A schoolboy starts an email conversation with his grandfather in Delhi when the Covid-19 lockdowns are imposed. A mother of two feels neglected and burdened with household chores as the family coops up at home. The aforementioned grandfather strikes up an unusual friendship with his 6-year-old neighbour while they exchange books to read. The neighbourhood eccentrics – a mother-daughter duo with 30 pet dogs – are cornered by the residents for the growling and the barking that originates from their home at all hours of the day. A college student feels hopeless as the job crisis worsens. A domestic worker convinces himself to stay put instead of walking home to his village in another state. A house painting professional survives on meals of daal and rice as money becomes tight. A man who sells electronic goods succumbs to the deadly virus.
The blurry days
These are the characters in Radhika Swarup’s new book The New New Delhi Book Club who remind us what those blurry days from five years ago were like. These seemingly unconnected people live in the same neighbourhood in Delhi. When the lockdown is announced following concerns of mass contagion, they are forced to confine themselves to their homes and hope for a speedy return to “normal” life. The children appear mostly unaffected as they utilise this time to nurture their hobbies. Meanwhile, the internet becomes a refuge with the children turning to social media and online games to stay connected with their friends. While the parents fret about long exposures to the screen, the children seem to have a better understanding of how to use the internet sensibly.
As the lockdown imposes gender roles more rigidly on women, couples grow distant as the wives become increasingly impatient with the aloofness of their husbands. One woman says while her husband and children don’t really make any demands from her, still it does not negate the fact that she’s in charge of running the household all on her own. Another begins a correspondence with an old lover while her husband remains busy with his job. Swarup’s eye for the various woes that befell married couples during this strange time is praiseworthy.
The children are wise beyond their years and seem to have grown up far too quickly in these trying times. Parents of young children are quite likely to agree with Swarup’s observations. Navya, the six-year-old bookworm in question with her crisply worded opinions is one such example. The troubles of middle schoolers and college students emerge in the form of boredom, being helicopter-parented, and worrying about the future. In one account, the friendship between a college student and his sister-in-law is especially sweet as they become confidantes while the rest of the family piles up on them.
The missed opportunities
Still, these are superficial inconveniences. Thanks are said for the jobs that still exist, the food on the table, the sturdy houses – these cocoons of safety. The lockdown has not been so kind to everyone. Migrant workers set off on foot, money dries up overnight, the poor do not have money for treatment. The inequality of the lockdown is made visible through the lives of service providers of these families who are indefinitely stuck without money and food.
Swarup picks up the more memorable events of these times and uses them as her characters’ links to the outer world. The primetime news anchors shout themselves hoarse blaming Jamatis as “super spreaders”, the prime minister issues calls to become “aatmnirbhar”, people bang pans and pots to lift the spirits of healthcare workers, and to this hysteria, add the surge of misinformation about the virus and everything else. These references are a bit too on the nose and Swarup misses out on the opportunity to make more nuanced and engaging observations about the lockdown and its serious implications on certain sections of the Indian society. Some strands of disagreement with the status quo come into view but quickly disappear into the horizon. The lockdown was a watershed moment – it held up a mirror to the severe inequalities in India but the immensity of this moment, its damning nature, is hard to locate in these personal narratives.
The chapter featuring the painter as he struggles to keep himself and his family in the village fed is especially affecting. The author clearly understands and empathises with the plight of the less fortunate but rather hurriedly sweeps them under the rug of the cushier lives of the well-off. You and I, who belong to the second category, are quite likely to find our stories in The New New Delhi Book Club. While there is some merit to a section of people finally feeling seen for their lockdown struggles, the book ends up as a somewhat unidimensional account of possibly the most challenging time in recent history.
The New New Delhi Book Club, Radhika Swarup, Tranquebar/Westland.