the universe watches in awe the audacity of man

by Saksham Mehrotra (India)

I didn't expect to find USA

On January 26, travel restrictions were imposed on China, taking the overall number of people affected to 56 million. I squeamishly tried to get out of my mother’s grasp, from what was her seventh hug in the last seventeen minutes. In retrospect, I believe it was justified as I was leaving for my semester abroad to New York City, ‘the greatest city in the world’. Out of her hold now, I excitedly counted my luggage. One, two, three, and that’s it. That’s my life for the next four months neatly packed by my father. I was travelling to my dream city. “Drink ten glasses of water every day, and wash your hands regularly, have fun, and call me,” my mother reminded me yet again. But this time I noticed her eyes were glistening that usual, and I went in for a hug that lasted longer than all the previous ones combined. “I’ll stay safe Maa.” On February 8, a US citizen died in Wuhan. The ice cream truck stationed at the corner of the Washington Square Park jingled on the first sunny day of peak winter in New York City. The sunlight had absorbed the campus as a whole, leaving no shadows. I sat on the iconic emerald benches packed with students. We observed in unison the tarot card reader clad in magic purple whispering words that made the passersby smile. Our heads bobbed together as we followed the skater boy showing off his tricks to bemused toddlers. We let out a collective ‘aww’ as a professor walked a perfectly composed Labrador. The dog stopped by my bench and took a long sniff at my shoes before giving me his forehead to pet. The professor laughed as she tugged on him and reminded Chunks that it was time for class. I was filled with warmth. I decided to call my mother, who picked up my phone in an instant. “Is everything okay?!” “Yes Maa, I really like New York! Let me show you!” February 23 saw several countries close their borders with Iran. The waves glistened in gloomy yellow and alarming red in the Hudson river as they reflected the Manhattan skyline. The sky bled a deep pink, as if mourning for the human race. Cross-legged, I sat along with my friends on the shore as we processed what was happening around us. Universities back home were already being cancelled and it was only a matter of time for the same to happen here. I felt cheated, robbed of my semester abroad. I was supposed to be breathing in a new culture, not mask away from it because of fear. I watched silently as one of my friends picked up a rock and threw it into the water. I hoped that it would skip at least seven times; I hoped that it carry all the panic, hate, and racism that came as part of the disease away from us and away from New York. But all I heard was a plop and some silence. I texted my mother, “Maa, I am really scared…” On March 7, the coronavirus had killed nearly 3,500 people and infected another 102,000 people across more than 90 countries. It was the first day since transitioning to e-learning. I sat in an empty classroom overlooking the cloudy Washington Square. My eyes wandered to find some comfort in the scenery. The park looked empty. I searched for a sign of spring. I helplessly traced the foliage until I found a sakura tree littered with fresh buds. It was a tempting oasis of baby pink in the middle of a diseased ocean. And so I left. What I didn’t expect to find under the tree, hidden from my classroom window, was a student on the saxophone, playing for an audience of odd five city-dwellers. Near his feet was a sign that said ‘the universe watches in awe the audacity of man’. Their smiled radiated life as I joined then under the unripe sakura tree. I found myself in a subtle collective rebellion against the grim global weather. I thought about texting my mother but somehow the groove had me lost dancing with New York.