Untitled Pandemic Journal

Sunday, July 19th, 2020
Today is my dad’s 36th death anniversary. I was 18 years old when he died. Normally, with every passing year, I think less and less of him, and as far as I can recall, his death anniversaries were mostly a socially conditioned marker of an event that announced its self as a yardstick of time and loss.  One of the rituals I followed every year since I came to America was to call my mother on his death anniversary and say something like, “how time flies! (or some similar platitude) it’s 23, 24, 25…years since papa died.” But today feels different.  I don’t feel like calling her. Death feels so real today. I had a hard time falling asleep last night.  I was up watching Netflix until past 3:00AM.  At 5:58AM a loud clap of thunder woke me up. I texted my mom on WhatsApp. She texted back to say that she prayed for my father’s soul.
I watched the live-streamed Sunday service of the Washington National Cathedral as I’ve been doing every Sunday since the lockdown started in March. These services have sustained me all through.  I was hoping today’s service would snap me out of my funk.  The gospel reading was from Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43, and the sermon was by the Rev. Canon Jan Naylor Cope.  Since the murder of George Floyd, the sermons at the cathedral for the past several weeks have been about racial injustice, police brutality and “Black Lives Matter.” In her sermon, Rev. Cope spoke of her experience growing up in a small town in Texas, the White privilege of her childhood, her own “wokeness” now, and how she was striving to do her own “White soul work.” As a brown woman married to a Black man and with two Black kids, these are all issues that add to my existential angst.  Today’s sermon leaves me numb.  I think I am saturated with worries. 
The day drags on.  I told my kids about their Indian grandpa.  They listened politely.  I read Washington Post—bleak stories, dire predictions.  I played scrabble obsessively on my phone. On the family WhatsApp group, my cousins, uncles and aunts shared some stories about my dad I hadn’t heard before.  Everybody has time to connect now.  I imagine I am not the only one thinking of death.
Monday, July 20th, 2020
Last night I slept well. Thank God for that.  The food in the freezer is running low.  My husband suggested that we go to COSTCO, which is about a 90mintue drive from where we live.  New COVID-19 infections have been rising again, and my husband suggested that we stock up on meat in case COSTCO restricts meat purchases to 2 per customer again. At COSCTO everybody is masked, but some have their masks under their noses! What is the point of that?  
We bought a lot of stuff, and as we were loading up the trunk of my car, the door of the trunk landed hard on my lower back. The hinge that holds the trunk door had broken a while ago, and I’ve been hesitant to get it fixed for several reasons (it’s an old car, and I was hoping to replace my car, and I did not find the time to do it). It hurt like crazy.  A passerby saw it happen and lifted the door and got me out.  My husband was in the front starting the car to keep it cool.  Anyway, I hadn’t broken a bone. I was still able to stand.  When my husband went to return the shopping cart to the stand, I saw an old White man with a Trump 2020 facemask.  It annoyed me.  The irony! A president who does not wear a facemask, and does not seem to grasp the seriousness of the situation, is being given advertising space on a facemask!
After we got home and unloaded the car, I spent another hour or two repackaging and prepping and cleaning the meat and shrimps to store them in the freezer for quick use later.  I find that I am doing all this myself.  Since the lockdown (although it has ended), it feels like I am cooking and planning and cleaning nonstop.  I am exhausted.  I drink two beers, have a shower and decided to go to bed early.  Tomorrow is going to be a long day too.
Tuesday, July 21st, 2020
The kids have their annual checkup with their pediatrician this morning.  My son is going to the 6th grade, and my daughter to the 11th grade.  He is going to have to take 3 shots today. Not going to be fun.  At the clinic our temperatures are taken.  No fever.  We are allowed to see the doctor.  The doctor’s office is empty except for us.  
Both my kids have asthma.  With all the talk about schools reopening in fall, I am very worried.  The doctor suggests that my son starts taking   his preventive inhaler on a regular basis again.  She says matter-of-factly, “we all know the kids are going to fall sick in fall anyway, so I think he should go back to using his inhaler.” I agree.  In the past, I had reservations about him using the inhaler on a long-term basis, but this is not a regular year.  
I go to Walmart to pick up my son’s inhaler, and there it is again!  I see a White woman wearing a Trump 2020 facemask (Dear Lord, do you have to test me again today?)  I realized that on Monday, because of soaring new infections, Mr. Trump had now called wearing facemasks “patriotic” and was seen wearing one.  Maybe that explained why his people were ready to flaunt their “masked” support for their leader.  
I made some tasty meatballs today.  We had spaghetti and meatballs for dinner.  I watched a German movie called “Stereo” on Netflix.
Wednesday, July 22, 2020
It’s a go-with-the-flow-day today.  There are leftovers in the fridge, and there is prepared food in the freezer. He/she that is hungry can feed themselves.
My son wants to play basketball. We go to the local public school to shoot baskets.  He is frustrated by the heat and his inability to shoot baskets.  We return home soon.
In the evening I wandered into my garden. This year I planted potatoes for the first time.  I have 3 varieties—purple, russet and fingerlings—and they are thriving.  I am thrilled.  The herbs (parsley, sage, rosemary, thyme, lavender, basil, mint and curry leaves) are a riot this year, the tomatoes are still green, the swiss chard is plentiful, the zucchini and eggplants are trying.  There is a black cat sitting in the tall grass in the empty plot next to our house, and a little bunny is happily munching something not too far from the cat.  There is a gentle evening breeze.  This is a perfect moment.  All’s well for now.
Thursday, July 23, 2020
I called my aunt in India today to wish her on her birthday.  My mom has been staying with my uncle (her brother) and his family for the last couple of weeks.  I talked to my uncle, aunt, and their daughter-in-law, and finally my mom.  We chatted for over an hour.  My mom left the U.S. in early January, and was planning to come back to the U.S. in June.  Now everything has changed. She is unable to come back because of the pandemic.  I feel despondent every time I think of her.  She is 83 years old, and has early dementia. She is staying with her brother who, like her, is stuck in India, but is trying to get back to Canada (he is a Canadian citizen).  My aunt tells me that they finally have tickets for Canada on August 1st.  My mom’s options at this point are limited.  We all decide that she will have to stay at a retirement home until: 1) there are regular flights to India 2) it is safe to travel, and either my sister or I can go pick her up from India.  I am exhausted.  I feel like I have failed my mom.  

Friday, July 24th, 2020
Running low on Indian groceries. We decided to head to Moline, Il which is about an hour and half away from our home.  These long drives are a way of unwinding, and a time for reflective talk with my husband.  We don’t want to alarm the children too much.  My husband was laid off in May, and I am the sole breadwinner for now.  My job at the university looks very tentative too.  This is a major, major worry. It’s so scary that we avoid talking about it directly.  We talk about the future philosophically, theoretically, imaginatively, but never realistically.  But then again, can we ever really talk about the future realistically? What does that even mean in these times?  We play the lotto almost every week.  I hope we win sometime.
Saturday, July 25, 2020
Today is the last weekend of July.  I woke up early this morning. My morning ritual these days is to play 5 games of scrabble, have a cup of coffee, scour the news and check my work email.  Today is the end of the summer semester. I taught an online class, and there was this email from one of my students:
“Having recently completed the final for this class and finishing up the summer semester, I would like to thank you for everything this semester!
I feel I learned so much and really enjoyed the class. I feel that I truly got the most out of this class even though it was extremely fast paced and online. Considering the crazy state the world is in, I appreciate your dedication to pushing students, providing so many opportunities, and helping us so much!”
I am overjoyed. No wonder teachers work for low pay, and under harsh conditions. When we hear words like this all is forgiven, all is well, and I’ll eat peanuts for the rest of the month!  I had a good start today.  
The rest of the day was a blur.  I am avoiding social media.  I’ve been off Facebook since April, and am happy for it. Took my son to the high school to play basketball.  It’s our time to bond, and to feel normal for just a little bit.
Sunday, July 26, 2020
Most mornings I wake up bolt upright. And today is no different—how to settle my mom comfortably? When to call my mom? How to pay the home mortgage on one income? Will my husband find a job? Will he snap out of his depression to look for a job?  Will I find a job? What if Trump wins again? Where will we go? What will we do? And on and on and on.  A line from a Bee Gees song (You treat me like a vision in the night, someone there to stand behind you when your world ain’t working right…) in my stuck in my head, and playing itself over and over again. Weird. I say a little prayer asking Jesus to protect us, forgive me, and guide me in making the right decisions.  
I tune into the Sunday service at the Washington National Cathedral. The sermon by The Rev. Canon Dana Corsello moved me to tears.  She spoke of the hope and assurance that she received during her vacation in Colorado that she interpreted as God saying, “I am with you, and all is well.”  I cried a lot, and it unnerved my son.
Around 9:45pm (8:15 am, July 27th, India time) I called my mother to wish her on her 84th birthday.  It’s a video call. Everybody here talks to everybody there.  There is a forced cheer all around.  My uncle and aunt are throwing a birthday party for her.  There are going to be 10 people at the party.  I wonder if this is a safe thing to do at a time like this. Later my cousin posted pictures of the celebration on the family WhatsApp group. If it wasn’t for the strange turn of events in 2020, I don’t think my mom and her aging siblings (88 years and 76 years) would have celebrated her birthday together. I can’t shake off the thought –what if this is the last time they celebrate a birthday together? 
Monday, July 27th, 2020
The final grades for the summer semester are due tomorrow by noon. I am determined to get them done today.  I think I like teaching online classes.  I have been teaching online even before the pandemic.  In March, because of the lockdown, when we all had to convert our classes to an online format within a week, it was relatively easy for me to make the switch.  Online classes offer another hidden advantage for me--semi-anonymity.  I have noticed a subtle difference in the way students interact with me via email.  In face-to-face classes, my brown skin and a different accent immediately pegs me as an outsider. I sense a mild condescension among a few students every now and then.  For instance, a refusal to address me as Dr. George, a chuckle or smirk when I pronounce some words differently from them.  But, in the online classes, where they don’t see my face or hear my voice, and our only channel of communication is via email or chats, many students think I am a man (George), and with a name like George, they probably don’t think I am originally from India either.  Almost all emails address me as “Dr. George” or “Prof. George” or “Mr. George.” I love playing with their minds! 
After I completed the grades and posted them, I binge watched a Polish flick on Netflix called “signs” the rest of the day.
Tuesday, July 28th, 2020
Even though I’ve been teaching for over 25 years, I am always anxious after I post the grades for my classes.  There is always some student(s) with a grievance, or I may have made mistakes entering the grade, or worse still, I may have made errors in calculating the grades.  I check my email frequently.  Nothing from my students this time.  Great.
I paint a little today.  Since the lockdown, I have taken up painting.  I enjoy it immensely.  I watched a few instructional videos on YouTube and then try to copy them.  Today I made an acrylic pour and it turned out pretty well.  I am pleased.
Around 9:45 PM I call my mom.  Today my uncle and aunt took her to the retirement home.  My mom is my hero.  She has sacrificed so much to make life better for my sister and me after my dad died.  She is the reason I am in the U.S.  I feel utterly hopeless and sad that I cannot travel to India to bring my mom back to the U.S.  I know she is anxious, but as usual she plays down her anxieties so as not to upset me. (Oh, Lord, please make this pandemic go away. Please, please, please.)  My mom will have to be in quarantine for 7 days.  I promise myself that I will call her every day.
Wednesday, July 29th, 2020
A gloomy, gray day.  I woke up anxious as usual, and did not feel ready to war with the day.  It is raining.  Thank God for that.  I don’t have to water the plants.  I lounged around in my PJs all day.  I called my mom in the morning and at night.  She said it was raining heavily there too. It is the monsoon season in India, and Kerala (the state where my mom is) is one of the rainiest places in India.  Because of the heavy rains the internet keeps cutting off.  We are both shouting to be heard on WhatsApp.  Later, I check out the website of the retirement home.  It looks absolutely lovely.  The lush green surroundings and the well-tended garden makes me want to go home.  I hope my mom likes it there.
Thursday, July 30th, 2020
Woke up with a headache.  Did nothing today.  No cooking, no gardening, no cleaning.  Slept from about 6:00Pmish to a little after 8:00Pm.  I am not going to sleep well tonight.  I know that.  Watched Absentia on Amazon prime until past 3:00AM.  
Friday, July 31st, 2020
End of another month.  Although the stay at home order ended in Illinois three months ago, I/we have not been going out except to shop for groceries or for long drives in the country. I am not sure if this is a conscious decision or a restless foreboding of what is inevitable, but we are beginning to “poke” our heads out of our hibernations. If nothing changes, in about 3 weeks the kids are going back to school and I’m going back to teach at the University. Although life as we knew it, and the world as we understood it to be seems to have shifted, yet, today was a glorious day, and the mood was Zen-like. 
I look advantage of the cool temperature (between 65-750F) and worked for several hours weeding and pruning the garden.  Later, the kids and I took the yard waste to the local landfill and went for a long drive after that.  My daughter wanted me to listen to Harry styles’ “Fine Line.”  I liked the album, but what made it more memorable for me was that my two kids were with me. We sang the chorus of “Watermelon sugar high” together.  I had a high. We created a few happy memories today.
Saturday, August 1, 2020
When I was a kid, I can’t remember who, where or exactly when, but someone told me that what happens on the first day of a month will set the tone for the rest of the month, i.e., if you cried on the 1st of a month you will weep the rest of the month, and if laughed then you would have a happy month. I bought into this shit as a kid, and can’t seem to shake it off even now. How crazy is that?  So, I am sub-consciously anxious at the start of every month.  And in these crazy times I am even more superstitious.  Whatever may be my apprehensions, the 1st of August it is!
The day was one chore after another.  I did major cleaning of some rooms, shopped, and cooked. Got an email from the school district informing us that the school will follow a hybrid model this fall.  Kids will attend 2 days of face-to-face and one day of online classes for the semester. Or if parent prefer, some kids will have their entire semester online.  Our kids will do the hybrid model.
I am so exhausted, irritable, snappy and resentful at the end of the day. God forbid that the rest of the month will be like this!
Sunday, August 2, 2020
With coffee in hand, I settled down to watch the Sunday service at the Washington National Cathedral.  The service was uplifting as usual.  The sermon by the Rev. Randolph Hollerith was inspiring.  The gospel reading from Matthew 14:13-21 was about Jesus feeding the multitudes with 5 loaves of bread and 2 fish.  Rev. Hollerith urged us to “give what you got and leave the rest to God.”  Nothing is too small or too insignificant in God’s hands, and that work of surrendering to God will bring froth miraculous things.  The music was divine.  I am grateful for everything.  And especially for the church and it’s tending of the scared, lonely, sick and dying sheep in these times.
I signed up by for a free online class on Geo apps.  I am a technophobe, and I feel that this is holding me back professionally.  So, I am going to give it a shot.
Monday, August 3rd, 2020
Oh, well, what can I say?  The gloom continues.  Another day.  I feel too despondent to do anything.  Nothing matters much, nothing much matters.  
Tuesday, August 4, 2020
I look like a skunk! That’s what I thought when I brushed my teeth this morning.  I haven’t colored my hair since the lockdown in March.  The roots are almost all white and the ends are black.  But who cares?  I am not going anywhere, and nobody is coming to see me…There is freedom in this thought.  The mark of a civilized society is it's artificiality; that we are able to put on a “show” and not give in to our natural proclivities or to exist in a completely natural state.  Maybe we are going back to our roots (oh, the pun!!).  Maybe this pandemic has some liberative value after all!
Later in the day I went to Walmart to pick up my son’s inhaler.  It’s been nearly ten days since the doctor’s office called in the prescription. Again, there is confusion about the order.  After going back and forth.  They tell me that my son is not covered by the insurance.  Finally, they call the insurance company and sort it out.  The cost of the inhaler is $150 for one month’s supply (it would have been $300 without insurance).  American health care, God help us! Since I’m the only one working now, and tenuously employed at that, I worry about falling through societal cracks.  I read that more Black kids than White have asthma, and they have higher mortality rates as well.  In American were poverty and race coalesce to a significant degree, I can see how parents may not be able to afford such inhalers for their children.  I am a born worrier, and my present circumstance makes me a worrier without much hope. 
When I got home, I drank two glasses of gin and lemonade.  It was a bit much, but it helps me function.
Wednesday, August 5. 2020
I have developed a slightly modified morning ritual since my moms’ been in the retirement home.  After 5 games of scrabble, a morning coffee, and a quick check of my work email, I call her between 9:00 and 9:30, which is between 7:30 -8:00PM her time.  Her quarantine at the retirement home ended today.  She went down to the cafeteria for her meals.  She said she met a few people.  My mom is an introvert, and now with failing memory, I think she is embarrassed to meet new people because she fears she won’t remember them. I told her how some people in America oppose wearing masks, and she remarked, “Here people are afraid of dying so they wear the mask, Americans think they won’t die so they won’t wear the mask.”  A broad generalization no doubt, but I thought it was an interesting take.  American exceptionalism.
I painted today.  It kept me busy all afternoon and evening.  I am not happy with how my painting turned out, but I’ll work on that tomorrow.
Thursday, August 6, 2020
When I called my mom today, I could sense she was anxious.  She is under the impression that either my sister or I will travel to India in 2 months to pick her up.  I tell her again gently that we don’t know for sure, but we will try.  It all depends on how things shape up in the next couple of months.  She sounded disappointed.  Another fear that my sister and I have about bringing my mom back to the U.S. (she has a U.S. Green card) is that at her age she is in the high-risk group, and as a non-citizen she does not qualify for Medicare. The insurance premiums are very high indeed.  My sister was nevertheless able to get her an affordable care insurance. I am hoping I can bring her back soon.

Friday, August 7, 2020
Today is the birthday of one of my dearest friends.  Every year we take each other out on our respective birthdays.  But we both decided that we’ll hold off on that until it is safe to eat out.  It might be her last birthday in America, as she is planning to move back home to Canada next June, after having lived for several decades in the U.S.  I wish I could follow her.  
I am struggling to be positive, to be hopeful.  I am finding it increasingly difficult to keep my act together. My husband has sunk into deep depression.  He hasn’t gone out in over 2 weeks, has cut himself off from social media, from his family, does not leave his office most of time, and has a hard time sleeping for more than 4 hours most nights.  I am trying hard to provide some semblance of normalcy for the kids. I am feel worn out pretending all is going to be okay.
Lord have mercy.
Saturday, August 8, 2020
I made two important calls today—my mom, and my uncle.  My mom was chatty and happy.  She likes the retirement home.  She remarked, “everyone here is old and retired.  It is a nice place for such people.”  I said, “Ma, you are of course not in that category.”  She laughed.  My mom—she’s got spunk! Her mind was not confused or agitated today.  We talked about the crash of the Air India plane yesterday in the Calicut, Kerala (not too far from where she is) that killed 18 people after the plane skid on the runway and broke into two because of heavy monsoon rains.  Many of the people on board were returning home after being stuck in Dubai since the pandemic started…So close to home, yet … Life.
My sister and I called my uncle who was able to return home to Canada from India.  He and his family were stuck there for 6 months because of the pandemic. We called him to get the inside scoop on my mother’s condition, and to get a sense of what needs to be done.  We all agreed that it was time to sell her property in India, and simplify life.  She is going to resist, I know.  She is very attached to her home in India because it was built by my father.  But when property becomes a source of headache rather than joy it is time to dispose it—Marie Kondo style!
Sunday, August 9, 2020
Watched the live-streamed Sunday mass at the National Cathedral.  This has become a great source of joy and comfort for me in these times.  The music, the sermons, the ambience, the emphasis on social justice, the acknowledgment of racism in American, the representation of people of color and women in their service—all of these, makes me feel like I belong here.  For a believer like me, it is evidence that no matter what, God is looking out and reaching out in love.
Later in the afternoon, my daughter got a text from one of her closest friends saying that she had tested positive for COVID-19.  This friend lives close to our house, and is immunocompromised.  We all are scared.  The rest of her family tested negative.  On Friday, August 7th, the Mayor of our city had a status update on Facebook where he cautioned that our county had registered a 10% increase in COVID cases in the last 7 days.  He said it was an “alarming” increase, given that the local schools and university are planning to open for fall classes in less than 2 weeks.  If this trend continues, I imagine the schools and the university will have to rethink their reopening plans.
According to various reports, many of the new cases of COVID-19 in the U.S. are in the Midwest and in rural areas.  Our town certainly fits that profile.  If there is a major outbreak here, I think we’ll have a hard time dealing with it.  We have a regional hospital here, and like many underserved rural health “markets” (I hate that expression! Health bought and sold in the marketplace), “specialists” doctors fly in here once or twice a week, and early in the pandemic, around March when we had the lockdown in Illinois, and I was still on Facebook, some of my local friends were sounding alarms about how the local hospital had only one ventilator!  Maybe that has changed. Another friend, who several weeks ago, was finding it hard to breathe was sent to a hospital about 2 hours from here to do the tests (it turned out to be negative, in the end). 
No point worrying. Que sera, sera.
Monday, August 10, 2020
I couldn’t reach my mom this morning.  I tried repeatedly for nearly 2 hours (I think the ringer on her phone is muted.  Like many her age, technology baffles her.  I tell her to check her phone settings, only to confuse her some more).  Anyway, I got her finally.  She is worried and confused today.  She has to go to the local bank tomorrow, and I think she is worried about that.  I tried to reassure her.  I don’t think I did though. It seems to me that one of the problems with globalized families and citizenry is that your worries are also global.  India has the second highest cases of COVID-19 in the world, after the U.S. I now worry about two places, and the connections between them.  
The rain came suddenly this afternoon.  It turned dark and ominous.  The internet was out for a bit.  Everybody was restless.  What are we to do?  My son and I played soccer in the living room. I seem to annoy my teenage daughter most of the time.  I think she worries about her friend, but she doesn’t want to share her worries or thoughts with me.  
Oh, well.  It’s another day in paradise.
Tuesday, August 11, 2020 
It’s clean-up day.  I spent hours in the basement cleaning and sorting stuff.  I call our basement Hades—it is dark, damp and ugly.  We have this habit of stuffing stuff that nobody knows what to do with, but are not yet ready to throw away, in the basement.  I decided to tackle it today because tomorrow is clean-up day in our town when the city will pick up all manner of stuff that people want to get rid of. Usually, annual clean-up day is at the end of each spring semester when students pack up to go home, and discard all manner of things from their dorms/rentals.  But, because of the lockdown they postponed it until now.  So, I waded through damp boxes of stuff, and threw away so many things. It felt so good.  
Great news this afternoon. Joe Biden picked Kamala Harris as his VP.  I am excited.  Kamala, is not only part Indian, but her mom is from a city in India where I grew up (Chennai), and her mom’s mother-tongue is Tamil.  My husband is Black and my children therefore have a hybrid identity like her. I can relate to her in so many ways.  I hope Biden wins.  I hope that things improve in America as far as race relations are concerned.  I hope America becomes a better place for my kids. I hope. This is one of most hopeful moments for me since the pandemic started.
It was a long day, but quite rewarding in the end.
Wednesday, August 12th, 2020
A quiet day of painting and watching Netflix. Later at night my daughter and I did the girl bonding thing.  We chatted about life, gossiped about her friends, she showed me some of the things her classmates had posted on Pinterest.  It was so nice to be allowed into her world.
Thursday, August, 13th, 2020
Panic is setting in again.  School starts in exactly a week for the kids.  We have decided that the kids will do the hybrid model (face-to-face and online).  But I am still worried if this is a right decision.  The younger has a bad case of allergies already.  I hope all will be okay. The chair of my department at the University agreed that I could make all my classes online this fall. That is good news. 
Friday, August 14, 2020
While cleaning the basement a couple of days ago, I came across many old family photos.  Today I sent copies of the pictures to several of my family.  What a lovely way to revive happy times and resuscitate rusty relationships.  Everyone who received a photo(s) immediately responded and we chatted on WhatsApp for a while.  The pandemic has slowed down the rhythm and pace of life everywhere.  I am most gratefully aware of the many, many blessings I have.  Deep gratitude also brings into sharp contrast the many who are suffering and in want in so many ways.  I have the survivor guilt mixed with gratitude now.  Please Lord save us all.
Today my teen daughter is going out with her friends for the first time since the pandemic and the lockdown started.  That is more than 5 months!  She is going to a drive-in movie.  The plan is that everybody sits in their own cars and watch the movie together.  She promised us that she’ll keep her mask on all the time. 
Saturday, August 15th, 2020
Today is Independence Day for my birth country.  I called my mom as usual.  She told me she went for the flag hoisting event in the retirement home.  They had special food and some entertainment too.
I spent the rest of the afternoon painting a portrait of an Indian woman.  It didn’t turn out the way I wanted it to. Oh, well.
Sunday, August 16, 2020
Cooked “meen curry” (fish curry).  It is a dish from my part of India.  It turned out well. This is one of the few Indian dishes that my kids like. Their taste in food is very American.  I feel like they do not appreciate a very important part of their cultural heritage.  But I can always lure them with meen curry.  It is cooked in coconut milk, “pulli” (a tart fruit) and has curry leaves to give it a heady aroma.  It is hard to resist.
Monday, August 17th, 2020
With just one week to go for the fall semester to start, as I was working on the syllabus for one of my classes (all of which are now rescheduled to be online), I realized the textbook that I had initially chosen for a face-to-face class was not the best choice for an online class.  I decided to change the required textbook for that class, which, as it turned out, is not so simple.  I had to contact the university bookstore to inform them of the change.  Given the unpredictability of the times, the bookstore did not penalize my department for the sudden switch a week before the classes are to start.  Phew! What a relief.  
Tuesday, August 18, 2020
I’ve been painting portraits of women of color.  Maybe I am inspired by the “Black Lives Matter” movement generally, but I feel a particularly close kinship with women of color. Women’s lives matter too. I think of the brutality towards women—rape, murder, domestic abuse, psychological abuse, —especially in my birth country India.  Painting is a time of reflection for me.  I am not skilled at it, but it offers me a time to be with myself. I spent the remains of the day doing this and that.  
Wednesday, August 19, 2020
When I called my mom today, she told me she met a collegemate of hers at the retirement home. They lived in the same dorm in India between 1953-1955, that’s over 65 years ago.  The two of them graduated, led their separate lives, never kept it touch, and here was life’s stream bringing them together again.  How remarkable is that? If it wasn’t for the course of events that were forced by the pandemic, I doubt if they would have ever met again.  I could hear the excitement in my mom’s voice when she told me of this.  
With college opening soon, I worked on my syllabi today.  There are so many things to sort out.  It seems to me that the administrators at the university do not have a coherent plan for keeping students and faculty safe when classes start.  For one thing, it is now up to the instructors to decide how they want to offer their classes— whether in-person, online or hybrid.  And even that is not uniform.  Some department chairs allow faculty to decide, and in others the chairs are less flexible. The university’s response to the virus is a small scale version of how things have been handled in American since the pandemic first started.  With hardly any consistent federal policy guidelines on how to contain the spread of the virus, each state and local administrative unit has been making decisions, taking matters into their hands to tackle the virus.  Such hodgepodge approach is what we have in place at our university.