MASK

Today, I went out for the second time during the lockdown. The first time was to an ATM.

Today was for medicine for my brother. He, like an obedient citizen, had ordered two pairs of masks: one for him, one for me, which were home delivered. In our family, we are all obedient citizens. Our father was the most obedient, having been an employee of the Postal Department. A government servant by definition. Mother was one step ahead. If the father said, "No", it was written in stone for us as far as she was concerned. If the father drew a line, mother would make it longer and deeper. With that kind of parentage, we, the siblings, could never think of straying. That is why the advanced preparation for the drive to SCARF, the NGO where he goes for his prescription medicines. This time he wanted me to drive him along, what with autos, his standard mode of transport, unavailable.

And there I found the patients following the physical distancing with no one getting after them to do so. There was no marking or anything of that sort. That was redundant. They were also quiet and respectful of each other. They all wore masks. The staff were very few, and the patients outnumbered them, but they seemed inherently disciplined. A small number neatly stood in line at respectful distances from each other to collect the medicine. Others sat on the chairs, again at reasonable distances from each other, waiting for their turn, under the trees. When one patient collected the medicine and left the counter, another from the chair went and took his place at the back of the small line. Those who waited knew their sequences. No one rushed in; no one was disorderly; no one misbehaved; no one jumped the queue. I was flabbergasted. Here was a bunch of psychiatric patients who had come to collect their regular medicines with their caretakers. They were so self-disciplined! They were so perfect in their citizenship! Who could say they were sick! On the contrary, those who profess sanity are worse off, I felt, especially in trying situations.

When I went to the ATM, I did not wear the mask. This time I did. I was trying to dilly-dally, but my brother insisted. After all, he had ensured its availability. I also thought it better to wear due to the type of patients there and their likely number. Sitting under the tree my thoughts wandered.

Who should be wearing a mask actually? Those who spew venom and spray hatred; the undisciplined intellectuals, who by their intellect take it upon themselves the “onerous” duty of going against the government at every step? Or those who are at the receiving end; we, the people? What about the permanent masks worn by our political masters, yes, masters: not leaders by any long shot? Should they not be unmasked: tear it asunder? How did they become masters from being servants? And license themselves for atrocities? To steal from and loot the innocent, to sacrifice the people for their collective gains?

The world external to the people with schizophrenia, I feel, is the one that is sick. In their world, those under treatment are perfect. They value rules and regulations; they obey and never step out of line. One can see it in SCARF. Given any duty, they perform it, in letter and spirit. We who profess sanity, do not. The sick have integrity in abundance.

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