Blog: I Live In UK, My Parents Are Alone In Delhi

I am an only child to my parents. I am living in the UK, and the stress of how my fairly independent folks are keeping safe in these crazy Covid times in India is driving me to a new level of anxiety. The worst thoughts cross my mind. It terrifies me that they may not be able to access care in time if it's required and I won't get there to help them. Saying it out loud is funnily cathartic as opposed to bottling up my morbid thoughts every day. The reality is stark in these times - they are left to their own devices to find any care they may need and we must be prepared for it.

Extended family is always helpful. I had a message from my lovely sister-in-law this morning. It said, "Tell them to reach out if they need anything ordered: they shouldn't leave the house, I would rather organise chicken than oxygen"! It brought a smile to my face. Having grown up in Delhi, knowing someone to get something done has been the regular modus operandi for everything. From the local grocer's phone number to the bank manager's elusive personal e-mail ID or the experienced specialist surgeon, someone can always organize someone for help. But at this time, those that could pull those strings, have nothing left to pull. The strings and the infrastructure that they relied on are all broken.

Covid has devastated a generation of adults that should be basking in their retirement with social interaction and some form of travel. I have not seen my parents since December 2019, that's 16 months, and no amount of FaceTime or WhatsApp calling can fill that void. My 11-year-old son saw a disturbing news report on the state of hospitals in Delhi a day ago and sobbed himself to sleep. Having lost one grandparent in the past few months, though not to Covid, he is petrified about losing another. He just wants his grandparents safe and cannot understand why they can't be with us. The next morning, he woke up and said he was fine. I wondered if he really was! We are not going to see my parents for another few months at least, with India being on the UK's travel ban list. I can only hope that the two Covishield jabs they have had, and the ones we have had here, offer all of us some protection till we meet again.

My septuagenarian parents are not too bad with computers and have had to train themselves to trust various websites to keep their credit card details safe. It's been hard for them to confide in a nameless and faceless machine. They have to make friends with Amazon, Modern Bazaar and so many more to simplify their new existence. Payments by phone apps are another thing altogether, they feel out of control. The new skills they need to find and adapt to are well outside their comfort zone - and yet, I know they will get there. They are resilient, sometimes way more so than some of us 30 years younger.

Covid has not been the only disease that has affected their friends and kin over the last year. My father has lost those he has spent so much of his life with to cancer, Covid and simple old age in the last decade. As a couple, my parents are very conscious of their mortality, but this latest disaster has only brought home the ugliness of something that can literally take their breath away.

I am not sure the solution is in me making sure they lock themselves away from all that is familiar and normal; it is unquestionably the most sensible thing to do. The anxieties they go through are rarely expressed, they keep saying they are fine, that's what parents always do. As I am writing this, I feel I should school myself in composure, compassion and in understanding their plight, rather than screaming down the phone line about doors that must stay closed to all things normal. The mind boggles and my worst fears are scattered in expletives over a long-distance call.

Covid has come, it will swallow many, but the devastation to mental health it will leave in its wake will haunt us for years to come. Can we really deal with a crisis within a crisis? One that is not yet visible, but simmering in the background? Can we actually trust ourselves to be prepared for the silent chaos that is building, drowned at the moment by the sound of breathless patients and the shrill screams of grief? This anguish and pain will need much more than love and care, we will need a generation of medics to talk and treat us through what we are experiencing today. I hope someone is thinking two steps ahead.

(Rachna Prasad is former head of news production for NDTV 24x7. She now lives and works in London, UK.)

Disclaimer: The opinions expressed within this article are the personal opinions of the author. The facts and opinions appearing in the article do not reflect the views of NDTV and NDTV does not assume any responsibility or liability for the same.