A short glimpse of our lives, a year ago...
I exhaled and my vision was obscured by the fog. This fog was my new companion, that arrived as I started a dental procedure. I blinked and squinted to see through the film of tiny droplets. 'Was it on my glasses? Or the face shield?' I wondered as I gasped for air in the N95 mask. 'Does this renowned respirator save you from the virus or gradually suffocate you to death?', I mumbled to myself.
I grimaced as I endured the itch and sting on my face from all the new PPE gears. Oodles of sweat dripped down my back. I squirmed uncomfortably as my damp attire adhered to my body. Shrouded in the blue PPE gown and an abominable head cap over my hijab, drenched in the perspiration and blinded by the fog, I felt exhausted, distressed and helpless.
Much had changed in the last few weeks. COVID-19, a new disease had emerged and we were still learning about how the virus spreads and the severity of illness it causes. The virus had shown to persist in aerosols for hours, and on some surfaces for days under laboratory conditions.
The previously ubiquitous aerosols were now a great imminent threat to public health. Aerosols were always a part of dentistry. Aerosols were generated during tooth preparation with a rotary instrument or air abrasion, during the use of an air-water syringe, during the use of an ultrasonic scaler and during air polishing.
In the pre-COVID era, as dentists we recognized that aerosols carried a potential for transmitting infections and engineered controls to reduce that risk. Unfortunately, we were unable to practice cutting-edge dentistry without producing aerosols. For me, it was like turning the clock back to a century. Without aerosols, all I could do was to either extract a tooth or write a prescription!
The plethora of dental procedures that I took a decade to learn and another half-decade to master was now listed as 'aerosol-generating' and hence prohibited to carry out.
My once busy practice was now reduced to seeing a few patients. I spent more time on the meticulous donning and doffing of PPE than performing procedures. I yearned for the good old carefree, COVID-free times where I could see, I could breathe and I could still practice dentistry.
Every evening, as I left my clinic, I uttered a silent prayer for the Frontline Heroes working tirelessly to fight the pandemic. I sympathized with the brave doctors and nurses working round the clock in COVID wards around the world.
As a working mother, I had always craved to spend more time with my kids. When my working hours were reduced, I regarded it as a blessing in disguise, little did I know that I was no longer, just a 'Mom' to my kids. From being a fun parent, I transformed into an over-enthusiastic tutor teaching a first-grader English, Math, Hindi, Arabic and Quran. Back in school and college, I had enjoyed explaining difficult topics to my friends. I perceived Grade 1 would be a cakewalk. The unfortunate truth was that I had forgotten all the Hindi I learnt in school two decades ago, my Arabic enunciation was rudimentary and I had an awful struggle to tone down to the level of grade-1 English and Math. In short, the home-schooling situation was a fiasco!
"No! Saira!" I fumed, thumping my fists against the table and letting out a loud sigh. A tiny pair of eyes behind ruby pink glasses looked up from the notebook and glanced at me, bewildered.
Her little life had changed drastically in the past few weeks. Two months ago, Saira was going to school, playing with her friends in the park, swimming on the beach, going to movies with her grandparents and enjoying random outings in the mall.
Quite abruptly everything changed. Her school shut down one week before her KG graduation and the event was cancelled. The malls were closed, the parks were closed and so were the beaches. Her mom did not let her step out of the house.
She wanted to cycle outside, build sandcastles on the beach, chase her friends in the park and go to the mall with her Grandad. She missed the bus rides with her friends, the sleepover with her cousins and the car rides to her favourite confectionery.
The new academic year of Grade1 began. To her mega-amazement, she did not have to go to school. She would be at home and her teachers would come on the computer screen. Computers were for grown-ups to work and kids to see cartoons occasionally. Till then, she was not allowed to play with her dad's laptop and now suddenly she owns one!
"This is Saira's laptop", her dad announced, with a smile, on the day distance learning started.
Saira was super thrilled that she could sleep longer in the morning, grab a bite stealthily during class hours and wear a color dress every day. The teachers would not check her notebooks, she could talk in class if she clicked on the magic mute icon and she could even disappear if she clicked on the awesome camera icon. However, there was a teeny tiny issue. She wasn't enjoying the company of her new classmate, her mom! Mom was unpredictable, would occasionally shoot the stare-of-impending-doom and for reasons unknown to her, kept on calling her name in varying decibels... "Saira... SairA.. SAIRA!!..."
As Ramadan 2020 started, an utterly-baffled Saira and a tea-deprived me meandered through the humongous pile of school assignments.
As education progressed, I recognized that my role wasn't to teach but to facilitate learning. I realized later, that my 6 year-old had a better mastery of the nuances of vocal articulation of Arabic. The truth is that I learnt more from my little girl than I expected.
Two-year-old Zayed was the happiest toddler in town. His days were filled with ease, adventure and fun. On weekdays, he woke up to the morning cacophony of his sleep deprived mom- 'Umma' waking up his sleepyhead 'Sairathatha' for school. Umma wanted Saira to wake up but she wanted to snooze some more. Umma buzzed around Saira as she reluctantly brushed, got ready, refused to eat all the breakfast and finally picked her bag and ran off to the honking school bus.
After Sairathatha was packed off to the school; Umma fed, oiled, bathed, dried, moisturized, combed and dressed Zayed. Umma disappeared to get ready for the clinic. Zayed would stand on the day bed, press his tiny palms against the glass pane and peep out of the window into the parking lot across the busy street as he impatiently waited for his best friend to arrive.
His best friend was his maternal grandad whom he fondly addressed as 'Daddy'. Daddy had arrived in UAE, 4 decades ago with more responsibilities than dreams. The journey of 42 years was filled with ups and downs. He witnessed a dry-arid desert city transform to an ultra-modern commercial hub. Working in the energy sector, he contributed to various onshore and offshore petroleum projects. He was dedicated and hardworking and with an energetic and enterprising wife, they raised a family, strived to educate their two daughters, supported many relatives and bit-by-bit build a stable and secure nest back home. Daddy had turned 61, when he retired from his service. His wife was shining at her workplace. So he decided to enjoy his retirement and let his workaholic wife pursue her banking career. Daddy valued every minute of his day during all the working years. Leisure was a new experience in his expat life. Zayed was the luckiest grandkid to experience this side of Daddy.
Daddy came to pick Zayed up and together they would spend time on the road, in the mall or outside. Zayed was still learning two languages, Malayalam and English. He did not know how to address himself and called himself 'Boy'. In his world, Daddy and Boy were thick as thieves.
They went shopping together and he knew all the items in all the aisles of Lulu. Daddy was the man who never said "No" to anything Boy asked. This was the man who bought him doughnuts, M&Ms, candies and things his mom disapproved. Boy pointed and Daddy abided.
Two-year-olds want what they want when they want it. And nobody entertained Boy like Daddy. Together they went to the movies. Daddy would buy a tub of popcorn and they would munch in the theatre. When Boy was bored, he turned to Daddy and said, "Movie.. velly bad..poya" ( which translates to the movie is bad, let us go). Daddy would take Boy to Sparky's once a week and Boy would have a blast.
On days that Daddy had errands to run, places to go or people to meet, Boy would tag along. The back-seat of his Daddy's car was his happy place. He snacked, he saw sights and he slept. He was familiar with the streets and alleys, shops and showrooms, workshops and baqalas, coffee shops and cafeteria they frequented. He knew more places than his mom.
On March 2020, when the government shut malls and imposed a curfew, the happy routine of Zayed's life came to a standstill. Previously, he was the king of his castle and he basked in the attention everyone showered on him.
Strangely, something had changed. Uppa would lock himself in the room with a laptop. Boy was not allowed inside as Uppa was working-from-home. Umma stopped pampering him in the morning. Umma was always sitting with Sairathatha and the laptop.
Sairathatha stopped seeing cartoons on the laptop and playing with him. She spent her mornings looking at the screen with various people in multiple tiny boxes. "I am in Class, Zaydu. Don't come here", she rebuked when he went near.
Boy did not understand why Daddy stopped visiting him. Sairatha, Umma and Uppa were home all the time and on all days. "Is it Friday?" he questioned. Fridays were the only days when Boy saw everyone home. But unlike earlier Fridays, these days were no fun.
"Did Daddy go to Naadu?" he worriedly asked his sister one evening. The two weeks that Daddy had travelled to Naadu, a couple of months back, were the most problematic days of his life.
Umma had enrolled Zayed in a nursery near her clinic and he had developed an instant dislike for their discipline and order. The teachers made him do art when he wanted to run around; they made him sit on the chair when he wanted to stand on the table; they made him draw and colour but he wanted to play in the playground. He was a free spirit imprisoned in this preposterous place. No matter how much he cried, protested and requested, his mom would mercilessly drop him off at the nursery gate. The ordeal ended when Daddy returned from Naadu.
If Daddy goes to Naadu, his small mind reasoned, he might be in trouble.
On a video call with Daddy, he complained, "No fun, Daddy. Come... Letsss goo tto Sparkysss".
Daddy laughed and replied, "Sorry Boy! All shops in the mall are closed. There is Corona outside. Daddy is also just like Boy, sitting at home..." Boy's eyes widened with concern.
"Eppo malls open ava?" (When will the malls open), he questioned.
"Daddy does not know. Pray that Corona will go away". Boy's face dropped in dismay.
He wanted to smash the bad guy Corona and save the day like the pups in Paw Patrol.
As night fell, Zayed stood on the day bed, pressed his tiny palms against the glass pane and peeped out of the window into the deserted city. A police vehicle, flashing blue and red lights drove by, instructing the residents "to stay at home". A white sanitization truck hissed noisily as it sprayed out clouds of disinfectants.
Umma picked him up and planted a kiss on his chubby cheeks. He was fed, showered and dressed up in pyjamas. Tucked up in his bed, with his teddy in one hand, he lay near Uppa who was reading aloud his favourite book on dinosaurs. Boy drifted off to sleep dreaming about dinosaurs and rescue pups and happy kids playing in beaches and parks.
