Today, 29 April, is two weeks since I arrived in Delhi. There are other British and American Indians in the hotel, also stranded. Their parents are also Covid-19 positive and they cannot visit them, nor can they fly back to the UK and America.
We talk every day, keeping our morale up. We have developed a special bond, the grief and uncertainty uniting us.
I try to think about the hundreds of thousands of families whose lives have been turned upside down by this emergency. We mentally prepare ourselves to lose our loved ones, but we must also celebrate their lives and accept that there is no reality harsher than death.
There is a call from Kathmandu. Thankfully, my father is discharged. His oxygen levels are up, he is weak but at least he is home. My mother is also doing better, but her fever has not gone down.
I report a story about the plight of Nepalis in India, interviewing them in Goa, Maharashtra and elsewhere. Compared to what the Tiruva family is going through in Goa, we are not so badly off. I interviewed Nepalis in Delhi who hired taxis to the Nepal border because they cannot find hospital beds here. Three Masters’ students went back to Nepal after their hostel was closed, as the virus spread among students.
I quiz Nepal’s ambassador to India Nilambar Acharya about why Kathmandu is asking New Delhi for oxygen and medical support when things are so bad in India itself. He tells me the Indian government has assured him it will put Nepal on a “priority” for Covishield vaccines.