By Mushtaque B Barq
Realistically introspection is to divine wisdom what dear provision is to a ragged beggar. This impas-sioned declaration may infuriate many, but it may undoubtedly stimulate an effective retort. Peeping down the functional prototypes that mortals inevitably have wished-for, an innocent victim is on for unbosoming the oppressive yoke of yore. He is forced to scrutinize what ravenous man vainly offers to his fellow being. On a serious note only a harsh reality, premeditated ignorance and unbridled lust for political authority is abundantly all that has wrecked the vertebral column of a common man. The bio-logical war – an illegitimate baby of morally degraded partners has pushed one and all behind the win-dow panes. The Novel Corona pandemic actively represents a discovered bug that has compromised survival. Lockdown is promptly a new antidote that in mutual reciprocity has typically reduced a mod-ern man to a mere insignificant but pulsating creature longing for lasting peace. This lethal infection has carelessly carved a man devoid of sacrificial love and fellow feeling out of Adam, an authentic replica of unconditional love and care. Life had never taken such an ugly turn wherein, a man within his own ter-ritory found himself forcibly locked. A man within the four walls of his room turned to be an alien. Fear and frustration on one hand and lack of human companion on the other hand were now out of the profound abyss up-and-coming like nightmares hitherto unheard of.
Both family and professional life have radically been worst hit; however, the other side of the quaran-tine coin is not at all adverse. You suddenly start to realize belatedly that mere earning alone cannot propel the loaded ship, but a due care and social concern at the time of a catastrophe is what enriches the family bonds. From kitchen to your own study, you discover a new world, wherein self-help and mutual cooperation eggs on better living. The developed world has instantly taken an inexplicable turn; no one is certain where we are heading for_ the worst blank life or to the dead end of the world. For the first time I realised that a man at the time of adversities must not pull the quilt over his head to shut his eyes and roam in the realms of ether. No, then and there , a needle of responsibility pricked my conscience and I immediately called my friends. Friends are indeed a source you rely on. After initial hiccups and if and if nots, hows and whys, we set up a kind of relief committee. All was set, we contributed and purchased whatever we could. I hardly carry my cup from drawing room to my kitchen and here I was out to fetch rice and other provision. I felt so low for the reason that might at times be required at home, but how simply I would ignore, troubling others and above all making my presence just as nightmare. After fetching provisions from grocery store, I realise how many things make our kitchen to go. Even a toothpick seemed important not to talk of ffod items. After a lot of ar-gument, the list was marked. Packing indeed thrilled us for every one of us realized how many things a man needs to survive in life apart from inhale and exhale. Whatever we would pack, something more crucial would ass up in our list that was dropping its head too freely. This movement at times would break our spine for we had to plan within the budget we had. Human demands are uncountable but under the situations wherein, the sources are like a beggar wearing a tattered coat and plastic sandals, one is left with only one option to shut the eyes and carry on. In order to meet the demands of a man in stress, a list after a lot of erasing and editing was prepared and it was approved by many family heads before it was implemented.
From Baghwanpura Lalbazar we were able to track a man who helped us in arranging rice bags against the cash. A loadcarrier full of rice bags and we three all standing on the bags seemed to me for a mi-nute or so such an inexpicable experience hard to find words to mention in personal journal. The ego was an icicle seeping through the soles, there was hardly any sign of humiliation on our faces, it was a moment we all enjoyed. We unloaded the stuff and stored it at a place that was easily accessible. Eve-ry time you put a load on your shoulder, you would feel like something bigger in your frame. How im-portant it is to leave behind you the craze of your profession, the grandmotherly airs of your being important. Something was constantly reverberating in the recesses of my consciousness and when I peeped down my own mazes, I found a clear voice, a soothing song and a reasonable silence guiding me to read: Suffering creates a man out of you. I realised how vital it was to learn from troubles we undergo, how valuable it is to value others and above all how good it is to serve the human race.
From China to USA on one hand and Italy , Iran and India on the other hand, a common man has no choice but to raise his wishful eyes in the unclouded sky for his life has been forcibly taken on a ride. The need was same, so after we put a kind of poster on social networking, phones started to bark loudly and we could sense we are needed. Just after delivering the food packets, life seemed mean-ingless. Meaningless in a sense, the demand was beyond our feeble frames. Lack of resources slowed our pace, and there was only one option to carry on and that was seeking donations. Initially no one came forward for the reason we had not made the distribution process public and this proved against us. People started to raise eyebrows, they started to ask too much. There was a lot of bad air around us, but a few of my college friends rescued the boat and they joined in. A person from Dalgate buzzed one day, the caller introduced himself as a social activist. He asked for a bundle of masks. After getting a nod from one of MY friends, the so called social activist started to dictate terms. His terms were like typical wane paneji ( A projection on the shop side) trash, irrational and illogical . I usually don’t lose my cool for some obvious reasons, but then working against my habits, I sealed his mouth once for all. People generally believe that they have better ideas when they are sitting either under the ceiling fan or air conditioned rooms or sipping black coffee under the canopy of lavishness. A worker who at the cost of his life relies only on the Lord’s mercy knows only how challenging it is to enter into Red Zones and deliver. Every time we would deliver , we had two options: One to stay in quarantine or to take risk of infecting the family members. Even protocols and procedures at times won’t work when you are needed badly. Preferably I was trying my best to maintain social distancing, yet at times the de-mands were so unbearable that you forget infection and you hug a needy one without knowing his history. There was a cry, people would love to acknowledge your efforts but they were never ready to include you in their families. Man v/s man , man v/s provision, man v/s virus were the conflicts a com-mon man was fighting against.
Government played its considerable part by promptly announcing ‘Janata Curfew’ followed by lock-down. Social distancing, something which we had hardly given a damn before this pandemic all of a sudden proved to be the only alternative. “Operation Kouch”, and likewise, programmes have been implemented to save the precious lives. From local and National Channels awareness programmes, debates and directives have reached down to the slums to address the lesser gods as well.
The self-styled quarantine is in no way a choice to live, but there is no other on hand. Time and tide wait for none, better is to work at home for at least the effective communication in the critical times act as jugular vein. One may think thousands before coming close to the one claimed to be lov-ing, but one can certainly not afford to detach concern from his heart for human being have one thing in common that is the pain which is equipped with a cohesive force that binds people.
Mushtaq B.Barq is a Columnist, Poet and Fiction Writer. He is the author of “Feeble prisoner, “ Wings of Love” and many translation works are credited to the author like “ Verses Of Wahab Khar” and “ Songs Of Sochkral”