Hold on to That Rage

Are we counting the deaths from indifference and infrastructural failure?

Source: Financial Times

This morning began in much the same manner as the last twenty. Retweets, forwards, oxygen, beds, medicine. I spilled some of my coffee because I was scrolling through my Twitter feed while pouring.

The Evernote page I am writing this on is given only half my screen's width. A Google Doc link with nationwide resources takes up the other half. 

WhatsApp shows no new notifications. Thankfully.

By all measures, I am having a peaceful morning. I will finish this cup of coffee and brew myself another one. Spotify is playing a mix of Brian Eno and Olafur Arnalds. NewYorker has sent out this morning's recommendations to my email; I'll get to them in some time.

This cocoon of peace will soon be engulfed by fear and rage. Twitter will bring me stories I never thought I would have to read; someone on the office Slack channel will plead for ICU beds. 

Yesterday, two of Delhi's biggest hospitals announced an alarming shortage of oxygen. On Google Maps, you can find them somewhere between Rajpath and Ferozeshah Kotla.

One of my favourite people in the world, an uncle I look up to, is in an ICU ward, unable to recognise his family. He suffered a stroke last week, hours after losing his mother to covid. I had spoken to him in the days before. Barring a vulnerable age, there was nothing too alarming about his mum. Mild symptoms, which he was confident can be dealt with through access to good hospitals and general healthcare. 

He was let down by the medical infrastructure when he needed it the most. We are privileged, and yet, our privilege counts for nothing. In these deeply political times, I should be writing that sentence with some sort of joy, but I write with fear instead. If Delhi is suffocated, can you imagine what Gorakhpur must feel like?

Grief is the easier demon to deal with. You can explain illness and injury to yourself. Over time, you might find closure. How do you explain not finding a hospital bed or an oxygen cylinder from the most affluent corner of Delhi? 

Uncle will recover. Most of us will. We will deal with all of our grief and gloom, and come out in the sunlight, ready to walk again. Some of us will take longer than others; some might need lifting. But, every day, we will try a little harder to fill the void in our life left by a raging virus and an inhumane government.

And when the time comes to judge the people who control the country, I hope enough of us can access the rage within us. We should remember the words of our Union Health Minister and Solicitor General when they were asked about breathable air. We should remember what our head of state said in a conference call when the Chief Minister of his capital, the city he lives in, asked him for increased supplies. 

We should never forget that people were arrested for asking others for help on a public forum. That could have been us. We should never forget the lifeless bodies lying in hospital alleys because there weren't enough spare beds; or the burning pyres, placed in close concentric circles for lack of space.

I hope we can hold on to every ounce of this rage. Maybe in 2024, or maybe another five years down the line. We will get our chance.

Amit Varma @amitvarma

Along with the grief, there is anger. I hope we can stop grieving one day. And I hope we never lose this anger. Those who allowed this to happen, who made it *worse*, must be held accountable.

History of India @RealHistoryPic

*So Beartbreaking* https://t.co/wuSc7opn8f

**

For the last two days, I have been trying to register myself for the covid vaccination. Most times, the site doesn't allow me to log in. On the odd occasion that it does, there are no slots around my locality for people below 45. Twitter tells me that this is a pan-India problem. The above-18 vaccination drive, scheduled to begin yesterday, does not have the stock to support India's adult population.

The Union Health Minister has already declared this drive a success. He cited the traffic on the website as a key metric. Number of OTPs generated, API hits, the works.

So symbolic. All that fanfare, all that chest-beating, but a framework made of feather. Maybe, in time, we will have to plead on Twitter for jabs. What was the word? Oh yes, aatmanirbhar.