The Ides of March

She checked the time for the umpteenth time. “The nights are too long,” she sighed. At last, she rose from her bed in her tiny room at 3:00 am.

Quietly she sat at the cosy nook, her favourite area of escape. She glanced through the window, and the serene atmosphere filled her senses. The stars blinked, and the majestic moon shone. The moonlight streaked through the boughs, and the leaves glistened and swayed by the gentle winds.

A blank canvas stood on the easel. She dipped the paintbrush into the colours and smeared the blank sheet with the shades of the night as she visualized past her window. She mixed and matched them as per the requirement and drew the picture to her satisfaction.

A gentle knock on the door startled her. She realized she had dozed off on the chair. A sliver of daybreak entered through the crannies of the curtains. She freshened up, got dressed and waited at the far end of the room.

“Good Morning Mrs. Wilson.” The amicable nurse with the protective gear from head to toe placed the breakfast tray and the medicines on the small table. The occupant of the room obliged. Under the strict instructions, all the inmates followed the rules and procedures of this elderly care living.

*****

The scenario was different six months ago when Mrs. Wilson had stepped into this facility. All the residents gathered at the lawn at all hours. They conversed, laughed, played and enjoyed under the bright sun or the gloomy skies. Together, they watched the movies and the comedies at the community hall. They dined and discussed political issues. The sudden change in the planet brought a halt to the lives of these elderly inhabitants.

They were all restricted to solitary confinement in their own rooms with no access to the outside realm; and humans. Their emotional turmoil increased as the mayhem spread its fangs. It ravaged and plundered the earth. They lost their near and dear ones with no proper closures or goodbyes. The silent tears poured copiously, but there was no end to their agony.

The initial days were hard to survive. The tormented world; was not convinced. They prayed in the silence of their rooms and patiently waited each moment for the dark days to vanish forever. Daily, they woke up with the expectation that it would be a better tomorrow.

It got worse, day-by-day. The days and nights; came to a standstill. Their desperate attitudes revolted; and minds ran yonder. Their mobiles became their only means; of communication. They questioned their sanity, “How could they survive in such suffocating situations?” Two months have passed since the external sphere shut indefinitely to the internal self.

The rays of hope streamed through alcoves of locked and shut spaces. The conference calls provided new ideas and assisted with their aspirations. The modern generation of grandchildren had their concepts and ambitions to achieve. They guided and supported the elderly to learn new techniques.

“I’ve opened an online account for you. You can post your pictures and display your creative talent. There will be like-minded artists with whom you can interact through chats and messages.” Mrs. Wilson beamed at her granddaughter over the video call.

Gradually, Mrs. Wilson picked up the scattered pieces of her personality. She got the delivery of her goods ordered online. The palette, the brushes, the chart papers and the paints brought a new lease of life. It had been ages since she last drew with the varied colours and created the perfect tones; on the white blank sheets of paper.

*****  

“Another lovely painting on the frame.” The nurse praised before she shut the door behind her. Mrs. Wilson acknowledged with a nod.

Her thoughts lingered; towards the painting. She hurried; with the food. Her brain and torso were sometimes not in rhythm; due to age. She paused at intervals and picked up her breath before her next activity. The ochre sun slowly poised itself above the horizon.

The paintings occupied different corners and cramped the room. She clicked pictures and posted them on social media. She joined the virtual groups and connected with similar folks. They discussed and appreciated; the artistic works of one another. Her granddaughter assisted her in complicated technical matters.

“How are you feeling today, Mrs. Wilson?” The chubby, cheerful doctor greeted her during his routine check-ups. He wore personal protective equipment and took all the necessary tests with precautions. He finished his duty and left. The room fell silent again; except, the swishing sound of the coats on canvas and the touch of the brushes on the palette.

Lunch got served at midday. Mrs. Wilson finished it and listened to the fairy tales on the mobile in the afternoon. She laughed and cried together, enjoying her me-time. She peeped through the window and found the squirrels picking on the grass and dancing in splendour. The milky-white clouds floated on a clear blue sky, and the sun dazzled with its full might. The sights and sounds of birds and beasts gave her the much-needed company; in the quietude of the surrounding.

She sipped the evening tea and read the books and magazines she got from her family as gifts. It was a laugh riot as; she watched the cartoons and the films through the various channels on her phone. Life continued in its monotonous motion.

Mrs. Wilson jotted her memories and the day’s events in her diary. The mobile buzzed, and she grinned. She loved to connect with her handful of friends.

“Are you doing alright?” the voice floated from the other side. Mrs. Wilson responded and narrated the poem that she had written.

The wings are what I envy of you my dear fairies

The sky is the limit that you touch so high

My heavy heart is filled with sorrows and worries

When can I reach the stars, my soul sighs

At night, she recollected the by-gone days bursting with merriment. Her eyes filled to the brim; she stared at the Heavens and thanked for the charms of life she relished. The future looked uncertain for all, but Mrs. Wilson persevered with each passing date. She accepted and adjusted to the changes, which were difficult for all; in the beginning, but time had been the best healer for them. Her passions kept her from crumbling.   

*****

The days became longer, and daylight extended beyond bedtime at night. The cycle of time progressed at its own pace. Nature changed its shades and splashes. The multi-hued flowers and fruits blossomed in full vigour. A dash of streaks spread and enveloped the surrounding. With a sense of reawakening, Mrs. Wilson soared with energy and regained her zeal. She looked forward to her new-found identity.

She pursued her pastimes which were like a breath of fresh air. The artistic revelation of herself progressed in full bloom. The colours poured along with her mighty poems and prose. She felt lively and young at heart. Her rendezvous with her youthful desires in her loneliness.

“Alas! They couldn’t make it till the end.” The news poured from various quarters about the sick and the deceased. Her soul shrank in the deepest crevices of her physique. From the seat of her minuscule dwelling, she offered the muted farewells to her friends who resided inside the facility.

A while later, the assurances poured from all sections, “Very soon, there will be a relief.” The updates emerged regarding effective medicines and treatment.  

The pigments of Nature unfolded steadily. The dark nights became longer; and chillier. There was a pall of gloom everywhere. “How long do they have to tolerate the burden of solitude?” The questions remained unanswered as everyone had their doubts and misgivings.

Though life halted in its customary track, the waves of anticipation proceeded in its usual flow. Nature evolved in its beauty with the seasonal changes, and the living beings marched ahead towards their goal. The snow poured in abundance and shrouded the earth in layers of white. Amidst the dullness of the encircling milieu, Mrs. Wilson coloured her existence with tints splashed on the papers and canvases. Her pen poured fiercely the nuances of survival with emptiness.

*****

The months passed in obscurity. The early morning call preceding the new year raised her anxiety. Mrs. Wilson went berserk at the news, “Your daughter has been hospitalized.” She craved to meet her once, but that’s an expensive request for her to demand.

The advice for meditation brought relief to her untamed spirits. She delved inside her conscience and believed in good over evil. It was a fulfilling moment when they declared that immunity; could be achieved from the dreaded disease. The shots provided to crucial individuals and the efficacy established.

The sun shone and peeped through the dull skies. Mrs. Wilson chuckled with tears brimming in her eyes. With the excitement; of a child, she narrated her poems to her daughter, Ann, over the phone. The daughter giggled from the hospital bed and softly said, “Mom, I’ll be released soon. I’ll come and visit you; once you get the shots. Maybe, we can stay together for the rest of our lives. A hard lesson we all have learnt through this asphyxiating journey.”

The joys from both sides broke all bounds. The briny waters flowed down their cheeks, unrelentingly. They hugged and kissed each other over the phone, the simplest pleasures in their lives. “I love you,” were the only; important words they spoke. They comprehended the significance of its meaning; and promised to celebrate; their birthdays and anniversaries together in the future.  

Mrs. Wilson welcomed The Ides of March, conveying her byes to the previous turbulent months and the year. New dawn appeared; with new beginnings, in her septuagenarian life. The darkest phases; metamorphosed into the goodness of humanity. The pure, unconditional love rekindled in all hearts.