despite the restrictions. Some of my colleagues were sent to the airport. Others were posted at the Tourist Reception Centre. Everyone had a different responsibility. The airport, the Tourist Reception Centre, hotels and quarantine centres had all become part of our working life. Then education changed. Schools and colleges remained closed and teaching shifted online. Before Covid, many families did not have smartphones or proper internet connections. Suddenly, children needed phones for their classes. Parents who had never thought of buying a smartphone for their children now had to arrange one. Some children had to share a phone with their brothers, sisters or parents. But studies continued as much as possible.
Some students studied seriously and made good use of those days. Some later did very well in their studies and careers. Others spent much of their time watching television, using mobile phones or simply gossiping. The same lockdown gave different children different experiences.
Television became another companion. Because new programmes could not be produced normally, old serials and programmes returned to our screens. Doordarshan telecast Ramayan and Mahabharat again, along with other popular old serials. Many people, like me, watched them with the same interest as they had years earlier. For some, it brought back memories of their childhood.
And then Covid entered my own life. Months later, I became a Covid victim. I tested positive. Thankfully, I did not require oxygen, but I was hospitalised for a day or two in the Covid ward at SKIMS, Soura. Even though my condition did not become serious, seeing the positive report was frightening. By then, the word Covid itself had become frightening. After that, I was quarantined in a room on the ground floor of our home. The door remained closed. I could not sit with my family or move freely around the house. I had to keep away from the people I loved.
But sometimes, through the small gaps near the door hinges, I could see my children. I could hear their voices. Sometimes I would get a glimpse of their faces. Those moments gave me great relief. I could not hold them. I could not sit beside them. But seeing them was enough. Even today, when I think about those days, this is the memory that comes back to me most strongly. A father sitting alone in a room, hearing his children’s voices outside and trying to see their faces through a small gap in the door. That was my Covid experience.
Then came vaccination. For many people, the vaccine brought hope. But even at that stage, rumours continued to circulate. Some people questioned the vaccine, while others spoke of serious consequences. Messages and claims kept moving from one mobile phone to another.
People gradually received their vaccine doses and began to feel that perhaps the worst was behind us.
Looking back, I also feel that the way the authorities handled such an unprecedented situation deserves to be remembered. From testing and quarantine to hospitals, vaccination and other arrangements. Alhamdulillah, the situation was eventually brought under control and life began to return to normal.
At that time, however, it had felt as if life had come to a halt. All of us wondered whether life would ever become normal again.
Would children return to schools? Would we visit relatives freely? Would markets become crowded again? Would we again enter a masjid and stand shoulder to shoulder with others without thinking about distance? These simple things had become a dream.
Then, gradually, things began to improve. Restrictions were removed. Shops opened properly. Offices became active. Schools and other activities resumed. People started meeting again. The masjids became active again. Markets slowly became crowded again. The distance that had once been kept between people gradually disappeared from our daily lives. Life returned, but it did not happen in one day. It came back gradually. When I look back, I see deserted roads, empty masjids, silent markets, half-open shop shutters, ambulance sirens, quarantine hotels, children attending classes on mobile phones and old serials returning to Doordarshan. I remember the barber cleaning his instruments and the shock of learning soon afterwards that he had tested positive. These small memories remain with me even today.
But among all these memories, one remains closest to my heart. My room on the ground floor. The closed door. My children outside. Their voices reaching me. And their faces appearing through that small gap near the door hinges. Those were difficult days. We did not know how long they would last. We did not know when life would return to normal. But it did.
Perhaps that is how I will always remember Covid, not only as a pandemic or a period of lockdown, but as a time when I understood the value of the simplest things in life.
Syed Majid Gilani is a Storyteller, Opinion Writer and Government Officer. He writes on family, faith, betrayal, resilience and moral values. He can be contacted at [email protected].
When Life Came to a Halt My Memories of the Covid Days
By: Syed Majid Gilani
