A Real Victim of Isolation | Home Quarantine During Pandemic

A Real Victim of Isolation

My bed is mine, only mine this time.
After my 18 hours travel on a public bus from Kathmandu to Surkhet.
This time my brother can’t wake me up using his 10 fingers on my shoulders with a cup of tea early morning sitting next to me in my bed.
Neither I can make a tea for him and myself.
His heavy hands can’t give me a perfect massage on the next morning of my arrival.

I am in isolation with the isolated materials this time.
No one can come to me, touch me or hug me.
I practice “six-feet” social distancing.
All I can see next to me is my favorite pillow.
My favorite pillow could feel the rough touch of my palms.
It whispers into my ears in the silence.
It keeps reminding me of my quarantine.
That my fingers are rough this time.
Maybe due to the changing season, maybe due to the changing city or maybe a virus hiding among the whorls of my fingertips.

Pillow cover again whispers into my ears to share its story of isolation.
My bed- fits to my height, pillow- my bed mate, thick mattress made up of no.1 cotton- to relax my tired back, red flowered bed sheet- that graces my entire room, and the blue blanket- keeps me warm, tell me that they have been isolated for so many months now.
They say they miss my presence, the heart beat and the warmth of my body.


A Real Victim of Isolation | Home Quarantine During Pandemic
A Real Victim of Isolation | Home Quarantine During Pandemic
Deepa and her Bed on her Birthday!

A Real Victim of Isolation

This time, the dirt smell of my pillow cover wants to be washed away soon and look clean and beautiful.
My blanket complains me that it doesn’t have cover for so long.
We maintain our hygiene these days to protect ourselves from COVID-19.
But they are sad that nobody cleaned them up.
They all want to look tidy as well and look shiny.
So I do all these chores for them these days.
And their smile shines everyday.

This time, my pillow even likes the rough touch of my palms, a tight hug at night.
The sleeping blanket wants to wake up, falls over my body and play with parts of my rough and soft skin.
My three flowery bed sheets happily wait for their turn to be decorated on a thick cotton mattress and be my company.
They all feel special because this time no other person is special to me.
Doesn’t matter it’s sunny or rainy, I warm them up everyday with my warmed body.
And their happiness has became unlimited during this lockdown.
Because these days I lock myself on them in a single room.

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