When I began hearing news about the coronavirus outbreak in China in January 2020, I dismissed it as something that couldn’t reach me. It was my ignorance and perhaps naivety that convinced me to believe so.
Fast forward three months, it has become the biggest story of all our lives. There is no conversation that takes place without mentioning the ‘C-word’.
I was scared at first when I was included in the team assigned to carry out on-the-ground coverage of the pandemic. However, I have been a journalist just shy of one year, and this was not an opportunity I even considered letting go of.
When I learnt that I was being sent to Punjab with my colleague Urjita Bhardwaj, there was a sense of relief. Although I have spent my entire life in Delhi, Punjab continues to feel like home, the people feel mine.
Both Urjita and I are fluent in Punjabi, and, after a brief conversation with a police officer about the roots of our ancestors, we were welcomed as if coming back home. That is just how warm the state and its people are. So much so, that we had to force the hotel owner to let us pay for our rooms.
With the whole country under a lockdown, our main concern was managing essentials like food, water and a safe space to stay. Our trip was planned at the last minute.
I carried whatever dry snacks I could from home, but it was obviously not enough.
However, true to all the cliches and stereotypes about Punjab, food was never a problem for us. In fact, on some days, an excess of it was.
Chai & biscuits
Our trip would not have been nearly as smooth as it was if not for the relentless help offered by Punjab Police. From arranging accommodation for us in Ludhiana, to ensuring we get food thrice a day (even though lunch was hardly ever had for the nine days on ground), they took care of everything.
Cooperation was not limited to police — wherever we went for whatever story, people were ever so welcoming. I have lost count of the number of times we were offered chai and biscuits.
But there were tough days too, as is wont to happen chasing stories during a crisis.
One of the most worrying trends to come out of Punjab last month was the Covid-19 death rate, which hovered higher than the national average.
To delve deeper, we decided to visit the Government Medical College and Hospital in Amritsar, one of the nerve centres of the state’s battle against coronavirus. It was a two-hour drive from Ludhiana, so we left early in the morning, hoping to get plenty of time on the ground.
However, when we reached the hospital, numerous day-long meetings were underway behind closed doors, and the medical superintendent and the principal — the only two people authorised to speak to the media — were busy.
So, we had to wait. It was unbearably hot and the mask on my face was giving me trouble breathing. As we waited there for over five hours, the mask caused my face to swell up.
We tried to use our time by doing a recce for other stories around Amritsar, but had to return empty-handed. It was a hard day, not just because we left early in the morning but also because it didn’t turn out to be as fruitful as we had hoped.
An epiphany
But then, there were the fruitful days too. While covering a story about textile factories in Ludhiana and how they’re helping the fight against the pandemic, we built a lot of contacts through Google searches.
It also led to an epiphany as we saw the labourers hard at work churning out personal protective equipment (PPE), risking their lives in the line of duty. The health workers are definitely leading India’s fight against coronavirus from the front, but there is an entire army strengthening the effort from the sidelines.
Getting tested
While travelling through the state, we saw multiple people getting tested for Covid-19. The nasal and throat prodding looked terribly uncomfortable, and we realised it could soon happen to us.
But even then, the fear hadn’t set in.
Wearing masks and gloves all day long, sanitising our hands and equipment every chance we got, washing our clothes the second we got back, wiping our bags and phones, we took all the necessary precautions we could think of.
The fear eluded us when we visited hotspots and hospitals that were nodal centres for Covid-19 patients, but hit home on Day 4, when we arrived in Malerkotla, which emerged as a beacon of peace even as discussions about the Tablighi Jamaat acquired communal overtones in other parts of the country.
There is a reason why the media is considered an essential service. It is our job to bring stories to people from the ground, pandemic or not. Like I said, we took all the necessary precautions because we had to do our job, but I only had control on what I could do.
As we entered a narrow lane in Malerkotla, a group of residents made its way towards us, seemingly enamoured by the camera.
To be surrounded by people bereft of masks or gloves amid the pandemic was disconcerting, to say the least.
While we tried our best to ask people to maintain distance, our calls proved futile. I couldn’t spend nearly as much time there as I had wished.
While that fear subsided soon as we headed back to Ludhiana, another crept up a few days later. After a really long day of following a police officer to see how the lockdown is being enforced, Urjita began feeling a little unwell. It became a point of concern because her complaints fell perfectly in line with Covid-19 symptoms.
Our trip was cut short as we headed back to Delhi the following morning and got tested as soon as possible. Thankfully, we tested negative, but have chosen to remain in self-isolation.
While we had a story-rich and adventurous trip, I can’t help but think how lucky we got. My colleagues Praveen Jain and Simrin Sirur took exactly the same precautions as us but have unfortunately tested positive.
It may be the biggest story of our lives, but one cannot forget that we are fighting an invisible enemy.