Covid Time, The First Letter

Dear Whoever You Are,

People sometimes tell me how their words dry up when they go to put them in writing. I’ve always thought of myself as an exception. I mean, I can make up a story and write thousands of words about imaginary people and places. But when it comes to writing about me, it’s a whole lot harder. I keep asking myself who would want to know about this, or that? And so the words dry up.

Today, however, I’m going to push on despite a nasty inner voice that’s telling me, right now …

‘If you don’t have anything important to say, don’t say anything at all.’

To tell the truth, Mr Authoritative Voice, I don’t know if this is important or not. But I’m going to write it anyway.

Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve been having online conversations with an Indian friend. Prime Minister Modi has put the whole country into a 21-day lockdown. Millions have instantly lost their livelihoods, and the poorest of these are accustomed to eking out their daily livelihoods on the streets. Now, suddenly, they’re supposed to be inside and isolating. With train and bus services drastically reduced, hundreds of thousands of people have been forced to walk back to their villages of origin in hope of sustaining themselves there. You can imagine the health risks.

My friend, who lives in a normally crowded, bustling city, is worried for the poor. He says he’s okay himself, with enough supplies and enough money for the time being. He’s a hockey tragic but of course he can’t play at the moment. Instead he does exercises and, when those get too boring, he dances. He sent me a video of himself, alone in his apartment, doing a Punjabi folk dance. I showed it to my fascinated grandkids and told them how Sikh men never cut their hair. They tactfully pointed out that I don’t have any.

Another friend is American. He lives in a small city in Arizona, just a hop step and jump from the Mexican border. Trump wall country. He coaches a youth basketball team, a mix of kids from immigrant families working the local farms, First Nation kids, all on the lowest rung of the ladder. His team made the final but was beaten by the bigger, fitter, stronger, richer team from the local military base.

He tells about his neighbour’s arsenal, which contains nearly fifty weapons. Fifty weapons for one household! Of course it includes semiautomatics–weapons of war. My friend is a big guy but he has no guns. His gun-totin’ neighbour says if things get too bad with Covid 19, he’s going to drive out into the desert and use his firepower to defend himself. Good luck with that. If you see a pandemic, shoot it!

Yours sincerely,

Graeme