Our corona diary. [Text and photo by Daman Jeet Kaur] I close my eyes in self-isolation from corona... और मैं देखती हूँ अपने आप को इस बंद कमरे के बाहर पंजाब की सड़कों और लहराते खेतों में, जहाँ इन दिनों गेहूँ की फ़सल की कट्टाई शुरू होने वाली है, और देखती हूँ खुद को सुबह अपने काम के लिए त्यार होते हुए, गर्मियों में मुझे कुर्ता पहनना अच्छा लगता है तो किसी सुंदर सी सुबह त्यार होकर अपना वो पीले रंग का कुर्ता पहन कर अपने दफ़्तर जा रही हूँ।वैसे तो आज कल खुद के साथ समय बिताने का मौक़ा मिल रहा पर तुझसे मिलूँ यह मेरा दिल रोज़ चाहता है… मैं देखती हूँ कि तुझसे मिलने के लिए किसी तरह मैं

Our corona diary. [Text and photo by Tawseen Khurshid] I close my eyes in self-isolation from corona... and I see myself failing to see dreams that can be called 'normal'. In a not so normal land I live in, even the dreams have turned abnormal. In a land surrounded by mountains, I see people carrying mountains within their chests. I see cheerful, smiling faces talking on the streets, sharing their views and experiences, perhaps the only thing keeping them sane. And I see a silhouette of some huge dark man, holding a red sign: CLOSED INDEFINITELY. “We the Isolationists” series urges folks from any part of the world to share a brief diary starting with “I close my eyes in my self-isolation from

Our corona diary. [Text and photo by Hardik Kapadia] I close my eyes in self-isolation from corona… and I see my (late) grandpa and Nanu smiling at me. I close my eyes and see both of them sitting together, chilling out with each other, having conversation about me as if I still exist in their life. Their images, so vivid, make me smile a little more. And then I open my eyes—and amidst chaos I have memories that soothe me when I close my eyes. “We the Isolationists” series urges folks from any part of the world to share a brief diary starting with “I close my eyes in my self-isolation from Corona... and I see...” Not more than 100 words. With a

Our corona diary. [Text and photo by Harshit Soni] I close my eyes in self-isolation from corona... and I see myself standing on a horizon of possibilities. On one side, I am in a city in the south starting a new life with a job I got couple of days before the pandemic. On the other side, I see a city in the north, calling me back in the abyss of unemployment. My home is in a city in the west but all I care for are the news from north and south. I find myself deaf in a HR meeting, where my fate is being discussed. I am one offer letter away, from self-earned Dosa or Chole Bhaturey of inherited cents.

Our corona diary. [Text and photo by Zarafshan Shiraz] I close my eyes in self-isolation from corona... and I see, like in Tehran, people hanging out banners painted with poetry. The spring breeze floats through these poetry banners and paints the cities in multi-hues of hope. Audios of favourite sonnets are recorded and sent across family groups and personal chats. The whiff of these poetic hopes reaches those ailing in wards and touches them with remedy. That's it. Poetry will make the world survivable, if not save it. Thinking that, I open my eyes to go paint my own banner with something of Wordsworth and Jaun Elia and hang it down my terrace, like a scroll. “We the Isolationists” series urges folks

Our corona diary. [Text and photo by Aishwarya Kandpal] I close my eyes in self-isolation from corona... and I see myself walking up to school through an uphill path laden with tall trees and shrubs on either side. There's a Lady Bank's Rose vine that greets me at the same spot every day. It blooms in lovely cream-yellow hues and smells like the night jasmine, which i was to discover in Delhi as a grown-up later. I put my heavy school bag aside and start to pluck the thornless flowers. I plan to collect a few and offer them at the school chapel. It’s amazing how, as grown-ups, our childhood memories seem to dominate our subconscious mind the strongest. “We the

Our corona diary. [Text and photo by Nandini Nag] I close my eyes in self-isolation from corona... and I see uncertainty. Complete and total surrender in the face of adversity. Maybe I am paranoid, like my friends say, but I simply can't wrap my head around the entire phenomena. You see, I have read such events in books that come out once a year from the top shelf in libraries, to be dusted, glossed over, tch-tched over and put back again. We safely distance ourselves from such pasts. I am in the middle of surreality and I fail to make my peace with it, knowing I can't understand it. So I while my time away, like Vladimir and Estragon, waiting for this

Our corona diary. [Text and photo by Ratan Kaul] I close my eyes in self-isolation from corona... and I see the majestic Zabarwaan range in my homeland Kashmir, and juxtaposed to this image is the garbage mountain in Delhi's Ghazipur. In a clay pot I see delicious nadroo and monj, brought at dawn from the vendor at the Habbakadal bridge, hydroponically grown in the floating gardens of the Dal, and next to it is the aluminium kadhai in Seelampur simmering with baingan lauki from the Yamuna banks. Shikaras in the Nagin Lake collide with the orange and green cluster buses under the Chirag Dilli flyover. The sufiyaana colours of the embroidery on the pashmina shawl clash violently with the garish yellow and