Life in the time of Nipah has taught the people of Malabar a tough lesson. Never within living memory have the Gods been so unkind to us. Tucked away at the southern tip of the country, we escaped the vagaries of war. We have only seen the kind of grenades and cannons (water) used by the police for crowd dispersal. Blessed with long monsoon seasons and rivers, water is aplenty here and jackfruits, coconuts and tapioca ensured that we were untouched by the famine that our fellow countrymen had to suffer at times. In fact one of my friends suggested that the greatest tragedy that struck the shores of Malabar before Nipah was demonetisation. We were asked to stand in long queues for days for taking our own money back and we thought we would never pardon those who brought that curse upon us.
Nipah has changed all that once and for all. First, death appeared upside down in the form of hanging bats. Then the masked men and women riding two-wheelers, the empty buses and shut schools, constantly reminded us about the shadow of death following us. The business at the famed SM street nosedived and our beautiful beaches were deserted. Every morning local newspapers reported about new cases and TV channels brought out the images of hospital staff in protection gears.
For the first time, the odd visitors at the Kozhikode Collectorate were surprised by the easy access as the perpetual political rallies and dharna at the district headquarters stopped, when most of the cadres sought the safety of their houses. In fact cops had a relaxed time as crime and accident rates were drastically going down and the politicians and alcoholics vanished from public places. They had to intervene only when the crematorium staff went on a strike to avoid handling the victims’ bodies.
Now when the epidemic is slowly subsiding it is time for us Malabaris to do a retrospection. We repent for running away from the victims and leaving their locality in the hour of need. We are sorry for ostracising the nurses—the very angels who risked their lives in service of the fallen ones—and refusing to share seats with them in public transports. We did not resort to these mindless activities because of any inherent cruelty but just out of fear and paranoia. We know that our well-equipped healthcare system and the timely intervention of the state and central agencies helped to contain the outbreak. But, on a lighter note, it cannot be denied that our cowardice helped too. Sometimes, being a coward is safer.
Hari Arayammakul
Email: harichitrakootam@yahoo.com