Living Virally

WHO WOULD HAVE imagined that people would ask each other if they’ve had it or been tested or how was it? There is a new post-Covid lexicon. Even autocorrects don’t bother correcting corona or Covid: that’s how deep this whole viral business has become. But what it has also unleashed is the new world order of living virally.

Simply put, you no longer share photographs of the food you’re having or the holiday you are on or, for that matter, some ugly wedding you’ve attended. You also now share your test reports, your vaccination certificates and your daily temperature. Such is life. Fear and amusement now co-exist. You almost have to hide under a rock if you sneeze or justify for hours that you have a smoker’s cough and not one inspired by a Chinese virus. Health has become an intrusive domain. Everyone wants to know every minute detail. Covid has produced more medical experts than the advent of medical science, and what I find truly alarming is how they take themselves seriously, and how they are taken seriously. I must have proffered at least 17 types of remedies ranging from preventive care to helping you tide through Covid, and so on.

It must also be said that Covid has not just been a destroyer of health: it has also been a destructive force for those on holiday. There are internecine wars between the masked and unmasked. I know of a has-been actress, now settled in placid Goa, who has made it her life’s mission to remain unvaccinated and people have (rightly so) gone into overdrive to ensure she’s a social pariah. Then there’s of course the whole army of people who would otherwise have been in Phuket, but are now marauding fine hotels in India. Having had Covid or not had it yet makes them feel immortal: they are adept at selfies on cliffs or with their faces almost falling into their finger bowls. Covid has made man feel vulnerable and immortal almost at the same time. Even death has been mocked.

We are no longer happy knowing someone who lived his or her full life is now dead at 96. The verbal post-mortem includes an assessment of their Covid history, and so on. Living virally has also been licentious in parts. I know of many rich louts who have used the pandemic to not just stop paying their staff but also getting rid of them.

People with mistresses have been suicidal since they can’t leave home and pretend that they are on tour. After aeons, people have found out the true worth of their spouses: you need to be on at least four Zoom calls daily to be considered worthy and relevant. Zoom is the new Monte Carlo

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It has also been a testing time for risk-takers. People with mistresses have been suicidal since they can’t leave home and pretend that they are on tour. After aeons, people have found out the true worth of their spouses: you need to be on at least four Zoom calls daily to be considered worthy and relevant. Zoom is the new Monte Carlo. Many use backgrounds which are ostentatious even though they may be connecting from a hovel. Living virally has made us live virtually too. Many are scurrying to do up their homes since the Jones’ have better homes than them. Folks who use bedsheets as tablecloths have now got to know the difference. Many are re-engaging with cutlery. And suddenly, the home is where the heart and guests are. Thanks to the stupid people running governments, the rules for dining out are so cumbersome that it’s best to play ignorant and remain at home.

What has been the biggest revelation is the fact that we hardly have too many friends. Which, by the way, is a good thing. Social wastage is down like never before. The dipstick test is to see how many people you’ve been in touch with since the pandemic. This has helped people in myriad ways. The futility of having been in touch with so many people has now dawned on all of us. I guess we had more friends than we needed. Or perhaps we assumed all our acquaintances were our friends and, thankfully, that is not the case.

But then the single biggest contribution of the Chinese virus to global society has been the right of polite refusal. You can cry off from dinners by gently letting the host know that you’ve been nursing a cough and would not like to infect people. The host’s reply, with alacrity, will tell you how really dispensable you are. And it’s the same behavioural pattern in public places: if you don’t want someone to invade your space, just develop a cough and see how far they run.

In some ways, Covid is now the new caste.

About The Author

Suhel Seth

Suhel Seth is Managing Partner of Counselage India and can be reached at suhel@counselage.com

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