When will Krishna get her old life back?

Many people are talking about the impact of the Covid-19 pandemic and the lockdown on the economy and our public health systems. Economists believe that the world will continue to feel the impact for years. A recent conversation with a domestic worker, Krishna, made me realise that few are talking about the impact it is having, and will perhaps continue to have for years to come, on people’s mental health. Consider her story. Recently separated from her husband, Krishna lives with her two children, both in their 20s and working, in a one-room tenement in Khizrabad, a low-income settlement in Delhi. Khizrabad has been a Covid-19 hotspot since the early days of the pandemic. “Initially, when the first four cases were detected in an adjoining lane, we were more worried about our finances than the virus,” she told me.

Her son and daughter who both have jobs in small businesses, had found themselves home without pay during the lockdown. As a domestic worker, she continued to receive her salary but worried it won’t be enough. “As the lockdown went on, money soon lost its meaning,” she said. “We couldn’t step out, there was nothing to buy.”

It soon became difficult to pass the hours for the three adults imprisoned in a 10-by-10-foot room. “Before the lockdown, we’d all come home only to sleep,” Krishna said. “Now, the three of us lie on our mattresses all the time, playing with our phones, waiting for days to turn into nights and nights into days.” They’ve started quarrelling over the smallest things. “It’s been like being in a crowded jail,” she said. “I worry we’ll all go mad…”

The lack of information and the constant rumour mongering hasn’t helped Krishna’s anxiety. “From our little window, we watch masked and robed medical teams knocking on doors, checking on everyone,” she says. “People whisper that the ones who fall sick are being taken away, nobody knows where.” Other rumours about the untold miseries of those who managed to board the Shra­mik trains made Krishna change her mind about returning to her village in Odisha. “Our neighbours who managed to get tickets (we tried but couldn’t) have been calling to say what an ordeal their journey home had been,” she said. “Moreover my family tells me that returning migrants have to observe 14 days of quarantine outside our village, camping in the heat.”

So, Krishna, and indeed, lakhs of people like her, continue to live in claustrophobic fear in low-income neighbourhoods, constantly at risk of contracting the dreaded coronavirus. “Everyone tells us staying in Delhi is the right thing to do,” she says. “But we’re in a cramped space and the infection is inching closer. Yesterday, I heard our next-door neighbour is sick.” Future prospects look grim too. “My employers aren’t going to let me return to work any time soon since I’m in a containment zone,” she says. “The shop where my son works is 14 km from our home, so even though it has opened, he can’t go back to work either.” Work is no longer about the money, she said. “We’ve received free ration from the government and my employers have been good,” she says. “But tell me, when will I get my old life back?”