Five Days Between the Headlines, by Leaf Elhai

Leaf here, taking over the blog for the week. Like a lot of people, I’ve been reading tons of news articles to follow the latest developments in the COVID-19 pandemic. Again and again, I’ve been struck by the wide gulf between the horror of the news from around the globe (especially the US) and the mundane reality of my simple, protected life on the Mussoorie hillside. While these are extraordinary, surreal times, somehow the world has kept turning. Here, I try to capture this duality with an account of five days in headlines alongside five days in my locked-down life.

Monday, 6 April: Official Counts Understate the U.S. Coronavirus Death Toll

I woke up in a daze this morning, despite getting enough sleep. I lay in bed for at least 30 minutes, the weight of yet another week feeling like too many heavy blankets. Shera, who crouched on my chest purring, was another reason to stay under the covers. After mixing together my usual morning brew of honey, lemon, and ginger, I joined Dinesh for a video call with an old friend. We’ve been pretty good about scheduling calls with loved ones back in the US, which gives us a happy reason to get out of bed early on weekday mornings, but this time my smile faded when the call finished. I still had to prepare for a morning Zoom class, and I just couldn’t work up any enthusiasm.

It’s been nearly a month since we learned school would be closed, and the novelty of online teaching is fading fast. I keep reminding myself that I am so fortunate to live on this hillside, to have a community of friends nearby, to continue to receive a paycheck, to have a safe supply of food… the list of blessings goes on and on. I know all that, but what I feel is a sense of loss and a feeling that time is stretching out endlessly in all directions, every day basically the same, a return to “normal” very far away.

Our friends Eileen and Fabi are flying from Delhi to San Francisco on a repatriation flight today, and I don’t know when we’ll see them again. I don’t know if choosing to stay here in Mussoorie is the right choice; the virus seems so far away from here, but it’ll probably come eventually.

What I do know is how to feed myself, one day at a time. I’ve been pouring a lot of time into cooking, and (like so many others) my latest experiment has been sourdough bread. After years believing sourdough to be the pinnacle of baking, I was surprised at how simple it was to turn flour and water into a living, bubbling brew. Today, my starter was finally ready to use. At first, the dough flattened unsettlingly on the pan as it rested, but in the oven, it grew into a golden, crackling loaf. Dinesh and I ate it fresh with butter, and things felt okay for the moment.

Tuesday, 7 April: As School Moves Online, Many Students Stay Logged Out

Today in my single virtual meeting of the week with one of my 6th-grade classes, the students shared plays they had written collaboratively over the past two weeks. I smiled hard (trying to channel the “laughing with” more than “laughing at” spirit) as my students voice-acted their way through stories full of alien planets, castles, and a robot-takeover of Texas (really!). It was good to see my kiddos’ faces; unlike my older students, nearly all of my 6th-grade students have remained fairly upbeat through the last couple weeks, and their attendance and participation have been strong.

But like yesterday, after the call ended, my insufferable “what’s the point?” and “everything stinks” internal monologue started again. Why bother creating analytical essay assignments for my students when the world feels like it’s imploding? Is it even ethical to assign homework when some of my students don’t have reliable internet at home and others are contending with challenging family situations? I was mostly successful in diverting these thoughts by answering emails and posting Google Classroom assignments for my students. At the end of the day, I told myself, reading and writing skills still matter, and I know schoolwork is a welcome distraction for some students.

In the afternoon, Dinesh and I ventured out on our usual ramble on the nearby path known as “The Eyebrow.” It’s like an eyebrow in the sense that the trail is thin and elevated, but unlike an eyebrow in the sense that it’s flanked by a sheer cliff and breathtaking views.

I improvised a dinner out of yesterday’s bread and a spinach-lemon soup that was almost as good as the one in my aunt Joline’s cookbook of family recipes.

After dinner, I cut my bangs with the help of my non-particularly sharp scissors and a Wikihow tutorial, because, as lots of people have found, cutting your own hair is a great way to cure boredom. With way too many Zoom meetings over the last few weeks, I guess I had grown tired of looking at my own forehead.

Wednesday, 8 April: ‘I Just Need the Comfort’: Processed Foods Make a Pandemic Comeback

This morning I felt more glum and blah than ever. I forced myself to sit outside in the sun and write in my journal, but I kept getting distracted by the ladybugs and wildflowers, which were as cheerful as I was gloomy. The neighborhood dog we call Floofer lay next to me, napping in the sun like she was having the best day of her life. I realized that Floofer’s days probably blend together too, and I wondered whether she ever felt overwhelmed with the pointlessness of everything. Judging from her goofy grin and contented sighs, probably not.

My only real responsibility today was a Zoom call with a group of Woodstock people interested in making fabric surgical masks for staff at the local hospital and other community members. So much of the stress inherent in this moment comes from a feeling of hopelessness; sewing a few masks might take the edge off a bit (and they might even be helpful in slowing the virus, if and when it comes).

After the call, I couldn’t force myself to do any work, so I spent most of the afternoon baking oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. After washing our hands twice, we brought two bags to our friends Deneene and Jimmi down the hill, who were scheduled to leave campus for a Canadian repatriation flight tomorrow. They explained that they won’t be leaving tomorrow after all, since they haven’t been able to get the paperwork required to take a taxi from Mussoorie to Delhi. The uncertainty sounds terribly nerve-wracking, but selfishly, I’m glad that they’re here a little longer.

Thursday, 9 April: Optimism Is Less Distant as Global Coronavirus Battle Rages On

I started the day with yoga in the morning sun out in the yard led by my neighbor Imi. Floofer was so excited to see me that she lolled around my mat (and did a few downward dogs herself) before settling in for a sunlit nap nearby. Maybe it was the yoga, or maybe it was the morning sun or the sweetly chirping birds, but I felt more able to take on the world today.

The first order of business toward taking on the world was taking on the Thursday crossword over breakfast; Dinesh and I managed to finish it in just over 18 minutes, which felt like a real accomplishment. I did the Richmond Times-Dispatch crossword puzzle regularly in high school and even had a brief period in college where I tried to write crosswords, but since then, crossword puzzles have faded in my life from a daily heartbeat to an occasional activity during airplane rides. About three months ago, though, I subscribed to the New York Times puzzle, and Dinesh and I have been doing it almost every day. Puzzles are exactly what my fatigued brain needs right now; they require total attention, have nothing to do with the pandemic, and, if they’re well-written, can make me laugh.

Brinda and puppy Daniel check out what’s going on down the hill (probably monkey shenanigans)

After a pleasantly full day of classes and meetings, Dinesh and I went out for our afternoon walk. This morning, the skinny adolescent brindle dog we’ve started calling Brinda showed up in our yard with her tiny puppy in tow, and the two of them joined us on our walk. We were worried about the pup getting tired out by a long walk, so instead of a hike on the Eyebrow, we walked in wide circles on the hill below our house. The horse chestnut trees along the path are sprouting new leaves, and for some reason, they come out a beautiful shade of orange-red before they turn green.

Friday, 10 April: Lessons in Constructive Solitude From Thoreau

I woke up late today because we stayed up watching Sense and Sensibility (besides crossword puzzles, Victorian rom-coms are high on my list of good distractions). We’re not supposed to have work today, since it’s Good Friday, but I still spent a couple hours responding to emails and giving feedback on a student’s creative writing portfolio.

In the afternoon, I sat out in our yard and clumsily attempted to paint those autumn-colored spring leaves. The result looked muddier than I wanted, but I was still glad to mix the colors and layer them translucently in the hot sun, which dried the paints almost as soon as they touched the paper. It felt good to sit in silence and just focus on something that was beautiful (the leaves, if not my painting).

Brinda naps in my outdoor painting studio

Our neighbor, who’s in that awkward “I-forgot-your-name-but-I’ve-known-you-too-long-to-ask-again” category, came by while I was painting to ask about some appliances we’re trying to sell before we move. I fumbled through the conversation in very bad Hindi, which only got worse when I realized he was annoyed at me and Dinesh for trying to sell our washing machine to someone else. All I could do was shrug and assure him the machine was his if our other friend didn’t take it.

Later, Dinesh and I walked along the Eyebrow with Imi and the dogs. On the other side of campus, we met our friends Carly and Lindsey and stood the requisite 6 feet apart while we chatted about cooking shows. When I mentioned an article I had read about potential disruptions to food supply chains in India, someone said, “Oh no, do I want to hear this? I can’t hear any more bad news.” We went back to discussing the differences between British pudding and American pudding after that, and I think everyone was grateful.

On our walk back home, it started to rain. The sun was still shining on the south side of the mountain, so the raindrops sparkled as they fell through the new leaves. As we walked on, we were treated to a beautiful rainbow over the valley.

No one knows how long this pandemic will maintain its tight grip around the world. No one knows how long India’s lockdown will last, how long it will be before laborers can return to work and schoolchildren and teachers can come back to the classrooms we are all missing. But the rainbow, now a symbol for hope in the time of COVID, reminds me that this storm must end eventually. And in the meantime, despite the darkness, despite the large-scale tragedies reflected in news headlines each day, I need to remember that daily life can still be blessedly full of light and beauty.

Golden hour after rain over the Doon Valley