After Eleven Years, Winter in Boston

As we flew out of India last March, I had a premonition we might not be able to return again the following January. We had little idea at that time how serious coronavirus was and how deeply and long it would impact our lives. Waiting for the plane to depart, our last night in Orchha occupied my thoughts. The town had gone into an abrupt lockdown, the temple closed its doors and the streets emptied. In a pool of streetlight, a small group of beggars sat outside the temple, while our new friend from the Indian military, volunteering with the temple priests, handed out dal and chapatis. The usual hubbub of pilgrims and street vendors had already disappeared into the quiet night. I took a last photograph and silently bid Orchha goodbye. The mood was decidedly melancholy. The next day, we were back in Delhi and franticly searching for a flight to Boston. had to let go of my fantasy of hiding out in the Himalayas, and we boarded one of the last flights out of India.

We returned home to a new reality of social distancing, mask wearing and grocery store queues. But spring was coming and the garden became our refuge. We nursed it back to life, planted anew and weeded. Gerard rebuilt the stone wall and leveled the paving stones.

We lingered over breakfast, drank chai in remembrance of India, and from time-to-time entertained friends sitting six feet apart on the patio.

While self-quarantining, I paced the empty alleys of the South End. Soon I felt confident to ride my bike in the empty streets of Boston and discovered new bike paths in and around the city: beside the Charles River and around the vast, now empty, university campuses of Northeastern and Boston.

When summer came, I could not longer go to Manchester by the Sea; the town had closed the beach to non-residents. Boston harbor became an option; I swam wary of pollution and keeping my head well out of the water. On a sunny weekday, more often than not I swam by myself, looking back toward the city and marveling at my secluded private lagoon. (On the weekend, the crowds arrived and I stayed home)

The social restrictions have not bothered me as much as others. The pandemic has helped me to rein in my restless nature and find a new contentment in a quieter life at home. I never really liked the using the telephone and now, with my hearing loss, I’ve rediscovered the joy of writing letters. Growing up in England, letter writing was expected and something always enjoyed. I lost touch with it through the convenience and universality of telephones. Social encounters, consisting of only one or two people at a time, are easier, although masks and social distancing exacerbate my hearing loss. With the deepening political chaos I’ve spent more time reading the news, national and international trying to make sense of the insanity. And now that winter’s arrived, I’ve taken up knitting again after a long hiatus.

Gerard, who never has a problem occupying his time, stays busy with projects: house repair, furniture refinishing…and painting pictures when he finds time. He’s recently completed two that I especially like. Now, he’s returning to a rewrite of his memoir during the cold dark winter months. He’s never at any loss for words on the telephone, but he misses socializing, whether a casual street encounter, or a prolonged coffee shop conversation with friends. Neither of us have suffered in isolation – fortunate we don’t have to go out to work, have a lovely house and each other for company.

India is never far from our thoughts. Back in March, Modi ordered India’s lockdown with less than four hours’ notice. “Forget what it is like stepping out of the house for 21 days. Stay at home and only stay at home,” he ordered. But he mentioned nothing specific about the daily-wage earners—mostly migrant workers—who make up 80% of India’s workforce. Factory hands, delivery boys, cooks, painters, rickshaw pullers, or vendors standing by the roadside, selling fruits and vegetables, chai and flowers. Migrant women are indispensable as maid servants for the middle and upper class; daily they arrive to wash clothes, sweep floors, cut vegetables and make chapatis. With the pandemic, their income, in an instant, disappeared. We’ve seen horrifying pictures of these migrant workers, fleeing the shutdown cities. With bags perched on their heads and children in their arms, walking down highways in a desperate attempt to return to their villages hundreds of miles away.

Meanwhile, back in Delhi, with few cars on the road, there is one silver lining: the sky has become clear and blue, something rarely seen in one of the most polluted cities in the world.

A crow flies near Rashtrapati Bhavan, the presidential palace in New Delhi, on April 2. Air quality has markedly improved in India’s capital since the country’s coronavirus lockdown began last month.

In the days following the shutdown, we heard stories of foreigners who didn’t get out in time. A friend sent us a video of some English tourists fleeing Varansi to make an evacuation flight in Dehi. The trip was far from smooth, the van driver fell asleep and went off the road, there was a long wait for another van, resulting in just missing their plane. I was envious of American friends, one a Krishna devotee, the other a travel guide, who were both able to remain in Himachal Pradesh. In the mountains, there’s been little evidence of covid. Two other old friends, have both become permanent residents in Auroville. Covid infections have stayed low and their lives seem to be continuing as normal within the confines of the community.

We’ve also kept in contact with our Indian friends. Their stories are quite different. Our hotel in Varanasi, Shiva Kashi, has been closed since March and Sanjiv, the manager, is trying to hang on until they can open again, probably not before next summer at the earliest. Shree Cafe is likewise closed. Santosh, his days freed up, is taking photographs of the shutdown city. Sadly, the demolition work from the Golden temple to the banks of the river still continues with a hideous pontoon mooring to offload tourists arriving by boat. His wife, Seema, has fed the stray dogs and cows on the street almost nightly and sponsors community youth activities – coaching football teams on the ghats, holding competitions.

Rajesh appears to be back at his bangle store near the Golden Temple (though we may be wrong) while still writing beautiful poems. In the photographs, few are wearing masks. In Orchha, our Kashmiri friends were forced to close their jewelry store, but couldn’t get a flight home to Srinagar. We’re still waiting for the final outcome. So many of the Indians we know rely on the now nonexistent tourist business. The Indian government is not issuing any tourist visas and this is unlikely to change as long as covid continues to surge.

Back in the US, the political mess has provided a constant distraction…or irritation. It’s felt like an emotional roller coaster. For a moment, I believed trump was going to leave the stage and he’d no longer dominate my mind with so much negativity. But that’s not trump; good news or bad news, he still continues to take center stage. After the storming of the Capitol, I feel America has deteriorated into a state of complete lawlessness — a banana republic. Wintering in India, we’ve missed recent inaugurations. In hill station, Ooty, we tried to watch Obama with a group of westerners but the TV had terrible reception. Four years ago, we happily ignored Trump’s sign-in as we sat on the beach in Agonda.

As Biden will be inaugurated in a virtual and low key ceremony, trump will orchestrate his ‘triumphant’ departure from a military air base in Maryland…but no one will be watching. It’s easy for me to compare his departure to that of Richard Nixon in 1974. But I like to think Nixon redeemed himself by having some remorse. He later admitted: “I let you down. I let the country down.” I can’t imagine trump will ever feel any similar responsibility.

At present, I’m on overload: too much trump, too much pandemic, too much distrust. Keeping our heads down, we hope for the best. Missing all of you that we will not see in India this winter, best wishes for health and happiness in 2021.

10 thoughts on “After Eleven Years, Winter in Boston

  1. So happy to hear that you and Gerard are well! It’s lovely that you both find contentment in each other’s company. Let’s hope this new year is better for us all, and that next new year you’ll be back in India! Best, Jill

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Bora cha🙏🏼☮️✌🏾💗 Dear Bobby,
    One more day🎊🎈🎉 for Biden /Harris to be inaugurated ! I’m hopeful to receive the vaccine for COVID.
    I loved reading your greetings and seeing your photos together. Big hugs, Jackie

    Liked by 2 people

  3. Dear Bobbi and Gerard, How strange to receive your journal from Boston and not from India! I am thinking of the two of you frequently, and missing the satsangs. I hope that this finds both of you well, despite the fact that we go on with our very limited lifestyle in this COVID-19 era in which we are living. But the vaccinations are beginning to roll out, and perhaps we can say that there is light at the end of the tunnel. Living in near seclusion seems to agree with me. I have continued my practice on an “on line” basis (due to COVID-19), and so I have plenty of contact with people, even though I am not sitting in a room with them. The demand for my services is now greater than it has been at any time in the past! Also, with fewer options for things to do in my life, I am doing more meditation now than I have done at any time since Master Kirpal Singh left us. That is a good thing, too. I imagine that you have heard that Master Ishwar Puri passed away recently at ninety-four years of age. I was sorry to hear of his loss. Steven Curtis who introduced me to him, had the opinion that Ishwar took on the karma of many COVID-19 patients (he died of that illness) and also took on the karma of saving democracy in our country. I do not know these things for certain, but I will surely miss the opportunity to go to Ishwar’s programs. Ishwar did say in my presence in a Chicago program that he would definitely have successors. Someone asked him, “Well we know who he or she will be?” Amazingly, he replied, “You will know who he and she will be.” I suspect that they may be westerners. I watched Joe Biden’s inauguration as president of the United States this afternoon on television. I can tell you that, when the clock struck 12:00 p.m., marking the official beginning of his presidency, I felt as if an enormous weight passed off my shoulders! Now we have intelligent adults in charge again, and it will be a pleasure not to hear daily news reports about the T-Rump. My recovery from kidney transplant surgery continues apace. My weight is down, I’m more active and energetic, and I feel at least ten years younger. The transplant has been a true blessing. May the day come soon when we can have satsangs in your home again! That will be wonderful. Stay safe, and stay well. With all best wishes, – Richard N. Shulik

    >

    Liked by 2 people

  4. Hi Bobbi …it’s been a long time since we were in touch. I can totally relate to your latest blog, as Denis and I are passing the winter in Eugene instead of our usual time in India or SE Asia. Hope you and Gerard are safe and warm…would love to hear from you, love

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s