My year of living dangerously
So it’s the end of what has been a very long year, and we have seen it all – the impossibly smug, unbelievably glossy lockdown achievements of other people. There were the luscious cupcakes your cousin baked, for a start (“What, those? You know I whipped them up just this afternoon? I used gram flour, engine oil and two elderly prunes I happened to find in a cupboard.”). Then there was your semi-literate work colleague’s word-perfect epic poem – running into many, many pages. (“You know what? I’m a poet, I just never knew it. Bless you oh Gods of the COVID for bringing to light the deep deep talent that is Me!”And who can forget the dancing? (Dancing on the bed, dancing with the dog on the bed; even on occasion dancing with the husband and the dog on the bed). All the online COVID porn of this year of living dangerously, this year of splendid, fulfilled isolation.
But if you’re expecting Ashok Ferrey’s contribution to this lovefest of mutual back-scratching, stop reading right here. In this year of über-achievement by nearly everyone I know, I did absolutely nothing: I didn’t write a single word, I didn’t design a single house, I hardly trained any client. If you see a lot of fat people around Colombo this festive season it’s not just Christmas, it’s me.
How come? I hear you wail. (What, you mean you actually said Thank God? Sorry, I didn’t hear you.) For those of you who actually are wailing, let me explain myself. Why would I write another novel when I’ve only just finished one? (It’s called The Unmarriageable Man. The Wife says I shouldn’t be writing so much about myself, it’s not good manners.) Then again, early this year I had just finished designing a house in Kandy for some hysterical Kandyans. (They generously paid for a year of counselling, only I couldn’t get to a doctor because of lockdown.) Finally, how do you expect me to train clients personally when they can’t leave home, and are anyway too busy baking cupcakes using engine oil and two elderly prunes? Did I hear you say whatsapp? Zoom? Hah! Have you seen my Nokia phone circa 2009? The day it does whatsapp I’ll eat my cupcakes. Yours too if you’ll let me.
So then we come to the million rupee question. What exactly did I do, if I didn’t do all those dirty deeds you expected me to do? (I know the editor is going to have fun with that last sentence.) The answer to this is rather complex, one I have thought about long and hard for two minutes. I have never owned a credit card or smart phone or laptop. I drive a Tata Nano when I drive, which is not often. (When I do drive, people on the pavement frequently put their hand out assuming I’m a taxi. I’m often tempted to drive them straight to the Attidiya marshes and leave them there.) The house I live in is rackety and rambling. (You can see it in Funny Boy if you really want to.) It is inhabited by many species of wildlife – rats, bats, cats, kids – all of whom bound away when they see me coming; this includes the Wife. It is called social distancing apparently. So you see my life was in actual fact perfectly covidised long before your grandmother got to hear the word. For me it has been nothing special, all this living in isolation doing nothing. Oh yes, I did dig up the back garden in the early days to plant vegetable seeds. (Nothing came up except okra. I am proud to tell you we have an okra-free day every Wednesday.)
So I can give you all that stuff about feeling more centred, more fulfilled, more grounded after this year-long break; sadly, it just won’t be true. Realigned,restructured, re-engineered may be your new buzz words – they’re not mine. Yet believe me when I tell you there’s more buzz to me than a mosquito. Not with the New Normal. Just lots and lots more of the Old. Anyway I can’t sit here nattering to you about Life and all that. I have things to do. I need to get to the garage to find the rest of the engine oil.