India Stories: Surviving a Pandemic in a Foreign Land

Lockdown Terror in India

When last I wrote to you, it was the beginning of April and India’s 1.3 billion residents were confined to their homes. It was the nationwide Janata (“janta”, meaning ‘public’) Curfew – a government move to protect the people from that terrifying new threat of COVID-19. It began with a three-day curfew from March 22nd. With a couple of days advanced warning, the shops were quickly bled dry by panic-buyers (no toilet-roll problems here, we use water). We all settled in for a few days with our supplies, complaining about what we would do for 3 whole days without leaving. On the third day, Prime Minister Modi addressed the nation to inform us that the curfew would become a complete lockdown for 21 days. No topping up supplies – what you had was what you had. Everyone was physically cut off from friends, family and supplies. WhatsApp groups were buzzing with desperate talk about where we could find staple food: rice, dal and vegetables. Drinking water became a huge concern. I had a 100g bar of dairy milk that I had limited myself to one small square of, once a day, as a treat. I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed chocolate more in my life!

Living alone during that time was deceptively alluring to me as an introvert. Three weeks to myself to read, write and relax? Sounds like bliss. In that time I managed to focus on finishing some songs that I had been writing (Red Letters, To The Lost One) and write some new songs from scratch. I wrote songs about finding inner stillness and joy during the most uncertain and chaotic period of our lives in Peace and Smile. It’s Okay spoke to the rising hate crimes against LGBTQ+ people, especially those of colour. Children was an intimate worship song about wanting to see life and God the way children saw Jesus. Song of Humanity came to me after a deep and powerful revelation of how far the depths of love reach. I had a new E.P. brewing, and a fresh new purpose during the long months without teaching. I felt happy to have the time and space to focus on a creative output.

It was a perfect scenario in my mind – my ‘battery’ gets recharged by being alone. I get my energy to be with people… from not being with people. But I think here in this crazy chaotic country I charge my battery a little bit more than even most introverts. I filled my lockdown with so many things as to keep myself from getting bored. I set out to release a brand new track on the first of every month, I caught up with shows I always wanted to watch, I went to Pastor Martin and Beena’s house every week to record the online church service, and I FaceTimed my mum every day to make sure she had someone to go through lockdown with. But we all need to be regularly around other people, and replacing other people with work and tv shows will prove to be very unhealthy in the long run.

Re-learning How We Live

BLC took the initiative of helping workers from other states stranded in Goa by giving them relief packages of food and water. I desperately wanted to be involved in giving out the packages, but being a foreigner under the care of BLC, I was only involved once – packing the food. Martin was happy for me to help but very apprehensive about having me be around the huge crowds of workers stuck with no home, no money and no food. Very sensible. I was happy to be useful, and even happier to be around other people, putting rice, dal and pickle into little plastic baggies at the junior boys home.

By April, Goa’s seventh COVID patient had recovered, and the state was declared a green zone – free of the virus. The shops slowly opened up with restrictions and people were allowed to travel within the state. The markets, remaining closed, had spilled their merchants out onto the streets. Suddenly the main roads were lined with women selling fish and vegetables. Taxi drivers, needing to switch trade temporarily, also made a living by selling whatever food stuffs they could get their hands on. But Goa is India’s biggest tourist hub, and it became evident to the government that for Goa’s economy to function again, they needed to open up the state up.

The influx of people from neighbouring states Maharashtra and Karnataka in May brought Goa’s green status to a shattering end. It had to happen. Most of these people were Goans stuck at the state border, coming back home from metro centres like Mumbai and Bangalore. Still, the locals were most definitely NOT amused by this disruption. Eventually we learned to live with the virus. Indian food contains a lot of vitamins and nutrients essential for building immunity. Turmeric, cumin, garlic, coriander, ginger, cloves, cinnamon, black pepper, vegetables and fish all make India’s mortality rate very low, especially in comparison to other countries that eat a lot more processed meat and fries.

A Different Kind of Sickness

As three weeks turned into four months without regular contact with other people, I started to feel the effects of the lockdown. I hadn’t seen the children since lockdown began in March and I had seemed to have replaced them with my guitar, keyboard, laptop and a pretty full-on release schedule. I love writing and producing (but hate the all-important marketing, hence no-one listens to what gets produce) but a sickness was setting into me that I couldn’t see. I could feel that monotone buzz of alienation, like an unwanted frequency ever present in a song. I instinctively covered it over with the soothing noise of more and more work – a new track every month requires a LOT of attention from one person, I just kept telling myself that I HAD to do it.

In July, Martin and Beena’s family had come for a holiday in Goa. All of them left from their house around he corner for a bigger house in north Goa – somewhere where they would all have space. It was then that I slowly came to the realisation that up until then, they were the only face-to-face contact that I had every week. During that time, at the end of July, I truly felt myself going mad. I would pace around my apartment completely empty-headed like a zombie. The sun would rise and fall and I couldn’t remember whatI had done that day. The low buzz had now overwhelmed the song and I couldn’t ignore it anymore. Work couldn’t drown out the noise anymore. I felt completely alone.

When I tell Indians about this experience they don’t understand how it happened. ‘Why didn’t you get out more, or come to us’, they ask (Indians don’t need invitations to go and stay at someone’s house, when they want to, they just go). But being a foreigner alone in India is a very vulnerable thing. The police were out in force on the roads during 2020, and in my experiences and from the stories of many many people, the police here are extremely corrupt, using their position to demand bribes – the whiter you are, the higher the price. There’s also the risk that you could transmit the virus to someone if you were to travel, and as a foreigner here, you feel a lot of responsibility for keeping yourself safe and clean – if you stand out to the locals, then all eyes are on you. And of course there’s the fact that I was so addicted to my routine and space, that I didn’t want to leave. Call it self-destruction, if you like.

As August began and I was at the lowest point I was reminded that my friends Abraham and Sherena always had an open home to me and they had been messaging me (beautifully bugging me) to come over and stay. I messaged Sherena and asked if I come come over for a couple of nights. I ended up staying for a couple of months! Being such lovely welcoming people, if I ever hinted that I was going back home they would always assume that it was only to pick something up and come back. It was during August and September and because of these beautiful people that I began to feel myself healing and warming up again. I still clung onto self-imposed workload but at least there were other people around to talk to, laugh with and make fun of me. Abraham and Sherena had amazing food, a beautiful, quiet home, and a 4-year old to play with. It was bliss…

…Except for that one time when I locked myself out on their 3rd-floor balcony while they were away in Bangalore. I’d gone out to look for a candlestick for Sherena that turned out to not actually be on the high and secluded balcony anyway. I can still feel the sweat soaking my t-shirt, at midnight pacing back and forth wondering what to do. I tried breaking down a side door that was only on a latch, but it turned out that the latch was very strongly attached to the frame. The neighbours didn’t seem to be paying attention, but I later found out that they had called Abraham, disturbed and confused by the sight of an odd-looking, bald, white guy somehow at the top of building and trying to break in. After consulting Sherena over the phone, we decided that the best course of action would be to break the sliding glass door to get back in (“just break the glass, it’s fine”, she said, nonchalantly). It still traumatises me to this day, but Abraham and Sherena are fortunately very kind and see it only as an excuse to laugh at me and tell the story at evening soirees as hilarious entertainment. Happy to entertain people and make them feel more intelligent. 

Back to the New Reality

In September BLC began to bring back the tutors for classes with restrictions: face masks at all times around the children, and to always maintain a distance. I’m fine with that. The fact that life would be getting back a little of the regular norm was enough for me. The kids would finally get back to their lessons! What a joy! Classes would begin again in mid September…

…Until I found out I had come into contact with someone who had tested positive for the virus. After all this time of waiting! Classes would have to wait. I immediately had to go back home and isolate for two weeks. There was no way I would be able to be around the kids with this risk. It was fine – another two weeks to prepare for new lessons and to keep writing. By this point, the loneliness had gone and I felt strengthened by my friendship with Abraham and Sherena.

When I finally returned to the music classroom, it was a very tough job. Teaching back-to-back teens is work enough, but to do it with a mask on and to maintain distance is a whole other thing. With staying indoors most of the time, I hadn’t needed to wear a mask for longer than a trip to the shops. Now I would have to wear it for 4-5 hours straight every day. It’s the small things, like the constant tug of the straps against your ear, the itchiness on the bridge of your nose, your beard getting caught somewhere inside somehow. But this is the new norm and a necessary thing to do to protect the children, and considering it is a government order, it also protects myself and the NGO.

Since October, life has been pretty decent. Teaching is going well, with some students really shining through. The girls, who only had 3 months of teaching before the 6-month lockdown break, in December managed to work together in teams for a Christmas challenge to perform either Jingle Bells or Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer. Lessons started at the junior boys home, due to the fact that the children can’t leave their home to come to the senior boys home where I do most of the teaching. This enabled me to teach some new junior students, but means that the one day where I am at the junior boys home is extremely packed and tiring. My visa was is due for renewal every year in November, and I applied 6 weeks before it was due to expire, but it still took the FRRO over 10 weeks to get it done, resulting in a stressful and uncertain period of hiding for a month. Thankfully the visa extension was granted on the morning of 24th December and I’m now legally in the country for another year.

2021 will include some big changes to my life. I’ll be introducing a few new classes to the schedule including singing class at the girls home, songwriting, aural perception skills and working together in a band for the boys home – vital musicality skills. Right now I’m taking a break in freezing cold Delhi, bringing in the new year with friends in Punjabi fashion and trying my best to keep warm without heating. 

Thank you for reading, dear friends, and I pray that 2021 is a set of 365 wonderful days for you, much better than 2020. I pray that you would see humanity for all its beauty and accept change whether it’s big or small. Humanity is always moving on, step by step towards its final glorious destination – 2020 gave us some real birthing pains but the good news is that on the other end of the birthing process is always new life. 2021 means new life for you. It will look and feel different – what a wonderful thing. For myself, 2020 made me softer and definitely opened me up more to the struggles of people of colour, in particular. I learned that justice is everybody having what they need to live and that injustice is those who have more than what they need to live, stockpiling and hoarding. To those who gave financially to me in 2020, thank you so much – you have helped bring justice to those who have been systematically marginalised. What a beautiful thing you are a part of.

I leave you with some final pictures of being reunited with the children, Christmas and side-notes and thanks.

God bless

Will

Side-notes and thanks:

• A massive hug to everyone who has continued to support me financially. Without you I couldn’t possibly be here.
• To those of you who have sponsored the children’s music theory exams from May 2020, the exams have been indefinitely postponed. Schools remain closed to maintain social distancing and exam centres must do the same.
• Give yourself a big warm hug if you’ve followed me on Spotify or subscribed on YouTube. It means a lot to me when people share my songs – there’s good news in them and that good news is slowly getting out thanks to you.