Goodness, by Mriganka Dadwal, New Delhi
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Born and raised in Kanpur, Uttar Pradesh, and currently residing in Roorkee, Uttarakhand, Mriganka is a former journalist and founder of Street Level Awareness Program, a not-for-profit committed to gender based violence prevention in India.
In the Hindi language, when two things show only a slight variance, it is often said there is “a difference as mild as 19 is to 20” (Unees Bees ka hee antar hai). Who would have thought 20 would turn out to be nothing at all like 19… the year, that is.
It is 2019. I am a journalist-turned-social activist. My work involves organizing trainings in educational and corporate spaces. It also involves two of my favorite things – challenging stereotypes and meeting people. I love my caffeine-powered mornings, ideating, making to-do lists, and oh, the sweet joy of checking tasks one-by-one off the list.
Cut to 2020. I sit at my makeshift workstation in my parents’ home. It is just a three-hour drive to New Delhi– my work base– but we are in a state of lockdown. COVID-19 seems to have hijacked life as we knew it. I look at the depressing shots of the pandemic from all over the world being played on television.
It looks worse than the swine flu outbreak, I think to myself. During swine flu, we organized street plays, distributed face masks, and, as a precautionary measure, ate Neem leaves. (Don’t ask why; someone said they were great for immunity, et voila!)
As I try to come to terms with the fact that organizing a training is not going to be anyone’s priority, I learn to appreciate the gift of me-time.
“Count your blessings,” my mother often says, these days.
We watch television together, something we haven’t done in years. But today, TV brings no solace. All channels are playing pictures of poor immigrants walking back to their native villages. Men, women, even little children have been forced to walk for miles, barefoot. No, no, this is heart-breaking. My mother switches off the television.
All I want is to get my car, find these people, and tell them, “We haven’t abandoned you.”
I am sure our donors will find the heart to share their food with the homeless. For once, I have just one task on my checklist and not a single clue how to accomplish it. Well, actually, I have an idea, but who will take the risk? I talk to a few journalist friends. They are reporting from ground zero. What if I raise funds at the back end, while they distribute the food? If they refuse, I won’t blame them. Safety first.
A little later in 2020. Journalists from five states in India have volunteered to help migrant laborers. Friends from all over the country and world– some I haven’t heard from in years– are messaging me. They want to donate to this cause. We have been able to support 1,500 people, 50 families, and an orphanage.
The pandemic has only strengthened my belief in the inherent goodness of humans.
(This story was prepared for an “Imagine Another World” online storytelling workshop held October 16, 2020.)
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