Covid-19 is a wake-up call for the government to reconsider its priorities and acknowledge that health care is the basic right of every citizen.

I came to Kochi in Kerala on May 7 to attend a workshop on cinema and tested positive for the coronavirus four days later at Fort Kochi Taluk Hospital run by the state government.

I was stunned and a cold fear gripped me. Many disturbing questions flashed across my mind. What will happen now? How will I manage the infection? What if my oxygen level falls, what if my condition deteriorates? Will I survive?

What made me more anxious was what I had seen back home in Delhi, where I am a research student. The health infrastructure in the capital had collapsed under the weight of sharply increasing coronavirus infections.

I did not have lakhs to spend on treatment, nor did I know anyone in Kerala who could arrange for oxygen or a hospital bed if the need arose. That was my biggest concern.

I had spent four days at the workshop with 20-odd people and was scared to inform them, lest they got angry. Neither did I want to cause them any anxiety. I felt I would be responsible if anyone else caught the infection and landed in hospital or had to stay in quarantine.

The doctor at the taluk hospital noticed that I was feeling uneasy and restless and asked me where I had put up. I told her I was staying at a hotel and was worried sick that I may have infected the others there.

She calmed me down and assured me that I only had mild symptoms. She said I had nothing to worry and asked me to quarantine at the hotel. She told me to inform the persons with whom I had been in close proximity.

She said I could either quarantine myself at the hotel or shift to the Covid ward of the government hospital where treatment would be free of cost.

The organisers of the workshop suggested that I isolate myself at the hotel itself without thinking about the expenses. They also directed the hotel staff to give me food and medicines by maintaining physical distancing.

The other workshop participants and staff were advised to quarantine for seven days.

Right from Day 1, I began receiving calls from various departments of the Kerala government, enquiring about my health. They advised me to call up the emergency number if needed and told me not to leave my room.

After seven days of quarantine, I tested negative but was advised to remain indoors.

The entire process — from testing positive to returning to health — was so smooth and I did not have to spend a single rupee for my treatment.

Meanwhile in Delhi the entire healthcare system had crumbled and the situation was even worse than when I had left. My family, friends and teachers advised me to stay on in Kerala to avoid complications.

While in quarantine, bad news kept trickling in. On the third day of quarantine, my uncle passed away. The next day, Covid claimed a friend’s father.

The tragedy had just about started to sink in when a friend in Delhi called me up to say that she had tested positive and was having difficulty breathing.

We are a group of four friends and all of us were down with Covid. One was in Delhi, another in Patna and I in Kochi. We frantically worked the phone lines to try to arrange for a hospital bed for the friend who was having breathing problems. But no bed was available anywhere. We tried all possible means but failed.

Then we tried to get her an oxygen cylinder at her home but these attempts also proved futile. Luckily, an old university friend who is a research scholar at Aligarh Muslim University (AMU) helped us to get a hospital bed in Aligarh, Uttar Pradesh, 160km from Delhi.

The next challenge was to arrange an ambulance with an oxygen cylinder. We got an ambulance around 4am. She set out for Aligarh, accompanied by our other Covid-positive friend in Delhi. He sat in the front seat, wearing a PPE kit.

After she got admitted to the Aligarh hospital, the doctor said remdesivir would be needed. Thus began another battle. We got in touch with all sources but could not find the medicine anywhere.

Finally, one of our friends could arrange two doses, which were administered urgently.

My ailing friend’s father, 59 and vulnerable to the infection, arranged four more doses of remdesivir in Kashmir where he lives. He travelled to Aligarh, risking his own health.

My friend survived and is stable now.

We were not alone in our miseries. Thousands and thousands of others have been struggling everyday for hospital beds, oxygen, ambulance, remdesivir, and then if they are not as lucky, at crematoriums where too they have to wait in long queues for the last rites of their loved ones.

To protect my sanity and mental health, I stopped watching news, kept off social media and decided to stay put in Kerala. I could avoid the horrific situation in Delhi, but my friends and family are suffering.

Apart from the physical suffering, the mental suffering too is unfathomable. Worse, it is intangible.

So now, instead of arranging for oxygen and remdesivir, which I cannot do alone from so far away, I am calling up my friends and family regularly and trying to spread some positive energy.

In the coming months, Covid will take a heavy toll on our mental health also.

This is my experience with Covid in two states. I am not returning home anytime soon. In Kerala, I will get proper medical care, or at least oxygen.

Nehal Ahmed is a research scholar at Jamia Millia Islamia, New Delhi