There’s only so much one can see during a lifetime. What have I seen? I have seen a new year turning into a stormy chaos of uncertainty. I have seen the fear of death and helplessness in people’s eyes all over the world. I have seen an endless flow of morbid messages hijack my social media platforms. I have seen lives and living change suddenly and, perhaps, for ever. I have seen hope mix with despair, threat mingle with a desperate search for safety and panic intersect with the uncertainty of existence. I have heard the cries of countless grieving people. I have noticed countless lost lives turn into statistics on paper. I have seen the worst side of humanity exposed by an invisible virus.

For the first time in my life, I took utmost pride in what I do as a physician. I have dripped in sweat inside personal protective equipment (PPE), the face shield has been my personal bodyguard every day and I have become so used to facemasks that I now feel insecure without them. I have lost colleagues, batchmates, friends, co-workers and strangers to the novel coronavirus. I have felt sad, lonely, isolated, frustrated, bored, traumatised, hurt and anxious; I have revisited these feelings time and again.

I have earned fame, repute and academic merit as I dedicated myself to research during these “not-so-busy” days. I have been overwhelmed by invitations for lectures, webinars, symposia, meetings, reviews and publications. I have been amazed at the renewed discourse on “mental health” — thanks to the coronavirus — that has been long overdue. I have got used to “Are you able to hear me” before every single conversation. I have become disgusted with digital communication to the extent that the mere mention of a webinar gives me a panic attack. I have taken pride in my work as an academician and, in the next moment, realised how pointless those pages of jam-packed words are to the public. I have tried to raise awareness of the impending doom and the need to be safe. I have believed in “public awareness” and “public health” till I realised they are concepts limited to dusty pages in a library.

I have seen denial — denial of knowledge, information, safety, security, empathy, concern and humanity. I have seen stigma, intolerance, misinformation, discrimination, prejudice, hate, racism and ageism: unfolded by a virus but resistant to vaccines. I have realised once again that poverty, homelessness and social inequality are as “viral” as the virus itself, and are unmasked by our consistent, irresponsible, blunted and selective ignorance towards the ones less privileged at times of crisis. I have re-realised that the saying “We are all in this together” is actually a myth, a sad delusion that we are living while people without jobs, homes, families, food and water (not to mention masks) cluster around one another as if begging for an end to their dreadful existence.

I have seen remarkable selfishness — we find it impossible to delay gatherings, festivals, marriages, ceremonies, parties, occasions, vacations, elections for a year or two while millions vanish from the face of Earth. I have seen how difficult it is for literate people to follow the simplest instructions. I have witnessed neglect, callousness, narcissism, an oblivious environment of “we don’t care” and a brilliant self-proclaimed group of “I know it all” wannabes, who have done more damage than ever. I have seen disgust for our next-door neighbours infected by the virus and for those working on the frontline. Why? Perhaps because this much older virus of “hate” has been hidden deep inside civilised societies for ages, only to be set free by the coronavirus. I have seen cruelty, the worst of its kind.

The last I knew, the virus affected only our lungs.

The rest is perhaps Karma!

The writer is a psychiatrist at Nimhans, Bangalore. The views expressed are his own and not of his institution