Isolation Diaries
I read somewhere that falling in love is like the rainfall: it happens slowly at first and then all at once. If so, falling in love with my five roommates in the past seven days as we’ve quarantined together was like the monsoons of South India crashing against the Rajasthani desert. Parched land overwhelmed by a sudden rain that arrived with no hesitation.
Celebrating Deepavali together
All we did for the last seven days was cook and sing together. It started out gently, quiet and hushed, under our breaths. Within a mere few hours, our songs were reverberating against the walls of the two rooms we were isolating in, a hearty chorus from deep within our bellies and souls. The singing, through magic and faith, seemed to stop the walls from closing in on us.
Our days started with the Suprabhatam, in true South Indian form. M.S. Subbalakshmi’s voice filled our rooms as we arose from our slumber and inspired us to meet the day with fervor. We then took over, with our own voices singing everything, from Hindi movie songs to Telugu keerthanas.
My roommates and how they sing
Sushila
Sheelu is from Jharkhand and is Santhali. She’s our inspiration in every way. She wakes up, works out, cooks for all of us, cleans the rooms, and manages fifty things at once. She has endless fits of giggles that end up with all of us rolling in laughter. No one in this world can measure up to her.
Her voice is like the honey we used to drip into our mouths when we were children. There is a fineness and delicacy to it, a tinge of nostalgia for emotions we didn’t even know we held. The world becomes still when she starts singing.
Jahnavi
Janu, my jaanu. Janu is Tamil but has lived in Calcutta and Mumbai her whole life so we consider her our honorary North Indian. She is one of the smartest people I have ever met. She is our resident village don: there is a jaw-dropping amount of self-assuredness and swagger in her step. She paves her own way, unabashedly and unapologetically, and we all try our best to catch up.
Janu’s voice has a husky vibrato as she sings Punjabi songs, thick like the fragrance of cardamom in payasam. Her voice is maddeningly intoxicating; you close your eyes and it consumes you entirely.
Nikhitha
Niku is our Kannadiga baby. She is a Mysore girl through and through. Her wit is razor sharp (and so hard to keep up with). Her eyes widen and sparkle as she talks about everything, from politics to science. She is our darling; when she walks into the room, gravity rearranges itself to follow her.
A classically trained Carnatic singer, her voice swirls throughs aakarams and hits high notes effortlessly. We all beg for her to sing for us and, by the grace of the gods, she complies every time, singing us keerthanas, bhajans, and everything our heart could possibly desire.
Sidharth
Sidhu, our comrade. Sidhu is a quintessential Malayali man; the first thing he asked for when we landed in Rajasthan, a state that is 91% vegetarian, is beef. He was quiet at first, which we mistook for shyness (the first thing he said to us was on Day 2: “You guys suck” as he unclogged the kitchen sink we had clogged). But by Day 3, he was making faces, jumping up and down, and being his full goofy self. He’s painfully observant; there isn’t one small detail about anyone or anything that he misses.
When we sing, Sidhu keeps the beat, snapping his fingers or drumming against the counter, the steady rhythm of Malayali boat songs seeping into his demeanor, even in the deserts of Rajasthan. He mostly listens, with a ferocious intensity. And when he does join in, his voice is deep, rich, and needed.
Anuraag
Papa Bear! Anu is Telugu, my only respite when I feel too homesick. He travelled from Germany for this adventure and carries with him stories of his worldly travels. He takes care of all of us and does it so well. He has the best playlists, filled with Telugu hits from the 70s and 90s. His superpower is being able to sleep anywhere, anytime.
His voice has all the gruffness and warmth you can imagine from Papa Bear. He sings from his soul; sometimes his eyes are closed and sometimes, they are open but distant, seeing something far beyond what we do.
Us breaking into song every few minutes
How blessed and highly favored by my gods am I to be surrounded by so much love. That every meal I have eaten in the past seven days was made with the most tender care, boundless joy, and endless song. That my decision to come to India was sanctified through our ritual of breaking bread and singing song together for a holy seven days. That a mandated isolation due to a global pandemic became a source of divine bliss.
