Isolation ....
I was born in Kanpur, into a joint family consisting of parents, grandparents, assorted uncles and aunts and cousins. As such, I developed quite a liking for company and the social activities that being there involved. The house was always full of fun and laughter. Winter months were especially interesting, as cousins joined us during their school vacations. I remember that, at one time, we had some twelve adults and an equal number of children crammed into the five bedroom house on the first floor of a lane in Tilak Nagar. We were never, but never, alone. There were people always around - whether at home, or on the streets and markets, where my grandpa would often take me along when he went to buy vegetables or groceries.
And then came school! Yes, I still had human company but, with school, came the first exposure to the concept of punishment and isolation. The nuns who managed the kindergarten were kindly, but strict. The slightest infringement earned a reprimand, and a more serious misdemeanour called for a stint in the corner, wearing a dunce hat and sitting on a stool facing the walls. There was no physical punishment, but being singled out for isolation in the corner was the worst punishment possible for a "socially inclined" six year old. I doubt if anyone, who has not been through the 'corner' routine can even begin to imagine the embarrassment and fear of ostracisation that the punishment invokes in the mind of an already traumatised child.
In 1956 we moved to Meerut, and a new school! The Irish fathers were more physical in their approach to punishment. There was the well oiled cane and, for more serious infringements, the Detention Room. This last I dreaded! It was a small eight foot by eight foot room with a single door, a small sky light and no windows. A low wattage bulb provided weak yellow light and under the naked bulb were placed a couple of wooden chairs. To be banished to the Detention Room (DR) for even fifteen minutes was a fearful prospect ... particularly for a 'socialite' like me. I studied in Meerut for five years and, fortunately, was confined to the DR only once! And that experience was enough to last me a lifetime. I shiver to think of it even now. The cold, silent room, the closed door, weak light ... it all gave the feeling of being trapped in a dungeon, with no escape in sight. The walls constantly threatened to close in upon one and crush one to death. Looking back, I can now realise what prisoners in solitary confinement must think of and what they must feel when so incarcerated.
Little did I know that the fate was to be revisited upon me sixty years later.
In late December last year, in China, a new virus escaped from a laboratory, and soon spread its deadly embrace across the world. The only way to possibly save oneself from becoming infected was thought to be to quarantine oneself, literally to lock oneself in ones home, isolated and cut off from not just Society, but even from ones family and loved ones.
Living as I do in Himachal Pradesh, I continued to live in the fond belief that my wife and I were insulated from the pollution and diseases of the plains, and that we had nothing to fear from the Novel Corona Virus (now named COVID-19). It could never get to us. Then the news came that some infected tourists had been detected in Dharamsala. Soon everyone coming from abroad was ordered to be screened, and isolated if suspected of infection. In Delhi, schools were ordered to be shut down, as also were non-essential businesses and services. My daughter packed her husband, children and the dog into the car and came over to stay with us until things got back to normal. How good that decision was, was proved when Himachal Pradesh shortly afterwards decided to seal its borders, and place the state under 'lockdown'. This has now been followed by a 21 day countrywide curfew announced by the Prime Minister on 24th March.
Now we are confined to our home, a larger version of the Detention Room of my childhood, for 20 hours a day, facing the daunting prospect of staying so cooped up for another two weeks. Fortunately, the house is fairly large, and the children are keeping us occupied and entertained. Let us see what the future brings ....
And then came school! Yes, I still had human company but, with school, came the first exposure to the concept of punishment and isolation. The nuns who managed the kindergarten were kindly, but strict. The slightest infringement earned a reprimand, and a more serious misdemeanour called for a stint in the corner, wearing a dunce hat and sitting on a stool facing the walls. There was no physical punishment, but being singled out for isolation in the corner was the worst punishment possible for a "socially inclined" six year old. I doubt if anyone, who has not been through the 'corner' routine can even begin to imagine the embarrassment and fear of ostracisation that the punishment invokes in the mind of an already traumatised child.
In 1956 we moved to Meerut, and a new school! The Irish fathers were more physical in their approach to punishment. There was the well oiled cane and, for more serious infringements, the Detention Room. This last I dreaded! It was a small eight foot by eight foot room with a single door, a small sky light and no windows. A low wattage bulb provided weak yellow light and under the naked bulb were placed a couple of wooden chairs. To be banished to the Detention Room (DR) for even fifteen minutes was a fearful prospect ... particularly for a 'socialite' like me. I studied in Meerut for five years and, fortunately, was confined to the DR only once! And that experience was enough to last me a lifetime. I shiver to think of it even now. The cold, silent room, the closed door, weak light ... it all gave the feeling of being trapped in a dungeon, with no escape in sight. The walls constantly threatened to close in upon one and crush one to death. Looking back, I can now realise what prisoners in solitary confinement must think of and what they must feel when so incarcerated.
Little did I know that the fate was to be revisited upon me sixty years later.
In late December last year, in China, a new virus escaped from a laboratory, and soon spread its deadly embrace across the world. The only way to possibly save oneself from becoming infected was thought to be to quarantine oneself, literally to lock oneself in ones home, isolated and cut off from not just Society, but even from ones family and loved ones.
Living as I do in Himachal Pradesh, I continued to live in the fond belief that my wife and I were insulated from the pollution and diseases of the plains, and that we had nothing to fear from the Novel Corona Virus (now named COVID-19). It could never get to us. Then the news came that some infected tourists had been detected in Dharamsala. Soon everyone coming from abroad was ordered to be screened, and isolated if suspected of infection. In Delhi, schools were ordered to be shut down, as also were non-essential businesses and services. My daughter packed her husband, children and the dog into the car and came over to stay with us until things got back to normal. How good that decision was, was proved when Himachal Pradesh shortly afterwards decided to seal its borders, and place the state under 'lockdown'. This has now been followed by a 21 day countrywide curfew announced by the Prime Minister on 24th March.
Now we are confined to our home, a larger version of the Detention Room of my childhood, for 20 hours a day, facing the daunting prospect of staying so cooped up for another two weeks. Fortunately, the house is fairly large, and the children are keeping us occupied and entertained. Let us see what the future brings ....
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