On order

My father was an orderly man. He set standards that I have tried to meet all my life. The folded stacks of his clothes, always intimidated me with their manicured lines. They seemed to have a presence of their own, populating his wardrobe like stationary soldiers on a parade ground. Sometimes my children breeze into my bedroom, rifling through my clothes in search of all the things that children look for… and I wish I had such folded rows to intimidate them with.  

I wonder what he would have thought about the times we live in. I wonder what solutions he would have proffered for these uncertain times. These times have been a perfect storm for increasing social entropy. The order that ensures that true social development is protected, is threatened on multiple fronts, and COVID seems to be the overarching master disruptor. It has challenged the fabric of our societal order, in every way. It has changed the way we live. It has threatened our very mindset of the future, as a people.  

Sometimes, it has not. Sometimes i have not seen the adherence to protocol that should keep this disease at bay. Sometimes, I have not seen the protocol at all. We have evolved as a society to fight this scourge with some of the best weapons we have sometimes. But there have been some black holes in unexpected places.  

I registered as a voter at a center near my home, on the very last day of the exercise. There was no queue. There was no pressure. There was one medical person directing us to wash our hands to start the process. She was not in her mask. I had to prompt her. I washed my hands, and was directed to the unsantized seat, minimally spaced from the next. Next I sat next to the lady taking down my living details, reminded her to cover her nose. She did not like that. She gave me thumbprint pad. I could see the numerous previous prints. I could see COVID all over the pad. She could not.  

I had no choice but to add my finger print, and whatever organisms the handwashing had left to the building reservoir on the pad. Then I moved to the next unsanitised seat, and I had to remind the guy behind the BDR machine to put on his mask. He was right in front of the fingerprint machine. I could see his droplets just flying everywhere, as he joked incessantly with the various observers. He had actually previously told his colleagues that no one was going to convince him to put his mask on. So there was a lot of snickering, when this lone voice from the queue firmly prevailed on him to put on his mask. He did. He sanitized the print machine before I put my fingers on it. But the last step was the doctor’s nightmare.  

The indelible ink, was in a small container, with a neck specially molded to accommodate one little finger at a time. The damp ink soaked pad was at the bottom, with small animals from many people, many days before, multiplying slowly.  A dark soup of swimming microorganisms, left on the finger tip of every one who left the centre. The election officer almost threw a fit when I grabbed a tissue and some alcohol and sanitized my finger tip as soon as I took it out of that fester pot. She insisted the ink was going to rub off, i reminded her that it was indelible. But it brought to mind all the people who had walked away with millions of microorganisms on their finger prints, and the indelible mark of democracy.  

I have been wondering if we may have been spared the worst of this pandemic. It does seem so. It does seem like we have done everything we can to provoke this virus that has wreaked havoc in other places, and we have continued to cruise. I don’t know whether it is a matter of timing, or it is just that we are built to be spared the brunt. Brazil and India felt protected when this virus was razing down Europe. COVID has been catastrophic in these two countries since it traversed their borders. Whatever it is, we must keep our shape, maintain whatever order we have, keep the formation on the battle ground.  

The battle is not over yet.