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chantalkrcmar · 3 years

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India Receding…Further and Further

29 April 2021

As western news outlets catch on more and more to the enormous COVID tragedy unfolding in India, more and more people here in the US are asking how our friends and family there are doing.

And what do I say?

The truth is almost unbearably hard.

My mother-in-law, Sudha Dave (Mummy to Rahul and me; Dadi to Anamika), died unexpectedly a couple days ago. Another COVID casualty. Because of COVID’s burden on India’s already patchy and weak healthcare system, Mummy did not get the medical care she needed. So, though she will not be counted in the official COVID statistics, COVID was a contributing factor. (A note about the Indian government’s official COVID stats: Do not trust them. Currently, they put the COVID fatalities at 200,000 — not even counting those who died victims of the failing healthcare system. Experts claim the fatalities directly from COVID are actually already one million.)

The advice most everyone in India is getting right now from medical professionals and the government is: do not go to the hospital unless you are at death’s door. The unspoken message is also: And even if you are at death’s door, do not come expecting to get the care you need. Maybe you’ll be lucky, and maybe you won’t. Well, our family doctor gave my in-laws that advice when Mummy started having breathing trouble and low oxygen levels. My mother-in-law and father-in-law knew she was not well, but they thought she must be stable. Her doctor probably knew, but my in-laws did not know she was actually on death’s door. So once they brought her to the hospital, she went into cardiac arrest and that was it.

So what do I say to well-intentioned folks who ask me about India now? To us, it’s not an abstract headline in the New York Times or a clip on NPR. It’s flesh and blood and lots and lots of tears.

Honestly, it’s been horribly hard to hear, “How are your friends and family in India?” when I can’t respond with a simple, “They’re safe and healthy. Thanks for asking.”

The real answer is more like “Absolutely horrible. My mother-in-law just died, ripping a huge hole in the fabric of our family. One that will take a good long time to mend. And one that right now is just goddamn painful. And almost everyone else we know is getting COVID, to boot. Thanks for asking.”

I’m not sure that’s what well-intentioned acquaintances want to hear.

My mother-in-law is gone, and with her, our experience of India is irrevocably and irreversibly changed forever. As I sit in the fog of grief, one of the many thoughts that keeps recurring is how much Mummy made India what it is to me. The first time I ever came to India, she met Rahul and me at the Mumbai International Airport with a gorgeous bouquet of flowers in hand. As she passed them to me, she said, “Welcome home.” Within minutes of getting to the apartment, we were sitting with hot cups of Ambubhai’s world famous chai in our hands. And so it began…At the time, I did not know how much India would become my second home. I came to find over time that Mummy was right. I was coming home.

Our family home in Mumbai will be so…quiet…next time we’re there. My mother-in-law was a presence to be reckoned with. She brought a lot of laughter and love and zaniness and, yes, sometimes exasperation, into our home. She and Anamika would paint together, and watch Paw Patrol in Hindi, and have epic battles of the will over how much aanda or dhal or bhindi or chapati Anamika would eat. Ultimately, though, my mother-in-law adored Anamika so much that…well, who do you think won their battles of the will? We all managed to live together through the world’s harshest lockdown without even fighting that much. Even while going through it, I knew how remarkable that was. Sure, there were annoyances, and sure there were some arguments, but we five adults and one four year old managed pretty well.

My mother-in-law was imperious, curious, quite adventurous — especially for a woman who was raised in a time in India when girls and women were expected to be nothing but docile and demur. Many, sadly, are still expected to be that way. She loved Anamika’s feistiness and self-assurance, probably partly because she saw parts of herself, and her aspirations for herself, in her little granddaughter.

Mummy’s death is having wide ripple effects. Anamika and I are grief stricken; Rahul is, of course, even more so. Ambu Uncle is a mess, too. On WhatsApp video calls, he looks so drained. Riaz Uncle, my in-laws’ driver who hasn’t really driven them anywhere all year but is still being paid (if only other Indians would be as fair and humane as my father-in-law) looked stricken when we spoke to him on WhatsApp too. My father-in-law called Riaz Uncle to come drive them to the hospital so Mummy could get a CT Scan and then drive them home. Nobody knew that it would be a one-way trip.

Tutuji and Hemanta are also so affected. When we called to tell them Mummy had died, Tutuji and Rahul both broke down and sobbed together. Tutu and Hemanta have stayed in our home in Mumbai with all of us many times over the years. Hemanta calls my in-laws Dada and Dadi, just like Anamika does. Over the past couple days, Hemanta has been calling us regularly. Our 11 year old foster son is acting so mature. He inquires, “Has Haathi Papa [Rahul] eaten lately? Is he sleeping enough?” Hemanta also called us in the middle of the night yesterday to report that he had called Ambu Uncle to check in on him and Dada. He is concerned about them too. “Dada has eaten cherries,” he solemnly told us. Hemanta’s care for them is so touching. Anamika has also been so attentive to Rahul. She’s been hugging him and holding his hand and stroking his head when he cries. She keeps saying, “Dadi was my Dadi.” And then she reluctantly follows with, “And she was yours, too, Papa.”

Now we all must mourn and celebrate Mummy together over WhatsApp. Rahul’s cousin Alka, mercifully, lives in Mumbai and is fully vaccinated. So she’s been helping my father-in-law navigate the bureaucratic hoops, and the emotional fallout, that follow death. Alka helped Rahul “attend” Mummy’s cremation through WhatsApp video. Because the COVID situation in India is such a nightmare, we cannot go there now. Many international flights to and from India are canceled anyway, and soon all will be. Rahul and I have not gotten our second dose of the vaccine yet either. My poor father-in-law can’t even have visitors right now. So he and Ambu field phone calls from friends and relatives, and then sit in their quiet home. A home that is stuffed with my mother-in-law’s being — her colorful sarees spilling out of one whole closet, her tiny bottles of shampoo, perfume, lotion everywhere. She had a funny habit of collecting small hotel toiletries from everywhere they traveled.

Anamika and Mummy painted together a lot during lockdown, but after we left India, my mother-in-law took her artwork to a new level. Using Anamika’s bedroom as her studio, she was constantly trying new techniques. She was waiting for our return so she could resume doing art with her favorite creative companion, Anamika. The fact that that day never did come is such a loss for her and for Anamika. Theirs was a bond that brought me such joy. My only surviving grandmother when I was a child was downright mean. So to see how much love my mother-in-law showered on Anamika was heartwarming. So that’s what a grandmother/granddaughter relationship is supposed to look like!

I never thought when we left India in September that we’d never see Mummy again. We knew that my in-laws were in a high risk category for COVID, but we also knew they were willing to be shut-ins until the pandemic was past and that Ambu Uncle would take excellent care of them. I think we overlooked the fact that the Indian healthcare system would totally collapse, leaving them at risk if anything else went wrong.

This post is obviously about my mother-in-law, but the grief over her death is being compounded by our stress and worries about others in India, too. I am not sure I can even appropriately convey how dire the situation in India is now. As I was writing this post, I got a message from Thresiamma, a friend who runs an NGO in Kerala, the south of India. She is 74 and she has COVID. She has taken a turn for the worse and was hospitalized. I hope she makes it out. But I am not too terribly hopeful. And Rahul’s good friend Ahmet who lives in Mumbai has told him that about 10% of his co-workers have died of COVID. His colleagues were not elderly — nor were they poor and unable to afford medical care. It’s just not available much of the time — no matter who you pay off. The Indian crony system has met its match during this pandemic.

Here’s a little taste of just how bad it is in India...

https://thewire.in/government/india-covid-19-government-crime-against-humanity

Right before the pandemic hit India, we took a little family vacation to one of our favorite travel destinations: Kodaikanal, a small town in the Western Ghat mountains in Tamil Nadu. Thank the gods we got there one last time. Who knew what was just around the corner?!

I snapped this photo of Anamika hamming it up with her Dadi and Dada in front of one of our favorite spots in Kodai: The Pastry Corner, a little hole-in-the-wall bakery with the most amazing South Indian filter coffee, delectable homemade ice cream and gooey pastries. The Pastry Corner is tiny; it’s grimy; the ice cream server’s nine fingers were always dirty. But we all loved it and made a daily pilgrimage down the road to share outdoor benches jam-packed with locals and sticky from all the treats customers had been dropping all day. Best. Place. Ever. (And, no, those coffee cups were not all ours. Just most of them were.)

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chantalkrcmar · 3 years

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India Receding

[I started crafting this blog on 14 April 2021.]

As our state of Maharashtra enters into a COVID curfew (which is essentially a lockdown — I just think politicians are afraid of using that word again), our hopes of moving back to India this summer are slipping more and more through our fingers.

The situation in India is dire. After a COVID lull during the winter, the COVID cases are again sky rocketing. Some health clinics previously doing vaccinations have stopped due to vaccine shortages. The central government is punting to the states to fund vaccines, which means prices will likely go up and be out of reach for people who are financially strapped. COVID variants are troubling and poorly understood. Schools, many of which just reopened, are shut again. Everyone is locked up again (unless, of course, they are attending massive rallies of un-masked, crammed-together crowds in support of BJP politicians). I worry deeply about the impact of these long lock-ups on children. My in-laws, who have been shut-ins for more than a year now, amaze me. How they have managed to keep their emotional and mental equilibrium is beyond me. As always, Ambhu Uncle is our family’s savior. My in-laws recently got their first dose of the vaccine, and are waiting eagerly for the second dose. But we still don’t know how effective the vaccine will be against the new vexing variants.

When we left India last September, we left thinking we’d be back in, oh, a half year or so. We assumed at the very least we’d be back for Anamika to start kindergarten at the school where she had been, American School of Bombay, at the beginning of August (when the school year starts in Mumbai). How naive we were. We left toys, books and clothes. Our bedrooms were frozen in time. Anamika’s artwork that I hung up all over her bedroom walls during our Lockdown days is still hanging (and there was a lot of it given how long we were locked up). Books and toys are collecting dust and mold (thanks to the relentless humidity there) waiting to be read and played with again. We had not left for good. And now…

Of course India will always be there. (Although in a few decades, there will literally be much less of India to go back to due to climate change related disasters. Many parts of Mumbai will be reclaimed by the Arabian Sea…I will refrain from going down that rabbit hole right now.) Of course we will go back for extended vacations once this COVID nightmare is over. But it is very hard for us to think about the possibility of uprooting our family once Anamika has started elementary school and I have started a job post-PhD (unless that job happens to be in India). We know families do move very far distances, and we may too again if the time is right. Mumbai is our second home, after all, so it would not be a leap into a complete unknown. But for now, living in India anytime soon is a distant dream.

It’s a loss. A real loss. So many people have lost so much this year, so I know we are not unique. So many people have lost way way way more than we have this year, so I should not complain. But I do mourn what could have been.

Somerville is a very good place to live, but there are aspects of Mumbai that are absolutely irreplaceable. We do not have Anamika’s adoring grandparents and Ambhu Uncle and Riaz Uncle right in our immediate orbit. We do not have our beloved Hemanta (better known as Haathi Baby) and Tutuji just an easy, inexpensive domestic flight away. We do not have the veg wallah’s cart stacked high with eggplants, okra, spinach, ginger, and other delectable fresh produce right outside our apartment building door. I cannot simply slip on my chappals (sandals) and skip down the steps, tote bag ready to be stuffed with his goodies. I can’t go down and ask for all those things in Hindi. (Sometimes when I go to our bland grocery store here, I name foods in Hindi in my head. Baingan. Bindhi. Palak. It’s just not the same as speaking the words — as laughably bad as my Hindi is.) We do not have — right in our apartment compound — the coconut wallah yelling, “Coconut panee (water)!” or the kela (banana) wallah carrying a huge basket of bananas on his head or the dudh (milk) wallah knocking on our door every morning to deliver our fresh milk packets along with his winning smile. We do not have jackfruit and mango and coconut trees towering over our parking lot. We do not have the ability to plan regular vacations with our family. Goa for a week all together? Kodaikanal? Temple towns or mountain towns? Not a possibility now.

While we are very lucky to be here where it is much safer in terms of COVID, India is still always on our minds. A few weeks ago, Anamika and I were playing on an outdoor basketball court at a local public school. There was an enormous map of the USA painted on the court. Anamika looked at it and asked, “Where’s India on this map?” I had to walk her over to the much smaller world map painted on another portion of the court to show her where it is in relation to where we currently are. If home is where the heart is (as the old saying goes), then our hearts are split into two.

(Permit me to vent for a quick moment about how Amero-centric even progressive Somerville is: the map of the USA at this public school should not be enormous compared to the rest of the world. It just goes to show how arrogant and self-centered we Americans are. I know people of other countries can be nationalistic too, but as one who has her feet in two different parts of the world, it particularly irks me. We should all know better — especially in a city like Somerville where so many families have recent roots in other countries.)

As in all things in life, this too shall pass (“this” being COVID and “this” also being mourning our current loss of India). As in all things in life, our life in Somerville and our life in Mumbai is a both/and — not an either/or. Both have plusses and minuses. Neither is perfect. We love both.

But for now, as Mumbai recedes away from our immediate grasp, I’ll just sit with the missing it. Our hearts will mend, I know. We will continue to get joy and solace from our community of Boston area friends, and the mountains, beaches and green spaces of New England. And when we do get to go back to India, I will eagerly welcome the wall of heat and humidity that hits us the instant we walk out of the stunning Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj International Airport in Mumbai. I will drink in the overwhelming bustle, noise and smells of our city. Dazed and tired from our 24 hour journey to get there, I will still have the presence of mind to be grateful to be…home.

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chantalkrcmar · 3 years

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Reflections on a Stroller

written on 17 November 2020

Today marks exactly two months since we returned to the US. Exactly two months of me mostly floating on Cloud 9. The difference between life in Mumbai and life in Massachusetts during this pandemic could not be more striking. Every single day I am grateful for the outdoor spaces, the beaches, the playgrounds, the campgrounds, the hiking trails, the support from friends. Every single day I am grateful that when we go out, most everyone we see is masked up. Every single day, I am grateful that I live in a state where masks are not a political hot potato and our state and local officials are taking this pandemic seriously.

But none of this means I have forgotten India. I love India. I loved our life there, pre-COVID. I loved the research I was doing. I loved all the adventures we took, all the traveling to different corners of such a fascinating country. But I carry sadness about the way that so many Indians — too many of them — have to live and struggle and barely make it. Their lives were ridiculously hard before the pandemic and now are almost unbearably so.

I know their struggles well. These are the people I spent hours talking to in bastis (slums), on construction sites, and at nakas (intersections where day laborers would wait in hopes of getting picked up for work on a construction site). I am now writing my dissertation, and the theoretical stuff that I am reading in service of this “scholarly” project makes no sense to me if I don’t see the faces of the women I spoke to, hear the laughter and screeches of the children running around the construction sites, smell the distinct (and distinctly awful) smells that waft through the narrow lanes in the slums.

“Theory - the seeing of patterns, showing the forest as well as the trees - theory can be a dew that rises from the earth and collects in the rain cloud and returns to earth over and over. But if it doesn’t smell of the earth, it isn’t good for the earth.”

(Rich, A., 2003, p. 31, in Lewis, R. Feminist Postcolonial Theory : A Reader)

It’s the memories of the children that are, for me, the most enduring.

On this two month anniversary of our having landed in Pandemic Paradise, I am reflecting on the people I left behind.

One of the memories that comes to me often, and which I have blogged about, is of a group of young children, filthy and wearing tattered clothes, whom I observed during an interview I was doing in the Belapur basti late last January. They were playing with an old broken stroller which had clearly been found on a trash heap somewhere. They careened around as I conducted one of the toughest interviews of my seven months in the field. Here’s what’s fascinating to me: Those children were happy. They were playing with a piece of trash, and they were gleeful. Children amaze me. I am not saying that just because they are happy playing with trash that all is fine in their world. These children also struggle with hunger and malnutrition, with access to medical care, with having a safe place to rest their heads at night. The world is in many ways an abusive place for them. Just because they laugh and play does not mean we can feel satisfied. But we also cannot take their laughter away from them.

It was during that interview that I spoke to a woman who does construction work when she can get it and sex work when she can’t. She has two teenaged sons, both of whom also do construction work. She never made it through school; neither did they. Did she come across as a bit bitter? Yes. Did she worry about feeding her family? Yes. Did she come across as downtrodden? No. Like so many of the children I met during my time in the field, so many of the women construction workers amazed me. They just kept on going. I don’t pity this construction worker/sex worker. She wanted no pity. A petite woman with a gentle face, she was anything but gentle. She came across as fierce and determined. Tenacious. It was so clear how much this woman was willing to do just to feed her kids. In fact, she had originally agreed to talk to me because she thought I had a job to give her. She still chose to speak to me even when I told her I had no job for her, but she was disappointed.

Not only am I thinking of my interactions with construction workers and their children while we lived in Mumbai, I am also thinking through what the past couple months have been like for them. What happened to those children in the Belapur basti who played with the stroller as dusk started to fall?

I have not been able to reach those children, specifically, but I can extrapolate from conversations I have had with NGO staff, industry officials, and some fantastic investigative journalism (which is harder and harder to do in India due to government strangle-holds on journalism). And what I know is that these children who often went to sleep hungry some nights every week before the pandemic, have now for eight months been likely to go to bed hungry every single night. They also have likely missed crucial vaccinations since India’s healthcare system is collapsing under the weight of COVID, and is not able to keep up with any routine medical care (let alone COVID). Their young lives, so circumscribed by the hurdles of poverty, illness, lack of schooling, and daily hardship, are now even more so.

So many of these children, along with their families, made the long journey back to their native places in the earlier stages of the pandemic — hundreds of kilometers from Mumbai to villages in Karnataka, Andra Pradesh, the far reaches of Maharashtra. The youngest ones were alternately carried on their parents’ backs and necks, and cajoled into walking alongside them. The “older” ones (like, say, ten years old) were forced to walk the whole way. Many of these migrant day laborers said they’d rather starve with their families and communities in their home villages than starve in the city that they built — and that turned its back on them. Thank you very much for your sweat, blood and tears, migrant laborers! Thank you for making our city a global phenomenon! Now don’t bother us while you claw your way through COVID-19.

And now many of these families are returning to the cities. As they felt they had no choice to go back to their native places earlier during the pandemic, they now feel they have no choice but to go back to the cities in hopes of finding work again. COVID-19 is still burning a hole through many cities in India, including Mumbai. It is still not safe. Jobs are still relatively scarce. But they’re starving. What choice do they have?

Where will the children go? Some of them will be left behind in the village with grandparents or neighbors if they are capable of caring for them. Many will go back to the cities with their parents.

For an article about this very phenomenon, read:

https://scroll.in/article/977275/why-indias-migrant-workers-are-returning-to-the-cities-they-fled-during-the-covid-19-lockdown

That broken-down filthy stroller, that toy for the children in the slum, seems like such a crazy, apt metaphor right now. Back and forth, back and forth. The wheels were falling off, but it kept bumping down the slum lane. And like that stroller, these hard-working, tenacious, tough, desperately poor people just keep going. They go back and forth, back and forth, from city to village and back again. On the move. Slightly broken, and battered, but never stopping. Just like that old beat-up stroller.

What is heartening — and so humbling — is that in the midst of all the beaten-up-ness, the children find joy. And the adults find purpose. The stroller keeps wheeling; the laughter keeps coming. The resolve is strong and fierce. But, of course, that’s not enough. By god, not even close. Their laughter should be the clarion call.

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chantalkrcmar · 3 years

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New England: The Gift That Keeps Giving

written on 19 October 2020

Right after our four week anniversary of being back in the US, we went camping for the weekend on Cape Cod with dear friends. It was the last weekend Nickerson State Park in Brewster was open for the year…What a way to end the camping season! It was just one of those idyllic weekends: sun-drenched and stunning.

Here Anamika and her bestie Sophie “help” Rahul put up our tent...

Saturday night through Sunday morning was COLD. We kept a fire going all Saturday evening til we escaped into our tents, and then re-built a fire on Sunday morning to ward off the chill. The night sky was littered with stars. An owl hooted us to sleep. Pretty darn near perfect.

Anamika burrowed into her sleeping bag and slept like a champ. Despite that, she looked pretty sleepy upon waking on Sunday morning...

There was so much natural beauty. Here are a few pics from a hike we took in Monomoy Wildlife Refuge in Chatham...

And in front of the Chatham Lighthouse...

The last hour of our already-wonderful weekend was off-the-rockers great. As we were driving away from Chatham, we stopped to grab some food at an outdoor take-away seafood joint right on Chatham Harbor. Not only was the seafood scrumptious, we were treated to a surprise performance by a half dozen harbor seals while we waited for our food to be prepared. It was such an unexpected treat — one of those moments that stays with you for a good, long while. I don’t know who was more excited: Anamika or me. :-)

We had tried to eat outside on a picnic table but the seagulls were way too interested in our fare, so we had to escape to the car.

dining on raw oysters, COVID-style…

dining on fish and chips, COVID-style...

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chantalkrcmar · 3 years

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So This Is What Bland Looks Like

Before we returned from Mumbai to Somerville, my wonderful PhD advisor Tim kept warning me that I might experience reverse culture shock when we returned. I understood his concern since I did have a bad case of reverse culture shock when I got back from an extended stay in India in 2012-13. But the circumstances then were so very different. As I wrote to him in one of our many email exchanges over the summer, after our experience with lockdown in Mumbai, I was so looking forward to “bland.” And I could not have been more right.

This past Thursday marked four weeks since we returned from India. Though there are many things and people I miss about India, surviving there during COVID is not one of them. This last month has been, for me, a whole lotta bliss. Anamika and I have been outside almost every single day. New England has blessed us with perfect fall weather, and we are soaking it in. Until Anamika is in in-person preschool (hopefully starting in a few weeks), I’m taking advantage of the time we have. I feel like I’m running Mama’s Nature Camp!

Do I get the constant adrenaline rush that I got living and working in India? Nope. Is the peace and quiet of New England exactly what we need right now? Yup. Outside time, and time with our dear friends (even with all the wacky calculations we have to make seeing people now), has been a true joy.

On the topic of dear friends, I have to say that we struck gold in that category. As I wrote in a previous blog from India, friends and family were incredibly supportive during our quarantine shock. Then when we got back to the US, the support just kept coming. From a masked airport pickup, to toys and books and art supplies for Anamika, to groceries and yummy home-cooked meals and desserts dropped off on our porch, to the use of our friend’s car til we got one from my aunt and uncle, to a hand-me-down bike trailer for Anamika, to regular phone check-ins and emails...It’s been heartwarming, to say the least.

So here are some photo highlights from the last four weeks…

As soon as our COVID tests came back (negative!), we hit our neighborhood playground to celebrate. Apparently, jetlag hit us too. :-)

We were so excited to get some camping time in before the season was over. We started with a weekend at Tully Lake in MA with Anamika’s bestie Sophie and, oh yeah, Sophie’s parents. We adults are always incidental, as far as the kids are concerned. :-)

This was the view from our campsite...

It was unseasonably warm so we could take dips in the lake!

Anamika and I met another one of her favorite friends Ishaan and his mama and baby sister for a day at Crane’s Beach in Ipswich...

Anamika and Ishaan get into these deep conversations about the meaning of life, dinosaurs and other important topics...

Then on the way home, Anamika and I stopped at Russell Orchard to grab some cider donuts and a pumpkin. Fall in New England is not fall without cider donuts...

We had so much fun at Crane’s Beach that Anamika and I went back the following week to catch a bit more of the warm weather. While she was dancing, I was able to capture -- unbeknownst to her -- some of her glee...

One weekend, I decided to stay home and work on my dissertation while Rahul and Anamika went on a Papa/Daughter camping trip with Sophie and her dad. They came back with some killer good photos...

On another fantastically warm and sunny day, Anamika and I met with friends at Brooksby Farm for apple picking...

Last but certainly not least, we spent the long holiday weekend in Waterville Valley, NH with another one of Anamika’s faves, Anton, and his little brother Lars (and parents, of course -- those pesky accessories to the cute children). The weather, again, was glorious.

The kids were great little hikers...

The foliage and scenery were beautiful...

We even got to cool off (freeze our toes off) on a beautiful spot in the river...

Random pic to demonstrate that we parents made sure the kids did not get swept into the waterfalls...

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chantalkrcmar · 4 years

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Escape from India’s Pandemic Alcatraz

In 45 hours from now, our separate quarantines are over. Counting. The. Hours.

And -- thank the gods -- the time has been passing nicely this morning. Lots to make me laugh. Which makes these last 45 hours — indeed, many of the last 12 days — more manageable. Humor saves the day!

First, I was treated to watching Rahul cut Anamika’s bangs. It’s her facial expressions which I am so glad I caught on camera...

And then, Anamika and Rahul gave me a fashion show on WhatsApp. High Fashion reigns supreme in the Krcmar-Dave household…

And then I was messaging with a friend in Somerville who was brainstorming ways for me to escape quarantine. Of course, I am not going to do that, but I do appreciate his creativity! He wrote: “I can almost imagine the headlines in Sunday’s papers: ‘Failed Escape from India’s Pandemic Alcatraz.’”

I have an old recording of live music by the Indigo Girls. In one of their little chats between musical sets, one says, “You have to laugh at yourself sometimes because otherwise you’ll be crying your eyes out all the time.”

Couldn’t agree more.

I’ll end with a couple more random quarantine pics of Anamika. In this one, she had built a nest in her room (where else?) and Rahul just had to send me a photo of it...

And in this one, she had just come back to her room for a short, doctor-approved, masked, socially distant visit with her Dadi (who we have come to find during our long six months of confinement has hidden artistic talents, including pipe cleaner skills)...

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chantalkrcmar · 4 years

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Anamika’s Maturity

Sometimes the maturity these last six months, and especially these last (almost!) two weeks, have demanded of my 4.5 year old daughter breaks/warms my heart. Sometimes the maturity with which she has met these moments breaks/warms my heart.

I was just stepping out to use the toilet (an affair that requires me being masked, carrying sanitizing wipes so I touch as little as possible with my bare hands, and tons of sanitizing spray to douse all the surfaces I have not touched, or barely touched, but have breathed on through a mask), and I overheard Anamika (whom Rahul had let out of their quarantine for a short doctor-approved, masked, socially distant visit with the grandparents) say to her Dadi (Grandmother): “I can’t talk much [to you]; otherwise I might spread the virus.” I paused. It was the tone of her voice that made me catch my breath. My 4.5 year old said it with such seriousness — no whininess, no blame, no complaint. It’s clear she takes the need to protect her Dadi and Dada to heart.

Anamika is breaking/warming all the Krcmar-Dave hearts, I know. When I speak to my mother-in-law on the phone from my isolation room (which I have taken to calling “my cave”), she says this is worse for her than if we would be in America. She can’t see much of Anamika now and she feels so bad for her. At least when we’re in the US, she’ll miss Anamika terribly but feel better knowing that she’ll be having more fun and be out of harm’s way more than here.

And when we say out of harm’s way, we mean more of the psychological variety. We know Anamika would be fine physically in India or in the US. Thank god for that. If children were at high risk during this pandemic, I think everyone in my home here would have had a nervous breakdown. No exaggeration. It’s a testament to how deeply Anamika is loved, and how much of that love she gets every single day. To live here in the company of five adults who adore her beyond measure has been one of the greatest gifts of her young life so far. It’s that level of love and protection that have buffered her from damage that could come from such long-lasting confinement and upheaval (and I don’t mean of just these past two weeks).

As hard as it is going to be to leave her grandparents (at least for a while), I do feel so grateful that Anamika has this strong bond with them that makes leaving hard. I’m also grateful that we have a life in which we have deep connections that run across these 8000 miles between Mumbai and Boston.

It bears repeating over and over: Having a true home in two places is a true gift.

Here’s a pic of Anamika and her Dadi, taken before we were launched into quarantine…

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chantalkrcmar · 4 years

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Storms of Past and Present

Written last Sunday...

It’s a Sunday, and though in quarantine, all the days run into one another, I am trying to give myself a little weekend break. I’ll get to the dissertation in a bit, but for now, some sweet reminiscing…

My parents were/are adventurers. (When I speak of my parents, the verb tense is always a bit tricky since my father died 15 years go, hence “was”; but my mother is still very much alive, and “is.”) Both immigrants to the US, they have pretty dramatic stories about their migration experiences, which are totally different stories as they grew up on opposite ends of the globe and did not meet until they both were settled in New Jersey.

Because of my parents’ adventurous spirits, we took wild family vacations every summer. But because we were financially comfortable but not at all wealthy, we five kids and two parents had to vacation on a budget. We never took flights for vacation; we piled into our giant family van and drove up and down the east coast of the US. It was not uncommon for the Krcmar clan to hit the road for the 24 hour drive from Pennsylvania to Florida. (How my parents stayed sane in a van packed with five kids for 24 hours is beyond me.) We rarely stayed in hotels; we went on epic camping trips instead.

We often camped on beaches in the southeastern part of the US during summertime. The heat and bugs were epic, as were the thunderstorms. (Why camp there at that time? you may reasonably ask. My mother grew up in the tropics and LOVES being hot. In fact, her body does not register heat; she’s always -- even during heat waves -- slightly or terribly cold.) All seven of us shared an enormous, and enormously heavy, canvas tent. Countless nights when our tent was pitched on some gorgeous white sand beach with the ocean just over the dunes from our tent, a massive thunderstorm would roll in and just level us. We’d wake up in the middle of the night with the tent completely collapsed on top of us, soaked to the bone, struggle to find the tent “doorway” and then run through the lashing rain and wind to the family van which was never parked all that close. My parents preferred walk-in campsites. Once in the van, we usually had one wet towel that someone had carelessly thrown in the van to share amongst the seven of us for the remainder of the night.

Well, life has a habit of repeating itself. This summer, Anamika and I had our own adventure during a torrential monsoon downpour while we were on Juhu Beach (doing one of our early morning jaunts before having to run from the cops). While we built a sand castle, the storm clouds kept piling up, but Anamika kept telling me it would not rain. (Why did I believe my 4.5 year old’s weather assessment?!) And, quite frankly, I was not keen on leaving either. For once, the police were not roaming, so it was peaceful. (In hindsight, I now know it’s because they must have had a sense of how big the approaching storm would be. The beach had also emptied out of other beach walkers.)

[Notice the conspicuous absence of Mumbai police -- or anybody else, for that matter...]

[Anamika and I had been building a moat for our sand castle right before the storm hit. The next day, Anamika asked if we could go back and check how the moat had held up in the storm. :-) ]

Once the skies opened up, we had no choice but to make a run for it. Anamika made a valiant attempt to run through the sand which had quickly turned into quicksand. I finally had to scoop her up, though, and carry her very slippery, not-so-light-anymore body, along with all our sand toys, and make a run for the road. Like my parents, I love hiking. So I had insisted that we walk a way down the beach before settling down to build our sand castle! It took a while to get off the beach, and then even longer to hail a rickshaw. (I think many had stopped operating until the storm passed.) When we finally did get one, we huddled together in it, continuing to get soaked for the thirty minute ride home. We were certainly in no danger, but it was a cold, shivery, long ride. Even summer temps here can dip during huge storms — and it can feel even colder when you are zipping at high speeds in a storm in an open rickshaw.

Anyway…this dash from a torrential monsoon downpour with Anamika is such a sweet memory, as are many of the storms that leveled us when I was a kid. I often joke that, given how rough some of our camping expeditions were when we were young, it’s amazing that we Krcmar siblings still love to camp, amongst other outdoor pursuits. Wonders never cease... :-)

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chantalkrcmar · 4 years

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Corruption, Dysfunction and the Social Contract

Here’s a rambling reflection on corruption, dysfunction and lack of social contract. Yes, I know it needs a lot more development and editing, but I have to spend more time on my dissertation now… :-)

I have been pondering what it means to live in a country where there is almost no social contract, where corruption is a part of daily life, where dysfunction can become debilitating. Living in India gives me a window into such darker sides of life. My family’s current quarantine and house arrest fiasco is a painful illustration. I know the US is very high in dysfunction in many states, but when I am in the US, I don’t live in one of those states. I live in Massachusetts, a functional state with a functional government with shared public goods and a shared common purpose and a general disdain for corruption. Is Massachusetts perfect? No. But is Massachusetts way better than, say, Mumbai? Hell yeah.

Take an innocuous example: playgrounds. They are ubiquitous in Somerville. I knew how lucky we were when we were living in Somerville that we had our pick of so many clean, well-maintained, open playgrounds. I could ask Anamika if she wanted to go to the one with the splash pad, or the sand pit, or the water features, or the one closest to our home, or… How spoiled were we? In Mumbai, even under the best of circumstances, it’s hard to do playground time. There are not many to begin with; the vast majority are closed for the vast majority of the day, and some are just too unsanitary to use. (We are ok with a high level of filth, but I have not been willing to, say, go back to the one where there smack-dab in the middle of the playground was a dead rotting rat for the kids to run around.) Does a lack of playgrounds make for a life and death situation? No. Does it affect quality of life? Yes. Ask any parent of a young child. So rich people pay to go to play spaces, or live in luxury high-rises that have their own playgrounds. Heck, we’re not rich but Anamika’s school had its own playgrounds, too. Lower middle class and poor people here just don’t have much access to playgrounds.

What do public playgrounds have to do with other more serious issues? A lot. If a country does not value or respect public goods, the commons, a social contract, whatever you want to call it, (as evidenced by lack of playgrounds), then it makes dealing with huge social problems, like a pandemic in this case, almost impossible. Effectively fighting COVID-19 needs public buy-in, something that is hard to come by in a country like India (or a country like Texas, for that matter :-) ). Public playgrounds are not a life and death matter. But public health crises are, and the dysfunction, corruption and lack of social contract during this COVID crisis is a killer (literal and figurative).

If I am truly COVID positive, then it’s likely because the COVID case numbers are so high in Mumbai (even higher than recorded, and the recorded number is high) that it’s almost impossible not to get it. Experts estimate that possibly up to 80% of Mumbaikers are running around asymptomatic. Even with keeping expeditions outside of our apartment to a minimum, the odds are against us. There is this fascinating theory, by the way, about why Indian COVID fatalities are lower, and asymptomatic numbers are higher, than the case numbers would normally be in other countries. People do die here from COVID; people do get very sick and require hospitalization. But it’s not the blood bath that it could be. And young demographics is not the only reason. The theory is there is a high rate of cross-reactivity amongst Indians, meaning that there are so many other viruses that people are exposed to here that it kind of cancels out the worst impacts of COVID.

I digress…

Not a single Indian I have spoken to since I got my initial positive result — not a single one — thinks this is accurate. They all either question accuracy of tests here in India, or question the possibility of corruption at some level, or both. They also think the way the BMC is handling this case is preposterous. When I messaged my Indian friends that my retest came back negative, they were not at all surprised. Indeed, like the rest of us, they were shocked when my first test came back positive. What many of them have told me will forever be seared in my brain: that rumors are out that folks get paid for positive test results. So they are convinced that I’ve been caught up in some corrupt game. Who gets paid? Who does the paying? Why exactly would they pay for positive results (other than to keep employment for those whose job it is to do tests, sanitize in red zones, etc)?

But none of that is the point. The point is that Indians do not trust their government (state or central) or any other powerful entities. Not one iota. Nor do they trust each other. Not one iota. And this is just one of many dramatic examples. So if Indians are being careless about this pandemic, it’s likely because they think the government and other powers-that-be have been lying to us…about how to prevent it, about how many cases there are, about how many fatalities there are, about how effectively they can manage it.

(Keralites are the major exception. They tend to trust their state government — though not the central government. But Kerala does not feel like or operate like most of the rest of India, so we’ll keep them out of the equation for now.)

It’s not reality that motivates people’s behavior; it’s people’s perceptions of reality (largely shaped by friends, family, media, what have you) that makes them behave the way they do. In Sociology it’s called “Thomas Theorem” which in short is that “if men define situations as real, they are real in their consequences” (Thomas and Thomas, The child in America, Knopf, Oxford, 1928, p. 572). We discussed it in the Intro Sociology classes I used to teach.

It’s remarkable, really. For a country that is known for being so much more community-oriented, and less individualistic, than the US, there really is no social contract, public goods, trust beyond the family unit. I think it comes down to this: people in India are known for being less individualistic because the norms are such that family duty and relationships are the biggest priority. Not one’s individual pursuits. Witness the number of multi-generational families that live together here (ours included), or the pressures to “keep the family together” even if there is domestic violence and other awful stuff. When it comes to family, many Indians do operate as if they are mafia members. Looking out for one another, taking bullets for one another, being obligated to one another.

But that’s where it ends. There is no sense of duty or obligation or even connection to the commons. I chalk this up to the utter lack of trust here, which I chalk up to the utter lack of care and downright abuse by the colonizing government, and since then many Indian governments and other powerful authorities. It really is the Wild West here. You are on your own. As a result, so many folks here are on the make. Why not do corrupt, unethical things if you don’t care about others, and all you want to do is take care of your own family? And why not —especially if you are convinced everyone else, government included, is out to screw you? Why not make an extra buck by reporting a negative COVID test as positive?

This plays out in so many various ways. But I’ll start with one: Further dividing the haves and the have-nots. Wealthy people build their own private fiefdoms so they do not need anything from the commons anyway. They have their own doctors, hospitals, schools, outdoor spaces, play spaces, transportation (including personal jets), staff for everything you could imagine…and the not-so-wealthy just cobble together what they can. It is similar in the US, but it’s just much more amplified here. The inequities here are more staggering, the poverty so much more rampant, and the population size is just so damn enormous. I have seen this dynamic in the poorest of slums and the wealthiest of locales in Mumbai. I have had the privilege of being in the harshest of neighborhoods here, as well as some of the most luxurious of high-rises. I truly have seen it all.

And how does this play out in the pandemic? Well, I see it in the lack of face mask wearing. It’s not a political statement here as it is in the US. As in, it’s not that people choose to mask up or not depending on which political party they support. But many people here don’t wear face masks because some of them are too lazy but some of them, I am now convinced, think it’s all hogwash. Lots and lots and lots of closet conspiracy theorists here, as well as folks who trust their priest, guru, whomever, more than the government (any government). And sometimes, by the way, those priests tell people to do wacky things like drink cow’s urine as a prevention against COVID.

My first COVID test was positive and it’s inexplicable. It may have been an honest error in the diagnostics, or I may have been positive but just barely over the threshold which means not contagious. But when Indians think test results are tainted by a racket of people trying to make a buck (and, yes, there actually have been some news reports — accurate or not — about this), we have a huge problem on our hands. People are less likely to get tested since they won’t trust the results. They are less likely to take precautions even if having symptoms since they don’t trust the public health messages here (not that there have been many — India is an Information Desert). It also does not help at all that COVID stigma is so real here. The Sign of Shame the Bombay Municipal Corporation (BMC) hung outside our apartment is a perfect example. I know that whenever our apartment is unsealed, and we can at least go down into the parking lot, neighbors will steer clear. The security guards will too. And I don’t mean just the six feet of social distancing that this pandemic requires. I have been marked as a carrier of the plague. And that’s the end of the story.

So why would anyone want to put themselves through this if they have the choice? I am convinced that there are tons of folks running around with symptoms but who refuse to get tested. I will leave Mumbai at least for some time when this mess is behind us so it does not matter to me how my neighbors here treat me. But if one has to stay here and is treated like a pariah after the BMC is done with its public shaming campaign, I can understand the reluctance.

And now we can see what this has to do with poor laborers’ decisions during lockdown. Journalists who were doing in-depth investigative reporting were showing that daily wage earners had completely lost any faith that they had (which was little to begin with) in the government, so they were taking their lives into their own hands. When the central government issued the world’s harshest lockdown, and then promised an entire month later (ooops. forgot about those millions of folks!) to take care of the poor migrant laborers literally starving through lockdown, no one believed them. So they took to the highways to make their ways back to the only entities they could trust: their families. Whether or not the government would actually start caring for its citizens (and it hasn’t; the policy failures in general here, and now during COVID, are mind-boggling) was beside the point. No one trusted they would. Thomas Theorem in action.

And when the government issues any new safety laws (workplace safety, road safety, you name it), I now see why many people greet them with suspicion. Why wear helmets on your motorcycle when the government tells you it’s compulsory if you think the government is full of compulsive liars? I know lots of construction companies (in particular smaller ones) do not offer safety gear to the laborers they employ. But of the companies that do have safety gear, I now wonder how many workers don’t wear it due to lack of trust in the company or the government? That is not me blaming the victim at all. It is me saying that it seems perfectly reasonable for this lack of trust in authority. I fully lay the blame for that on the doorstep of first the Brits and now the Indians who govern this lawless land: governments, corporations, the biggies.

I actually started teasing some of this out in a book chapter I just wrote for an edited volume on Work, Employment and COVID-19 in the Global South. The construction workers I spoke to before lockdown expressed that they are totally self-sufficient (albeit mostly struggling to pay for even basics like food and shelter) and get no support whatsoever from authorities. Here’s a brief excerpt of my chapter…

With just a couple exceptions, the women construction workers told me they had vurtually no support — from their employers or from the government. They relied on self-sufficiency and self-reliance to get through financial, medical and other struggles. One of the women with whom I spoke at the basti (slum) near Nerul Naka encapsulated what most every construct worker I spoke with expressed about lack of support, in particular governmental. She said, “There’s never been any external support for any sort of health or children’s education or family wellbeing. Whatever we need, the onus is on us. Again at times you get work and at times you don’t; only when you work hard and you get it [work] it’s as simple as that.” And when I asked a group of a half dozen Naka Leaders at Nerul Naka (all men), “Is there any governmental social support?” without hesitation and emphatically, they answered, “No.” (Naka Leaders are construction workers groomed by a local NGO to help raise awareness about rights and entitlements amongst workers.)

Possible corruption aside, the bureaucratic nightmare we are now in is another real deterrent to folks participating (or not, as in this case) in the community fight against COVID here. The BMC has given us so many unclear directives. As in all things Indian, you talk to five different bureaucrats and get five different stories. I am also beginning to see how this bureaucratic quagmire here contributes to corruption. It is so dysfunctional that everyone is always trying to find ways around the authorities. In this case, one of my Indian friends asked me if her husband who is well-connected in Mumbai should ask around to see if we can get our apartment un-sealed. She means well, and it truly is how most stuff gets done here. But it becomes a vicious circle. Dysfunction leads to corruption leads to dysfunction leads to corruption. And this is a relatively minor case. But this is how people buy off the cops to not face consequences after they commit murder or to flagrantly avoid fire codes when building new housing or…you get the picture. In case you’re wondering, I politely declined her offer. My conscience won’t allow me to play the game.

As you might guess, there seems to be a class element to all of this. We live in a middle class compound (meaning not a rich luxury high-rise), and we got the Sign of Shame. Friends of ours had a COVID case in their much more upper-crust apartment building, and there were no signs hung anywhere. Also, if one does not have gobs of money (and dubious moral principles), then there is no way to fully avoid the dysfunction of a dysfunctional country. Sure, the dysfunction of the postal system here is kinda comical (as you faithful blog readers can remember from way back in the fall). But the dysfunction of the public health system is not at all comical. Rich people buy everybody off if/when they have to (i.e. ooops. I ran over and killed that homeless person. No worries. I’ll just pay off the cops, lawyers, judges, witnesses, etc.) and the rest of us are left scratching our heads in disbelief/disgust/envy/what-have-you.

Speaking of ethics, I will say that it is also interesting to think about what “ethical behavior” even means in such a context. My friend’s offer to ask her husband to lean on someone at the BMC on my behalf: was her offer of a little help on the side unethical? She truly meant well. And she is truly convinced that my COVID case is a case of corruption (someone getting paid off for my positive result). She’s a dyed-in-the-wool Mumbaiker, born and raised here. So maybe she does know better than I do. When everyone around you is acting in questionable ways — or your perception is that they are — it’s easy to think that you also must. And then where does the line of ethical behavior get drawn? My family and I do not use money as a currency for getting what we want if we’re not getting what we want. But we will use our connections to get information. Not unethical, for sure. But it is a privilege to even have connections. This nightmare would be even more of a nightmare if we did not have doctors here and in the US we could call upon for expert advice. Also, one of Rahul’s former student’s sister works for the BMC. While she’s not pulling strings for us, she is trying to get us as much correct information as she can. Getting the right info about anything, by the way, in India is a full time job. Does our apartment get un-sealed in ten days or fourteen days? Depends on which bureaucrat you ask, what mood they are in, whether or not they are busy taking chai…

As for not pulling strings for us: One of the reasons I have not gone to a quarantine “hotel” here in Mumbai is because I would have had to share a room with another quarantine patient. It’s crazy. I may not even have COVID, and going to this hotel probably would have given it to me. See: our connections only go so far. Rahuls’ student’s sister could not get me a private quarantine room (not that we asked her to). It would be much easier on Rahul if I could have gone away for my quarantine. The poor guy is running ragged trying to keep all my dishes completely separate and clean, and delivering all my meals, and sanitizing surfaces, and…all while trying to keep Anamika and himself sane in their own separate quarantine.

And it seems fitting to end my stream of consciousness about corruption, dysfunction, social contracts and public goods on that note. Like our home, India needs constant, diligent, and thorough, sanitizing!

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chantalkrcmar · 4 years

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HALFWAY THERE!

We are sliding into the second half of quarantine and house arrest, in various states of disrepair. :-) I am overjoyed that we’ve made it though the first week of our ordeal, and am trying not to think much that we have one more week to go. Well, the full details are such: The quarantine for me is 17 days — not 14. 17 day quarantines are not a thing in the US, or most of the world. But Indian bureaucrats who take over the moment they are notified of a positive test result like to do things in a — shall we say? — unique way. But since every medical professional we have consulted (not all the know-nothing bureaucrats we have also consulted) said that quarantine does not have to be more than 14 days, we are going with the medical pros on this one. And the Sign of Shame, despite my supposed 17 day quarantine, gets removed in 10 to 14 days, so our apartment is unsealed then. Clear as mud, right? The upshot, though, is that we all get outta jail in 14 days. And then soon after, we hit the airport. As one doctor here told Rahul, “Get the hell out before something else goes wrong.” Sound medical advice.

The past couple days, Rahul tells me, have been easier on Anamika. Less crying, more resilient behavior. He messaged me that she is being very wise and thoughtful actually. When he explains why we have so many restrictions, she now accepts it and moves on. I guess it does make sense that the beginning of this quarantine was harder on her than now; the sudden nature of it threw all of us off-kilter. One moment, we were having one final family breakfast together before our departure for the US. We adults were sipping Ambhubhai’s best-in-the-world chai; Anamika was hamming it up for her grandparents. She had been dramatically declaring how much she was going to miss Dadi (Grandma), and that she would video call with her no less than three times per day (time difference, be damned). Dadi was melting with all the warm attention she was getting from her beloved Anamika.

And then I got The Call. When the doctor at the BMC (Bombay Municipal Corporation) called, it was so unexpected that I couldn’t quite understand what she was telling me. Doctor. Test results. Positive. Any symptoms? Huh? When she could tell she wasn’t getting anywhere with me, she asked again if she was indeed speaking to Chantal Krcmar. She was utterly butchering the pronunciation of my name, so I almost sarcastically said, “That’s me. Approximately.” I had started assuming the caller was a scam artist. It took a while for her words to really sink in.

Because we still did not know that Rahul’s test results were negative, we just assumed that he was positive too, so I did not immediately jump into my bedroom and lock the door — though I did run away from my in-laws. In fact, I assumed Anamika must have COVID too, so I played a game of Snakes and Ladders (India’s version of Chutes and Ladders) with her while Rahul made calls to track down his test results, and spoke with my in-laws’ main physician.

As Anamika cheated her way through Snakes and Ladders, I felt fine. Shock can do that to a person. Anamika was afraid at first when I told her I had COVID so we couldn’t leave for Somerville now, but I reassured her that I was not sick and she seemed to relax. But then Rahul found out he was negative, Dr. D. ordered my in-laws to the hospital immediately for COVID tests and he told me, Rahul and Anamika to get into quarantine separately. That’s when I started to feel the gravity.

So of course Anamika was reeling for the first few days of this mess. We were talking a ton about all the weekend camping trips we were going to take and the friends we would see (masked, of course) when we got to Massachusetts. She had packed her Paw Patrol backpack for the flight; she had carefully chosen a flash light (which she kinda stole from her Dada :-) ), a stuffed lovey and some books. We had been talking with her about the fact that we’d have to wear masks for a very very long time (a total of at least 24 hours from the moment we got in the car in Mumbai to get to the airport, in the flights, during our layover in Frankfurt...until we got back to our home in Somerville). She was on board with all of it. But we had not prepared her for what actually happened. How could we have?!

But this morning, Anamika and Rahul were playing a game of cricket in her room. And life goes on…

I include this photo that I took while we were on WhatsApp video call this morning. Anamika’s room gets more and more chaotic. Quarantine with a 4.5 year old is no neat and tidy business.

Note on the far left hand side of the photo Anamika’s potty training potty. Poor thing is using that to do her business so that she and I don’t have to share the toilet (in case I actually do have the plague). Her bum bum barely fits anymore. But thank goodness we kept this training toilet. A museum piece being put to good use.

Note on the far right hand side of the photo the giant teddy bear sitting atop Anamika’s car seat sitting atop a chair. The teddy bear is holding some of Rahul’s clothing. Makes perfect sense, no?! About as much sense that this whole situation makes. We had plans to be spending this Labor Day weekend in New Hampshire hiking and swimming with good friends. Alas…We’ll get there. Gosh darn it. Just in time for leaf peeping season.

Note in the foreground Rahul’s doggy pajamas. I bought those for him at Good Will a couple years back. I think it’s all he’s been wearing since quarantine. No judgment on my part. I have entirely given up on pants while in isolation. It’s bloody hot and humid -- even with my one window wide open and my ceiling fan on high. I am confined enough and do not feel compelled to confine myself even more.

Please do not note the terrible state of my hair. I typically run pretty low on vanity, but even this makes me slightly embarrassed (but not embarrassed enough to hide). Six months ago I had a cute short haircut. Now I have...this. In the greater scheme of things, bad hair, though, is the least of my concerns!

Back in the day, I had taken a photo of this cute little sponge star that I found lying on a sidewalk in my neighborhood in Somerville. Because I knew it would make her smile, I had sent it to my best friend. A couple days ago, she sent it back to me. Smiles all around, y’all! Smiles all around.

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chantalkrcmar · 4 years

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Anamika For President!

Rahul is putting the copious amount of time he now has in quarantine with Anamika to good use: political indoctrination. I am fully behind his mission — especially because the indoctrination leans heavily left. Anamika is taking to this with zeal. She has so enthusiastically taken on the mantle of “progressive” and has now decided she is going to run for president. Her platform so far includes giving free toys, beds, mattress pads, and food to everyone.

[OK. OK. I hear you moderates and conservatives already grumbling about the free toys bit. But that might be because you have never experienced such a long and harsh lockdown with a young child before. And who — moderates, conservatives and liberals alike — can’t get behind free mattress pads for everyone? :-) ]

Admittedly, Rahul’s indoctrination program started long before this. By the time Anamika was two she had learned to say (thanks to Rahul), “I hate Trump’s wall.” I, too, wear the progressive mantle with pride, and do hope to instill some of our political and ethical values in Anamika. Though my indoctrination program is not as overt as Rahul’s, I guess it still makes its mark. Like me, Anamika now for the past year has been commenting on all the homeless people on the streets of Mumbai. There are veritable mini villages of people living on footpaths and highway medians in conditions truly not befitting humans. When we pass them, she comments that everyone should have a home. And she never links that to their job history, substance use, color of skin, marital status, what have you. Like her Mama, Anamika believes shelter should be a right. Period.

Anamika clearly has her head and her heart in the right place. So get ready to cast your vote:

ANAMIKA FOR PRESIDENT!!!!!

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chantalkrcmar · 4 years

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Hold the Champagne

We are stuck in the jaws of India’s notoriously inept bureaucracy, and their peculiar medical practices. .

Despite my most recent negative test result, I am still being treated as a positive COVID case. False positives are more rare than false negatives. So my quarantine remains in place. And our home remains sealed. Once that Sign of Shame was hung outside our apartment, our home was sealed for ten days. Period. No changing that no matter what happens with retesting. When the wheels of the Bombay Municipal Corporations’s COVID mechanisms are set into motion, there is no turning them back.

Also, I am expected to quarantine for a total of 17 days. Yep, you read that right. 17 days. So permit me right now to feel a bit deflated.

For a while, I was relieved by my 2nd negative test, but then as it became more and more clear that it does not really make a difference, my relief dissipated. No celebration for now. There is, of course, a possibility that I am COVID positive, in which case utmost precaution should be taken. And the doctor here told me that if I do a third COVID test and it comes back positive, that it is pretty clear that my viral load is very low (accounting for all the other negatives in our household). But even though I am extremely unlikely to be contagious even if I am positive, another positive test would set my 17 day quarantine clock back to the very beginning. That’s a real bummer.

Obviously, I cannot have any interactions with my in-laws for the duration of my quarantine. What we’re trying to determine now is when I can start having at least some interaction with Anamika (even if it is masked and socially distanced).

I am trying to accept all of it. But it’s hard. Anamika can come out of her room for short masked stints right now, and will be able to leave the apartment in ten days, but I cannot be with her. Rahul tells me that the longer this has dragged on, the sadder she’s been getting. I am on video calls with her a lot but that is no substitute for us being physically together. And during a stressful time like this, being together would be so beneficial.

But I know she has Rahul; I know he is an amazingly loving and capable father. As exhausting as this grind is on him, he’s still building lego structures and playing pet shop with Anamika. As my friend Kate wrote in an email to me yesterday:

“I also wanted to remind you, in case you aren't thinking about it already, that Anamika is with the same person who carried her through the floods on his shoulders; he'll get her through this too, even while I know it's torture for you. She has TWO amazing parents, and she's already one amazing person.”

Sorry for the direct quote, Kate, but it was too beautifully written for me to paraphrase it.

In addition to Anamika getting worn down by all this, I am feeling the difficulties of being a receiver now. It is becoming very obvious to me that receiving help is, in some ways, harder for me than giving it. Being the receiver puts one in a vulnerable position. And now I need help for everything. I have to ask Rahul to bring me water, to bring me a fresh pillow case, to deal with my laundry, to talk with the doctors because even if they speak English (which most do), understanding their accents over the phone is really hard for me. Rahul also happens to be more fluent in the COVID language than I am. He’s a data scientist, so he has been following this pandemic very closely for its strange, and fascinating, data conundrums. I, on the other hand, am just now picking up the terminology. I never wanted to know what a PCR test was, but now I sure do.

I’m not anxious right now, just sad. But still…Gratitude Journal to the rescue!

What am I grateful for right now?

1. that my best friend Jenni (Physician’s Assistant Extraordinaire) has been tirelessly answering our millions of questions about the doctors’ advice here, and what our next steps should be, and that she is even going to consult with the doctor at her family practice to get his opinion…even as she was rushing to get ready for a long work day today, she was going back and forth over WhatsApp with us

2. that Anamika continues to stay on WhatsApp calls with me for really long periods of time, and that she is not angry at me; in fact, she’s been so expressive of how much she loves and misses me

[I was going to turn the photo right side up, but that it is askew and sideways right now seems an apt metaphor for our current situation.]

3. that Rahul truly does not seem miffed by having to bring me everything

4. that I got some gulab jamun for dessert tonight!

5. that so many friends keep rooting for us

6. that there are no mosquitoes in my room right now…honestly, they can be ferocious — as well as malaria- and dengue-carrying (it’s the tropics, after all)

7. that I did a bit more work on my dissertation today; thinking about my many moments in the field makes me happy (even if they were some of the roughest places in Mumbai: slums and construction sites)

8. that squeezed into my teeny tiny floor space, I did 42 saurya namaskar (sun salutations) tonight…The docs here told me to keep up my lung capacity to fight off any lung complications that may come my way if I do indeed have COVID and if I become symptomatic. I will say that I am grateful for my fitness level right now. Hopefully it’ll come in handy if I do, god forbid, get sick.

9. that 17 days (well, by now, 17-4, so 13) seems like a long time, but it will pass (though given that Rahul’s the one imprisoned with our adorable but four year old daughter, it is completely understandable that 13 days seem even longer to him)

10. that as soon as we get back to Massachusetts, I have decided we’re going pumpkin picking!

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chantalkrcmar · 4 years

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Practicing Gratitude

There are lots of awful things about our current state of affairs. For me, the worst is knowing that Anamika is stuck in her bedroom for everything except using the toilet: eating, playing, sleeping, everything. That is way way worse for me than my own quarantine. The other worst thing is that even though my in-laws have so far tested negative, that does not mean it will stay that way. Oh. And one more worst thing: my entire family is stuck in the apartment since one member of the household has tested positive. Not that my in-laws have been out much in the past five months (indeed, my mother-in-law has been out a grand total of one time, and my father-in-law maybe four times) but it’s still nerve-wracking to know I have imprisoned everyone.

If I do indeed have COVID (and for now, we must still operate under that assumption), it is highly likely that I have infected my in-laws and they will test positive soon. Then again, they may have infected me and been among the lucky, and rare, asymptomatic elders. I am trying very hard not to go down the “Where and How Did I Get This?” rabbit hole. It’s too stressful, and ultimately impossible, a puzzle to solve. The pieces and vectors are endless.

So I will do what experts say is a useful strategy to manage anxiety: intentionally practice gratitude.

This is what I am most grateful for in this moment:

1. that Anamika sent me ten voice messages when she woke up this morning telling me how much she loves me and hopes I am having fun in quarantine

2. that I was just on the phone with Rahul and overheard Anamika ask him, “Is it ok if I just swallowed one sparkle [meaning piece of glitter]?” We normally try to keep Anamika’s glitter ingestion to a minimum, but this one just sneaked into her mouth. :-)

3. that after a day and a half of my head spinning in quarantine, I was finally able to settle down enough to read Paul Kalanithi’s “When Breath Becomes Air” last night. It is truly one of the most beautiful books I have ever read, and perfect for the times. I cannot recommend it highly enough. No, I am not facing death right now (I am still asymptomatic!) but his book is a powerful reflection on life’s meanings and life’s many ups and downs.

4. that I found I can do a bit of yoga on a small spot on my floor next to my bed where I could fit my body to do Saurya Namaskar (sun salutations)

5. that I had the world’s smallest dance party on the world’s smallest dance floor (that same minuscule floor space next to my bed)…I cranked up 80s pop music that we all love to hate and transported myself back to high school prom

[here it is: my dance floor, yoga studio, keeper of sanitizing products I must use every time I venture out of my room to the bathroom]...

6. that my family has smart phones; I have texted and video called with Rahul, Anamika, Hemanta (who’s quite entertaining when he dances on video calls) and a number of friends and family countless times in the last couple days

[here’s my Haathi Baby/Hemanta, goofing for me on the phone...]

7. that my father-in-law called me on the phone (from his favorite spot on the sofa in the living room) just to see how I’m doing and sent me a funny video; in the ways he knows how, he is showing he cares

8. that my mother-in-law sent me (inadvertently) funny messages on WhatsApp yesterday

9. that I have fresh mosambee (sweet lime) juice to drink…nectar of the gods, it truly is

10. that I have friends and family in the US who have been so supportive — some of whom have given me the space to cry if I have to; some of whom have sent me videos and pics to make me smile or laugh; and most of whom have not pressured me to be any particular way during this tough time

11. that as guilty as I feel about causing this whole mess, Rahul is not guilting me too; in fact, he’s trying very hard to take care of me (delivering food to my door and calling me to check in) as well as Anamika

12. that I deeply miss Rahul and Anamika (ironic since they are in the room right next to mine), and that I know we’ll be reunited and eventually this nightmare will be behind us

13. that Anamika got COVID tested last night and did not even cry!…and, let me tell you, last night’s COVID test was way more uncomfortable than the one Rahul and I had done on Friday morning

14. that Rahul and I got tested before we got on a flight back to the US…it is not required, so if I had not done so, I would have flown completely unawares and possibly infected lots of other people…as my sister wrote to me, I have saved lots of other people from COVID grief

15. that I managed today to concentrate at least for a short while on my dissertation…key phrase: a short while; but given the circumstances, I was not sure that my brain would allow me to think theory or methodology at all right now, so I’ll take what I can get

16. that I finally have no doubt that leaving India, at least for now, is the right thing for Rahul, Anamika and me…even though we have been attempting to go for a while, there was always a thought nibbling at the back of my head that we should stay in Mumbai; our life here had been good before COVID, and I was uncertain about taking Anamika away from her grandparents and the city she now knows as “home” (as dysfunctional as it is right now), as well as taking me away from my research project (as stalled as it has been since COVID)…I also felt at more irrational moments that I was not being tough enough to stick it out in a developing country during a pandemic (I know much of the US is like a developing country right now — but not so in MA, and I am going back to MA.). Sometimes, I have a pathological need to be “tough” — even when it’s not the healthy thing to do. And I am tough, but I should not feel I always have to be. (So, there, you now know something of my ridiculous psychological makeup.)…Anyway, this experience — after all the experiences we have had in the last five trying months — has erased my doubts. It’s just too darn risky to be here. Our being here puts my in-laws at too much risk, and we obviously face too much risk too (not to mention varying levels of confinement that are just not sustainable). I am coming to more fully accept that it’s OK for Rahul, Anamika and I to get a break, to heal in the woods, the mountains and the beaches of New England (cold as they may be by the time we get out of here), and be with friends who care for us, and amongst like-minded people who provide us a comfortable little bubble in which Rahul and I fit (amongst all the geeks, misfits and political leftists who believe in wearing masks and who face this pandemic head-on as a community). To be grateful for the privilege of seeking safety, yes, but not to feel badly for it.

17. that I know India will be here if and when it’s right for us to return; that we truly have two homes, and that is a very lucky thing

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chantalkrcmar · 4 years

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Un-masked Mumbai

Why do so many Mumbaikers refuse to wear masks? We are COVID capital of India, yet so many people are out and about without masks. I do understand that some people cannot wear masks because of medical conditions, but that cannot possibly account for why SO MANY Mumbaikers -- in the world’s most densely populated city, no less -- are mask-free. It’s also not a poverty thing. Lots of poor people wear handkerchiefs or dupattas (Indian scarves) as masks, so they don't actually need to buy a mask.

I honestly can’t understand if so many folks truly don’t know the benefits of masks. Perhaps they also don’t know that masks are compulsory in Mumbai, too. Part of it, though, I imagine is related to Mumbaikers’ general disdain for rules. Many people just flout the mask law, while some make a half-hearted effort. It’s like helmet laws for motorcycle riders here. By Maharashtra law, they have to wear them, but many only hang them on their motorcycles as accessories. Here, lots of people just hang their masks around their chins or dangling from one ear like accessories.

On a tangential, but comical, note: Earlier this year, the state of Maharashtra updated their helmet laws. It used to be that only drivers of the motorcycle had to wear a helmet. So it was common to see an entire family sitting precariously on a speeding motorcycle, while the driver (usually the man) was helmeted and women and children passengers were helmet-free. Weeeeeee! Family fun for everyone! And tons of fatalities, too. So lawmakers decided to close some giant loopholes in the helmet law. The new law mandates everyone over the age of four on a motorcycle to wear a helmet. Re-read that: everyone over the age of four. I am baffled. What about the 0-4 year old passengers?! Lots of Indians take their infants and toddlers on their motorcycles. This is one of those moments when I must shake my head and sigh, “Oh, India.”

Anyway, back to masks…Sometimes the non-mask wearing is a bit funny. Like when Anamika and I went to one of our neighborhood vegetable vendors, who has gotten used to me calling out to him from across the street, “Apkaa mask kahaa hain?” (“Where’s your mask?”) before I agree to cross the street and purchase anything from him. Well, the last time we went, it was the same song and dance, only this time, his mask was not as handy as it usually is (like stuffed in his pocket). This time, he fished around on his cart piled high with corn, eggplants, hot chilies, bitter gourd, okra, cauliflower, etc. and finally found his mask buried under the eggplant. The perfect spot to keep one’s mask.

Today was not so funny. I took Anamika to one of the three playgrounds within 10 km of us that are now open. Here I will lodge a complaint: Not only are most parks and playgrounds still closed, of the ones that have re-opened, their hours are so limited that it still keeps us at home most of the time. Being indoors as much as we have for the past five months (completely at home for the first three months of lockdown, and then almost entirely at home for the next two months) is more than a bit crazy-making. Alas…

One playground, Union Park, is nice but super small. The other, Joggers Park, is larger and located right on the Arabian, so a lovely spot. Check this out...

Not only is Joggers Park in a beautiful location, it has gorgeous lush foliage...

And chickens roaming around. The chickens, by the way, are very funny but very aggressive...

But they were renovating Joggers Park before lockdown and have never quite gotten back to working on it yet. So the playground equipment is in various states of construction, some still in plastic, others still toppled over, while some of the old rusty equipment just lies around waiting for a young unsuspecting child to trip on it. Note the plastic hanging off this climbing equipment...

The last playground that we have access to, Almeda Park, is most disastrous; recently huge trees fell on some of the playground equipment. So right now, there are hazardous crushed pieces of equipment and large piles of wood that have yet to be hauled off all over this playground. I am used to playgrounds in Mumbai (and other places we’ve traveled in India) being less-than-stellar examples of safety or beauty or even cleanliness. But this one kinda stands out.

Anamika and I arrived at this gem of a playground to find that no one — not a one! kid or adult — was wearing a mask. I was trying to be careful to not let my temper get the better of me, so I bit my tongue and just steered us clear of other humans for a while. When one of the un-masked mothers let loose a huge gob of spit right next to the swing set where children were playing, though, I couldn’t hold back anymore.

In my peculiar mix of Hindi and English, I screamed and screamed at her about spitting being illegal, about how dangerous it is, about how close I was to calling the cops, and on and on. Crazy foreigner unleashed. The spitting felon simply laughed at me. In hindsight, I guess I did come across as funny. But at the time, I was incensed. How dare she spit and mock me?! Anamika seemed unfazed by my meltdown, and as we walked out of the park, my 4.5 year old daughter who gets it better than most adults here, said, “Why won’t they just wear masks?”

About the spitting being illegal…That is, in fact, the case. Back in March, the government of Maharashtra took a big step for the sake of public health and outlawed spitting in public spaces. Here’s a little insight into one of India’s more distasteful cultural norms: spitting. It’s really a thing here. A big thing. As I wrote in a previous blog, spitting is so common that it seems like a national pastime. Apparently, the law has not made much difference in people’s practices, though. This is not the first time that I have yelled at someone for spitting in my vicinity since lockdown started.

So the fact that Mumbai’s COVID case number is still way too high, and that public health measures like wearing masks and not spitting in public places are so erratically followed by the populace here is a real bummer. I know in this regard Massachusetts will feel like heaven. Our town of Somerville, MA has instated a $350 fine for anyone over 2 years of age in public without a mask. And our friends back in MA tell us that people follow this law. Mask usage is largely unquestioned. Not surprising since scientists are a dime a dozen in the greater Boston area, and the science on mask usage is pretty darn clear. As a Somervillian and a Mumbaiker, I can say without a doubt that there is much more respect for science in Beantown than here (under any circumstances — not just COVID).

When we are back in Massachusetts, there is a lot I will miss about Mumbai. But being in the presence of tons of mask-less wonders is not one of them!

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chantalkrcmar · 4 years

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Happy (minimalistic) Birthday, Ganesh!

Almost exactly one year ago (20 August 2019, to be exactly exact), we landed in Mumbai's International Airport to start our next chapter in India — one that we had planned on being longer than previous chapters we’ve had here.

Last year we arrived just a bit before Ganesh Chaturthi, an enormous celebration of Ganesh’s birthday. Ganesh, or Ganpathi, is the god who has the head of an elephant and the body of a human with a great big belly and a mischievous look in his eye. He is known as the remover of all obstacles. This year, we are leaving at the tail-end of Ganesh Chaturthi celebrations. Our departure on 30 August 2020, motivated by Mumbai’s dubious distinction as COVID and Lockdown Central, is way earlier than we had anticipated. But alas, no one anticipated any of this. Ganesh removed a lot of obstacles for us when we moved to India and I wouldn't mind if he'd remove a lot of obstacles for us when we go back to the US. (I’ll try to write more about our imminent departure in another post. In short, it’s complicated.)

Normally, Ganesh Chaturthi consists of giant processions and parties all over India for ten days. Last year, the processions that went down the road past our apartment building were so raucous that the drumming, dancing and yelling literally shook our walls. Rahul, Anamika, and I joined some of the partying in our neighborhood. It was — in a word — awesome. (See my 9 Sept 2019 post if you want to know more about last year’s Ganesh Chaturthi.)

This year, the celebrations are much more muted. Celebrating Ganesh’s birthday COVID-style is a little weird, to put it mildly, but we still are having our fun. Yesterday Anamika and I went to a showroom/workshop where craftsmen (yes, always men) make and exhibit Ganesh statues of all sizes, shapes and colors. The statues are downright garish. You want a Ganesh with a “diamond” studded sash? You got it! You want a Ganesh with an orange turban? You got it! You want a Ganesh with purple harem pants? You got it! It was really delightful. So good for the soul. We all need some color and whimsy in our lives now, and our time hanging out with hundreds of Ganeshas provided just that.

I particularly like this pic since it’s of Anamika wearing a mask with a mythical creature on it while she’s checking out statues of another mythical creature...

We sneaked a peek into the workroom in the back...

All photos, by the way, are thanks to my White Privilege here in India. When Anamika and I first stepped into the showroom/workshop, we got lots of looks from the craftsmen. We were pretty conspicuous, I guess. There were no other people there except the craftsmen, and I imagine that no other people who look like us regularly enter that space. I immediately whipped out my phone to take pics, not seeing the signs on the wall (in English, no less) that stated taking photos of the Ganesh idols was prohibited. One craftsman approached me to ask me to stop taking photos and then just stopped himself mid-sentence, shook his head and said, “Never mind.” He clearly decided not to rain on our parade.

And then today, we celebrated at our home with a little morning arti (prayer session) artfully executed by Anamika. She sang shlokas (prayer songs that my mother-in-law has been teaching her) in Sanskrit, carefully held a fire in front of Ganesh, and applied red paste and rice to his forehead. She took it all so seriously (unlike Rahul and me) that I thought my in-laws would burst with pride. I’m sparing you the videos that my father-in-law took of the arti. :-)

But here’s our modest Ganesh post-arti. In the foreground are ladoos, sweets which Ganesh loves. I think I ate more ladoos than he did today...

We also celebrated at our COVID companions’ home. That would be Anamika’s besties here, the 5 1/2 year old twins Meera and Kabir. I am close with their mama Mahek, too. For three whole months, we could see no one since we could not leave our building premises. But the last couple months have seen slight relaxations of some restrictions so we have been reunited with them for occasional playdates. Normally, their family celebrates Ganesh Chaturthi with huge parties and an open house that lasts all week. This year, obviously their celebration is more intimate. We were lucky to make their very exclusive guest list. :-)

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